The Book of Love (23 page)

Together, Liza and Gil dragged Lucy upstairs. Olivia followed.

None of them turned their heads, but if they had, they might have seen a blade of glittering swirling tears, tucked neatly into a bush next to the steps, right where Lucy had left it.

Thirty-Eight

L
ucy was in a small room at the end of the hallway. The room was empty except for a single hard wooden chair. She had no idea how long she’d been there, locked in that room, or how much longer she would be. “You’ll stay here until you tell us where our tears are,” Gil had said. “Or we figure out a way to make you.” From a tiny window high up near the ceiling Lucy could see the light of the moon. It was still nighttime, at least. She wondered how long until they found the Rebreaking Blade, how long until her only chance was gone forever. She heard footsteps outside and pressed her ear against the door.

“Olivia?” Lucy said. “Is that you?”

They had been taking turns guarding the door, and no one was speaking to her, but Lucy could tell who was out there by the sound of their breath—Liza’s was sharp and snarly. Gil breathed quickly and angrily. Now the breaths on the other side of the door were deep and slow, like whoever was out there was trying to quell a rising panic. This was definitely Olivia.

“I know you’re scared,” Lucy called out. “I know you’re scared of what will happen if you get your heart back. The truth is, I cannot even imagine what it will be like to go through everything you’ll have to go through. And the other truth is that using the blade isn’t safe, not even a little, but there’s one thing I do know for sure—if it works, you won’t be alone. You’ll have your grandmother, you’ll have me, you’ll have Pete. You’ll have so many other people you haven’t even met yet and an entire world to connect with. But you won’t if you leave me in here and let them find the blade. This is our last chance.”

Lucy stopped. “Read the letter, Olivia. Look at the locket. Please.”

The only answer she got was silence, a silence so complete it was as though the person outside the room had stopped breathing entirely. But a few seconds later there was the soft
ssssshk
of a lock being unlocked. And then the door opened and there was Olivia, her eyes bright, her lip quivering, her mother’s locket around her neck. They stood there for a moment, perfectly still, staring at each other. And then they both began to run.

They were out in an open field with nothing but the moon, the sky, the open space. It was the perfect place to go, if you wanted to be alone. Or you didn’t want anyone to hear you scream.

“Ready?” said Lucy. On the way there, Lucy had started to explain everything, but as it turned out, Olivia already knew all about it. Olivia had thought of making the blade before, had thought of doing this a million times already. But she’d been too scared, not of the possibility of death, but of the possibility of really living her life with a heart open to the world. She’d been too scared until now.

“Ready.” Olivia took a breath. She looked down at the shimmering blade in her hand and then up toward the sky, toward the moon and the planets and space and her parents, whose bodies were gone but whose spirits were maybe, just maybe, somehow still out there. And in the dark, where Lucy should not have been able to see, she swore she caught Olivia smiling faintly up at the sky. And the sky smiling back down at her.

Olivia turned to Lucy. “No matter what happens, don’t wait to see if I’m okay. Take the blade yourself and use it. You have to promise me, okay? The warmth of a heart melts the tears, and if you wait too long, your chance will be gone.”

Lucy nodded. Olivia locked eyes with her one more time. She held the blade up to her chest. And then she smiled a tiny wry smile. “See you on the other side, honey pie.”

In one swift motion, she thrust it forward and the swirling blade disappeared into her chest. Olivia opened her mouth and let out a sound, a deep, guttural, gut-wrenching howl that seemed to come not from her lips but from all around them, from all directions at once. Then she collapsed onto the ground. Lucy stared down at her. Olivia’s fist uncurled, and the blade tumbled out into the grass.

Lucy picked it up. There was no time to think, there was no time to anything. Lucy pointed the blade toward her own chest, and she did not feel afraid anymore.

“Thank you,” she whispered. And she sent that “thank you” out toward the sky and the earth and the trees, and toward all the magic in the world, not the spells and potions kind, but the kind that made it such that she’d ever existed at all, that she’d been able to be here and experience this and feel things, even if all too briefly. She looked out across the field for maybe the very last time, and then she closed her eyes and concentrated on all the things and people she’d ever loved. She pulled her love for them into the center of her chest; she concentrated on filling her heart up with it. One by one, she pictured their faces all in a row; one face stood out from all the others. She was ready.

With every bit of strength she had, she plunged the blade into her chest. She felt it cut through her skin, her bone, felt it touch her heart. She heard herself scream and then heard nothing at all. She collapsed into the grass and that was it.

There in that field, two girls found their hearts newly broken. And out in the world, 103 brokenhearted boys found their broken hearts magically healed.

Thirty-Nine

B
efore her eyes were even open, Lucy heard birds, their voices sweet and high over the steady pounding of her heart. She saw the sun creeping up over the horizon, and next to her Olivia lying in the damp grass. There was blood on her T-shirt. “Olivia,” Lucy whispered. “Olivia?”

