41. Vivian

41

VIVIAN

JANUARY 3, 12:30 A.M.

It happens in one swift motion: Marty grabs Coach's arm, forcing it away before the needle can plunge into his skin. Coach rears back like he's going to try again, but then, just as suddenly, he drops his arm to his side and starts to sob.

"I'm sorry," Coach cries. "I'm sorry."

Marty pulls him close. Even though Coach is taller, he shrinks, curling into his dad's chest in a way that's so different from the Coach I know. Still, I see a glint of him in there, too: the Coach who can give an intimidating glare one second and then a soft, goofy smile the next, like we're all in on the joke, because we know he'd never hurt a fly.

"It's okay," Marty says softly. "Give it here, son."

Coach hands over the syringe without a fight.

"It's okay. You're okay." Marty's voice is soothing and a little sad, like he's comforting a kid.

He lifts the syringe.

"Coach!" I scream, but it's too late.

Marty buries the syringe in his son's arm and pushes the plunger.

It's slow, like something moving underwater. Coach starts to stumble, knees buckling, and Marty reaches out to catch him, lowering him to the ground.

"There," he says, still so gentle it makes my skin prickle. "There you go."

Coach's head lolls, his eyes fluttering, and even though I know who he really is now, the things he's done, some part of me wants to save him.

"My son was an addict," Marty says.

At first, I don't get it, but then I recognize his tone. It's the same one he used when he told us that Lily had probably run away. Already, he's spinning his cover story as easily as if it were the kind of fairy tale she always hated.

"He was a good man, but a sick one. I only wish I could have saved him." Marty reaches for the vial and sticks the syringe back into its cap, refilling it. He looks at me. "And I wish, more than anything, that I could have saved those girls."

I fight to break the ties around my wrists, but I'm stuck, trapped here as Marty examines the syringe.

"It's tragic, what happened to them all, but you have to understand." He holds it high, so the needle glints in the light. "It's a sickness."

My mind starts to spin. There are four of us. If we can break out and run, he'll come after us, but he can't get all of us, can he? If I put myself in his path first, let the others get a head start…

"Three Maids and their beautiful Queen," he says, almost like it's a nursery rhyme. "Who first?"

Across the float, I catch Piper bringing her hands to her face, clasping them together like she's praying. I didn't think she was religious, but maybe we all start to turn to some ver sion of God when we're facing death. Because that's what's happening, isn't it?

And then I realize: Piper's not praying. She's pulling on her zip ties with her teeth. Tightening them, so tight the skin around them goes white.

I look at Marty.

"I'll go first," I tell him.

Lily gasps. "No."

I reach for her hand and squeeze it, hoping she'll understand. Because even though she betrayed us, and I betrayed her, too, I'm not letting her die. Marty won't bury any more dead girls.

I glance at Piper, who gives a small nod. As Marty turns to face me, she raises her hands slowly above her head.

"How brave of you," he says, stepping toward me with the needle raised. "I'm so very sorry it has to be this way, Vivian."

With a growl, Piper pulls her wrists down, hard, like she's plunging an invisible knife into her stomach. The zip ties snap, and she's free. Marty turns in surprise, just in time for me to slide-tackle his legs out from under him.

He hits the ground, the syringe falling from his grip. As he reaches for it, I slam my foot down on his fingers.

Piper grabs the syringe and tosses it to the side as she darts to Coach and starts to feel around his pockets. He's still breathing, I think, but barely.

Marty crawls to his knees, and I kick him in the stomach, my wrists stinging as the zip ties cut into my skin. He howls in pain but recovers fast, swinging his fist out and cracking it against my jaw. The blow makes me rear back, my teeth clacking together.

"Car keys," I manage through the shock, but Piper's already got them from Coach's pockets. She rushes back to April, sawing away with the keys at her zip ties until they snap.

My break in concentration costs me. Marty is back on me with even more force, knocking my head against the post I'm tied to before his hands find my neck. He squeezes tighter, his thumbs pressing so hard into my veins and muscle that I'm afraid something will snap.

And then, suddenly, air. I gasp a lungful as April clings to Marty's back, her camera strapped to her shoulder again, back where it belongs. She's scratching and pulling, feral. Exactly the opposite of what he thought she was. In the scuffle, she presses the keys into my palm, and I slice at my ties until they break, the impact pushing me forward.

"Here," Piper calls, crouching beside Lily.

I toss her the keys just as Marty claws out of April's grip. He wheels around, unsteady, and for a second, I think we've won. That maybe he's about to give up and run.

We all spot the syringe at the same time. It's on the ground, rolled almost to the edge of the float. The plunger's only half-pushed. There's still liquid inside, and I'm not sure if it's enough, but there's no time to wonder.

I get there first, but Marty isn't far behind. On the other side of the float, I hear Lily's zip ties snap.

And then Marty is on me, knocking me back into the side of the float. The impact sends a firework of pain across my skull, and I lose my grip on the syringe. He gets it before I can recover, closing it firmly in his grasp and then snatching my arm, pinching the skin.

I'm numb as I realize that this could be the last thing I see. I might be seconds away from death, and I'm not focused on Sav's laugh, or Lily's grin, or Dad's hugs, or Mom's ferocious cheer whenever I get the ball out from under the other team's player and send it flying down the field. I'm not focused on Piper and April and this weird little group we've formed, a friendship that, a few months ago, I would have laughed at because it sounded so absurd.

Instead, I can't focus on anything but Marty's red face, his hot breath, and the cold certainty in his eyes that whatever he wants, he'll get, because this world is his kingdom and it's all for the taking.

Then, just before he plunges the syringe into my skin, there's a click from somewhere behind him.

"Get away from her," Lily orders, and I see something silver shine in her hand. Margot's lighter, slipped from his pocket, the fire dancing.

Marty cranes his head to look at her.

"I'm serious." Lily takes a step toward him. "I'll light it up. Everything."

He laughs. "You wouldn't."

Lily smiles, perfect as ever, as she moves toward the throne, reaching out to touch its glittery draping.

"That's the thing, though," she says, looking at the floats all around us, the monsters and kings, but the sirens and witches, too, the women with the power to make men tremble. "It's all made of paper."

Like a queen waving her scepter, Lily dips the flame and sets the throne on fire.