Rose.
“Stop, Julian,” she says.
Julian startles back. He hasn’t seen Rose since the Ulrich Corridor, and he takes in her appearance grimly as she glides into the room. She surveys the scene coolly, looks from Ritika to Aditya, to a horrified Winona, to me, before settling on Leila.
“Rose,” Julian begs. “Please. Please, I can’t do this again—”
She holds up a hand to silence him.
“You’ve been selfish,” she says, her high-pitched voice somehow echoing with command. “You and Alphonse both. You don’t even understand what it is you’re asking of her. You want her to decide to die, just because you have? To live like you have? You’re making light of her just suggesting it. I would’ve expected better of you.”
Leila’s eyes brighten with hope just as Julian’s collapse in despair.
“Thank you, Rose,” Leila says, relieved. “I knew you would understand.”
“Of course I understand,” Rose says soothingly. “It’s different for you and me. It’s always been. The boys have gotten to play with their fun adventures, their property and land, and all this time, we’ve been running, haven’t we? Always hiding, when we should be able to stand tall in who we are.”
“Yes!” Leila’s voice carries high, and Sophie winces against the sound. “See, yes, you get it, Rose, I knew you would! I don’t want to do ‘incredible things.’ Iamincredible. I’ve always been!”
“You have, my beautiful sister,” Rose coos. She steps in close, cups Leila’s cheek in a soft caress, moving around Sophie as if she isn’t there. “Let the child and her mother go. They have nothing to do with this, and they shouldn’t suffer for that stupid man’s foolishness. We’ll get rid ofthat woman, get our brother back to his senses, and do thingsrightthis time. As a family.”
“As a family,” Leila repeats.
And then, miraculously, her grip loosens, and Sophie slips out ofher grasp. Aditya and Ritika mobilize immediately, collecting my exhausted best friend and her daughter into their arms and ushering them out the back door to safety. In the space made by Sophie’s absence, Rose slips in and squeezes her sister tight. A sound like a croak comes from Leila’s throat, and then they are sobbing in each other’s embrace.
I almost faint with relief. I could run too, but then Rose and Leila might give chase, and I’m satisfied with this ending. After all, Rose has kept her promise to me. There’s a nudge against my arm: Onix, my sweet boy, deciding to stay. I stumble forward, ready to face the music, when Julian grabs my arm.
“No,” he growls. His eyes are wild, manic, and in his other hand, he’s holding his gun. “I won’t let them touch you. Rose—” But Rose doesn’t pay him any mind. She folds herself into Leila, wraps her spindly arms around her waist and holds on tight. They rock back and forth together, tears trailing down their cheeks, making such a picture of familial love that it takes me a heartbeat to realize what is happening.
Because Rose is…growing.
It happens slowly, then all at once; her arms thickening, legs lengthening across the bloodied floor.
“No,” Leila gasps. She struggles, pushes against her sister’s hold, which only seems to strengthen by the second. I watch, dumbstruck, as Rose’s tiny body overtakes her sister’s, first growing taller, then broader, her hips widening and arms lengthening until she eclipses Leila altogether. Their cries change too, heighten then abate, Rose’s deepening and lengthening while Leila’s disappear altogether. Next to me, Julian looks on in astonishment.
“Rose,” he says, bewildered. “What did you just do?”
Rose turns to face us. She looks not unlike how she did when wefirst met, stately, with fine, chiseled features and eyes sharp enough to cut but now softened by tears. There are subtle lines in her forehead, around her lips, but her hair is still thick and jet-black.
In her arms lies an infant. It stares up at Rose with adoring green eyes, like she is the only thing she has ever known.
This is why Julian calls it a transfer, I think. But I never considered their exchange of life could go both ways.
“She’s been suffering too long,” Rose says. “This way, she gets to start over with us. Unburdened by her memories. A true blank slate.” She looks at me, her mouth set in a line, then back at the babbling baby in her arms. “Motherhood isn’t something I’ve had the chance to experience. Maybe I can raise her right. Will you help, Julian?”
Julian doesn’t answer immediately, but he does stagger to his feet. His jaw is tight, every muscle of his back tensed, but when he stands the first thing he does is gather them into his arms. The baby coos, and I see her tiny, chubby hand reach for his face.
“How?” he says, his voice full of wonder. “How did you know you could do that? How did you give it back?”
Rose shrugs.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “I just knew that I wanted to, more than I wanted anything else. And so I did.”
Thirty-Five
I linger, awkwardly, in the room where I was supposed to die. Adrenaline eases out of my system like a leaky pressure valve, and I feel my mind settle back into my body and take note of the damage. My ankle aches from my awkward fall, and my head pounds from the welt left by the butt of Robbie’s gun, his punch to my jaw. My back is soaked, for the second time in less than a week, in somebody else’s blood and possibly brain matter. I’m starving, having barely eaten in the last twenty-four hours. And I am so very, deeply, ancestrally tired.
My stare has drifted down at the lump of Robbie’s corpse when a hand closes over my shoulder and makes me jump.