Olivia blinked. Her face was streaked with tears. And as she sat up, they just kept falling. But through the tears she was smiling. “We’re alive,” she said.

“So we are,” said Lucy. She reached up to her own face. As it turned out, she was crying too.

She brought her hand to her chest. Her heart felt tender and sore. There was blood caked on her skin but no mark where the blade had gone in. The only evidence that anything had happened was the fact that her tattoo was gone. And so was Olivia’s.

Olivia scooted closer to Lucy and pulled her knees to her chest.

The two sat there together, leaning against each other. And as the sun started to rise, they turned their faces toward it. They stayed like that until it was truly, beautifully, morning.

Epilogue

L
ucy wrapped her winter coat tighter around her. The icy snow crunched under her feet like sugar crystals.

“Hey, Luce!”

Lucy turned as a flutter of powder rained down on her. And there was Olivia, grinning, her cheeks flushed with cold, snow still stuck to her gloves.

“Hey, yourself!” Lucy grabbed a handful of snow with her mittens. She formed it into a ball and tossed it on top of Olivia’s head. They both laughed.

“Pete wants to pick us up as soon as school ends,” Olivia said. “We have to leave right away if we want to get to the cabin by sunset, which is apparently amazing from all the way up there, and there’s some ice-cream place he is insisting we stop at on the way. I was like, ‘Dollface, it is the day before winter break, are you out of your mind?’” She shook her head, but she was smiling. “Also, I promised Eleanor we’d stop by on the way up. She wants to meet Pete and she’s excited to see you, is that okay?”

“Perfect,” Lucy said. “We’ll be out front.”

The two girls hugged, and Lucy watched Olivia go. Off in the distance Lucy spotted two familiar figures walking toward Olivia, their gorgeous faces expressionless, their breath floating around them in great white puffs. But they passed right by her without a glance, as though she was a stranger, as though they’d never known her at all. And in their minds, they hadn’t. Lucy and Olivia had been bleached from their memories, like an overexposed photograph, too bright to make out.

Lucy smiled and shook her head. It was funny how so many things had changed so quickly. For Olivia, for Eleanor. For Lucy’s parents.

So many things that had once seemed very unlikely, or even completely impossible, had simply gone and happened, and were still happening. . . .

Lucy looked up. There was Tristan walking right toward her.

Their eyes met. Lucy felt warmth radiating from the center of her chest. When Tristan saw her, his lips spread into a smile. And when he was close enough, he pressed his smiling lips against hers and wrapped his arms around her waist. And then he leaned back slightly to speak. “According to Pete and the five-minute-long ice-cream-themed a cappella slash rap song he left me on my voice mail, we’re only three hours away from the best ice-cream experience of our lives. He’s very excited. It’s pretty cute.” He brought his face close to hers again. “I’ll tell you what
I’m
excited about this weekend. . . .”

He let his words linger and they shared a private smile. It was different between them now, different from when they were just friends. There were times she actually felt shy around him. She’d blush sometimes when she caught him looking at her the way he did when he was about to kiss her. There was a tiny space between them now, just enough of a divide to give the sparks something to crackle across.

But there were also times they felt closer than ever. Like when they would watch the stars together from the flatbed of Tristan’s truck, her head on his chest, and for a moment she’d forget that they were two separate people, she’d feel so much a part of him, and him so much a part of her.

Then again, they still had their secrets. Both of them did. And that was okay. Some of those secrets Lucy figured they’d always keep for themselves. And some would be revealed in time. This weekend she planned to show him her new tattoo. The violet, right over her heart, its purple petals open. Someday, she might even tell him what it meant.

The bell rang. “Hey, one more thing,” Tristan said. “I talked to Phee last night after she got home from going out with that guy Colin you set her up with? She was thrilled. I’ve never heard her like this about anyone before. She said they had an amazing time, and she thinks he’s going to be her new super boyfriend forever.” He paused. “How did you know they’d get along so well? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Lucy shrugged. “What can I say?” she said. “I’m an incredibly gifted matchmaker.” She turned to the side so he couldn’t see the grin.

Tristan leaned over and kissed her on the nose. “See you later, my Lucinda,” he said, then headed off to class.

And Lucy stood there for one more moment, watching her love.

Of all the things that had changed, maybe it was this that had changed most of all—her understanding of love and what it could be like. It did not give her a feeling of sick panic, this love. It was not a love that made her doubt herself nor one that she did not feel worthy of. It felt exciting and new, but warm and comforting also. It was not perfect, but it was real and it was messy, and it was beautiful in its messiness. It was not guaranteed to last forever. She knew that. Nothing was. But every moment felt so rich, so full, and she was so, so grateful for it. If it ended, then it would end. And her heart would break. But it wouldn’t always be broken.