Perfectly Preventable Deaths

40 Feverfew

I always assumed, I think, striding through the forest, that I was the gentler twin. We don’t know who we are until we’re tested. Here I am.

I feel the warmth of Button against my leg. The little furball, who grooms himself so hard he falls off chairs.

You’d bring it there. A dog, a goat. A baby.

And at the crossroads, you would kill the thing.

I should be more conflicted, I think. But then again, a pet is not a twin. He’s not my sister. I’d rather have a sister than a kitten. So I will make the Ask so loud and clear. I’ll carve him up. I’ll offer up my soul.

The more pain that you cause, the louder he would hear your call.

I swallow. I am killing part of me in saving her. My eyes red raw, my bitten arm, my essence. What do souls do? What shape do they take? Will I still be able to do this when I’ve lost mine? Will I still feel love? I run through all the things I’ve read about them. It isn’t much. There’s nothing certain there.

Just the sense that it’s a thing you need.

To be a person.

I think of Catlin, stretched out like the fox. Part cut. Part bitten. The things he did to her. She cannot die. I will not let her die. I wish that I had Lon inside my bag instead. It would be easier. A pleasure almost.

My sister’s voice. He took most of her tongue. I push the heels of my hands into my sockets and the pressure jars and stops the pain. I have a cat. I wear a mask of blood. That has to be worth something to the devil. I will call. I hope that he responds.

‘Caw.’ A raven’s lurking on a branch high up. It might be Bob. It’s hard to tell with ravens. Probably it only came for blood.

‘Help me, Baaaaaaab,’ I ask it anyway, pronouncing it the strange way Mamó does. ‘I need help.’

It flaps and caws and stares. The air slicing my lungs, I keep on running.

And suddenly I’m there. I swallow. My eyes are filling up. My hands are shaking. I can do this. I can do this. A place inside the woods where two roads meet. The bright hot body of the little fox. Will Button’s life be warm? I wonder. Will it have value to this old, dark thing? I need this plan to work. It’s all I have now. Instinct fighting loss.

I dump my bag on the ground and it wriggles. I lay the knives out on the forest floor. The more I hurt, the louder he will hear me. I breathe in deep and choose the smallest one.

Oh, Button, I think. And then, Oh, Catlin.

Unzip the bag and pull him softly out. He hiss-complains at me. I stroke him and I settle him in the soft crook of my left arm. I grasp him tight and then I lift the knife. His eyes are wide. He doesn’t even know what I am doing. Everyone he’s ever met’s a friend.

Oh.

This is the worst thing I have ever done.

His little face.

I narrow my eyes. The blade plop-curling in. I gouge it to the bottom of the socket. I keep my hand so tight around his neck. I never thought a cat could scream so plaintive sharp like that, like Catlin must have done. I haven’t got the stomach to continue. I’ll make it quick. I close my eyes.

For Catlin.

Someone grabs me tightly from behind. I scream and drop the kitten. Off he runs. I still have my knife.

‘What are you at?’ Mamó moves away, but just a little. She folds her arms, squinting. She looks embarrassed for me.

‘Put down the knife,’ she says.

‘I can’t,’ I gasp. ‘I have to try.’

‘It won’t work. What you’re doing,’ she says. ‘She will be dead by the time it gets here. And what it brings back might not be your sister.’

I look at her. ‘How do you know? What happened?’

Her voice is low. ‘Brian found me. I am sorry, Madeline. There isn’t … Stop that.’

My eyes are scanning the ground for Button, a rabbit, a fox, for anything that I could catch and kill.

I look Mamó directly in the eye. ‘Can you help her?’

She inclines her head. It’s not a nod.

‘What do I have to do?’ I ask, knowing that I’ll do it.

‘I’ll need a soul. I’ll take yours. And there’ll be no more school. You’ll come and work for me. For seven years. Even if she’s dead when we get back to the castle. I want to train you. Do we have a deal?’

There isn’t any going back from this. A beat, where I consider saying no. Walking away. Finding the kitten again, stabbing it to death. Trying my best to placate whatever comes through. She’s right, I know; it wouldn’t work. And Catlin would be dead and I’d be here alone.

What can I do? I swallow and I nod.

‘I have your word,’ she says. It’s not a question, but she wants an answer.

‘You have my word,’ I say.

We start to walk. My mouth is dry, the sweat beads on my back are very cold. The moon is fat and yellow. The mountains dark again. They’ve all gone home, the people who were searching. Do they know?

‘Where is she?’ Mamó asks.

‘In the castle,’ I tell her. ‘There’s this big cave –’

‘An old place. I know it.’ Her voice is low. We get into the car, she starts the engine and we drive in silence. My sister bleeding out. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.

I look at my hands, stained with three bloods mixed together.

She does something with her head, a twist, a shaping, and suddenly my stomach feels like we are on a rollercoaster, going up, and up, and up. Waiting for the drop, that falling feeling.

It only takes a flash to get us home.