Chapter 21
l dragged Laura up to my room—still no Sinclair,
hallelujah brothers—and walked into my closet with all the speed
and urgency of the condemned sprinting to the noose. I knew exactly
where they were, of course.
I went to the right
rack at the back of the walk-in closet, in the right spot. I took
the box and opened it. Pulled aside layer after layer of carefully
folded tissue paper, and carefully withdrew—
“You sort of look
like those guys who have to handle used fuel rods in nuclear
plants. They use those big giant gloves and take all these safety
precautions in order to—ohhh.”
“This.” I turned and
walked toward Laura, cradling the box as I would my brother,
Babyjon. “This is what I was looking for.”
She followed me out
of the closet, back down the stairs, through several hallways, and
back to the library, where I’d started a fire before galloping to
my room.
“This is what I must
do.”
Laura whimpered and
her hands flew to her mouth. Her blue eyes looked enormous as she
stared at me over her fingers. “Oh ... no, Betsy. Please
no.”
“I must sacrifice ...
my Valentino couture black-lace midheel peep-toe
pumps.”
“No!”
“Italian made. They
cost almost a thousand dollars.”
“Oh my God ...” Laura
reeled before me. “This isn’t happening ...”
“It took me three
years of overtime to save up for them.”
Laura moaned through
her fingers.
“I have never worn
them.”
A muffled sob from
the Antichrist. Or maybe I was the one sobbing.
“They are black. So
they go ... with everything. I can wear them ... with
everything!”
“Please! We’ll think
of something else! Betsy, you don’t know what you’re saying. You
can’t do this! There’s no coming back from this!”
“I have no choice.
You think the devil’s gonna show up for a half-assed sacrifice of
last year’s running shoes?”
“I don’t care, it’s
not worth it! Think about what you’re doing! Please, don’t do
something you’ll never be able to take ba-aaaaah!”
I had flung them into
the fire. Laura shrieked. No—that was me. I shrieked, as though
I were the one on fire.
Laura tried to dash
past me. “We can save them! They can be repaired and good as new!
No! Let me go, Betsy. I can save
them!”
I was able to catch
her by the elbow and swing her away from the merrily blazing high
heels. “It has to be done.” My sister and I clung to each other,
sobbing. “The sacrifice has to be made.”
“Wow,” someone said
from behind us. Laura stiffened in my arms, and we
turned.
“I won’t deny it,
dear. I didn’t think you’d be able to go through with it.” The
devil took in our tear-stained faces and grinned. “I should have
brought a box of Kleenex.”