The train barrels into the station, stale air pushing against my hot skin when the doors open up. The train car is empty because there’s a man passed out across three seats and the air conditioner is broken. It’s better this way, less chance I’ll be recognized.
I take a seat on the opposite end of the car. I try to breathe through my mouth, but the smell is overwhelming, like stale beer, sea sludge, and urine. It’s only a few more stops to Coney Island. I stare at the thin, white scars on the top of my hands from the shattered glass that fell around me during the crash. The silver threads from my chest have dimmed except for one, floating in the direction the train is going.
My heart gives another painful tug. I imagine this is what fish feel like when they have a hook driven through their cheeks and then get reeled in. I lean my head back, feeling every bump and jostle the train makes when a whistling noise fills the air.
“Lula Mortiz,” something hisses.
The man jerks into a sitting position. His skin is pale and covered in dirt, and his hair is matted into clumps.
His eyes snap open and find me instantly. His irises go from brown to black, then spread like an ink stain across the whites of his eyes. His mouth stretches in an unnatural way, like someone is pulling his jaw open. Tattered shadows slither from the ground and trail inside, rattling his entire body.
My heart races as I dart to the doors. The train is approaching the next stop, but the platform zooms by.
“Oh hell.” I rattle off a string of curses and start to run for the red emergency lever you’re never supposed to pull. What’s more of an emergency than being attacked on the train by someone possessed?
But the train breaks abruptly. The momentum flips me over once, and I hit the sticky floor with a thud. I fear I’ve ripped my stitches as something wet hits my skin. When I touch it and bring it to my nose, it’s just ketchup.
The train conductor makes an announcement. We’re stuck between stations, the lights flickering inside the car and out in the tunnel.
“Ladies and gentlemen”—crackle muffle crackle—“unexpected”—crackle static—“shortly.”
Great. I’m locked in a train car with a possessed man while my body is being pulled like there’s a master puppeteer at work.
I push up on my elbows. My wrist feels sprained, but I rummage through my belongings for something, anything, I can use. My pockets are empty except for a few bucks and my MetroCard and—keys!
I crab-crawl away from the man, who stands slowly. The last of the shadows enter his mouth, and when he’s done shaking, his black eyes snap to where I’m crawling on the dirty floor of the Q train.
I grab my keys and grip them tightly between my fingers. Jumbled thoughts fill my head:
I survived a multivehicle crash and two surgeries, but I’m going to be murdered in the subway. Why did I leave my pepper spray at home? Why didn’t I leave a note for my sisters so they’ll know where to look for me? Why did I yell at my dad for the past eight months he’s been home? Why do people throw their garbage here? Why isn’t my power as strong as Alex’s? Just—why?
Then, at that thought, the man reaches for me and I strike my fist into his gut. He makes a choking sound but keeps advancing. His breath is hot on my face, and my stomach turns when he grabs my shoulder. I kick wildly until he stumbles back a few steps, but I’m positive it hurts me more than him. I scream through the pain as I roll over. I try to pull myself up, but the train jostles and I fall again.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Lula Mortiz,” the voice hisses. His face contorts, fighting the thing inside him.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, despite the fear that makes my legs tremble. I’ve heard of possessions but I’ve never seen one. Its dark energy ripples beneath pale graying flesh. “What are you?”
The man shakes his head slowly, cracked lips lifting over rotten teeth. “You know me.”
I do. The way my insides twist and my skin puckers with the sudden temperature drop tell me exactly who this is.
Lady de la Muerte.
Her voice is like a living shadow, slithering and coiling around my senses.
When I struggle to get to my feet, I drag myself on the floor until I hit the locked train doors.
“What do you want?” is all I can get out.
“Not want. Need.”
Lights spark in the tunnel as the train tries to move but can’t. The conductor cranks out another announcement. Something about the breaks. Something about connections. Don’t worry. Stay calm. We’re moving shortly.
But help isn’t coming for me.
“You’ve betrayed me.” She speaks through the man. “You have betrayed the balance of the worlds.”
My first reaction is to say, I know, but I can’t be snarky with Death.
“Then what are you waiting for?” I ask. I hold my arms out to the sides and I drop my keys. I can’t fight her. I’m not strong enough to fight her. The train slams to another stop, but the possessed body rises inches off the floor and is suspended in air.
He opens his mouth again, shadows undulating like dark water. “I need you.”
“What could I possibly give you? You’re a god.”
“I am trapped between—” she says, the last word cuts out in static. The possessed man’s neck turns at an unnatural angle, bones snapping when the head moves too close to the shoulder. “You must free me.”
Death isn’t here to kill me. My moment of brief relief is instantly replaced with panic.
“Free you? How? Where are you?”
The man starts to shake and cough up black mucus. His head rolls back and his mouth snaps wide open as the living shadow starts to escape. “Retrieve my spear. You do not know what you’ve created—”
“Trapped between what?” I ask. “Where is the spear?”
The shadows purge from the man’s mouth and leave him unconscious on the floor.
The lights above stop flickering, and the train moves again at a snail’s pace. I hold on to the metal rung, unable to steady my hand.
Death is trapped. Death wants me to free her.
I’m swallowing the dryness on my tongue when I realize the man on the ground hasn’t moved since La Muerte left his body. The train lurches forward and barrels out of the tunnel and into the light of the aboveground platforms.
The train chugs into the next station. I kneel and put my hand on his shoulder to jostle him awake.
He doesn’t move.
I press my fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse that isn’t there. The train comes to a stop. I have to get out of here. The thread in my chest returns, silver threads tugging in different directions. I pull my hoodie closer to my face.
When the doors open, I run and don’t look back. Before I reach the subway exit, I hear someone scream, “Someone call 911! He’s dead.”
? ? ?
When I get out of the subway, I leave the mayhem behind, blending into the crowds of the Coney Island station. The sweet scents of fried dough and sunscreen mingle with sea breeze. I take deep breaths to stop myself from shaking. I think of the fate of the man in the car. There was nothing I could do for him. The gods can’t inhabit human bodies, not without killing the host, destroying all traces of their soul and leaving behind a hollowed shell. I press my shaky fingers to my lips and whisper a prayer for the dead man.
I cross the street, following the thread that’s been leading me here. Sweat drips down my back and between my breasts. I pull off my hoodie and tie it around my waist. I don’t have to worry about being recognized here. Hundreds of people disperse from the train station and across Surf Avenue.
I head down Stillwell Avenue until I’m on the boardwalk. Each step is like wading through a vat of mud, but the light of the threads grows stronger. The pain in my chest throbs like a fresh wound. I hang on to the metal railings and wait for the pain to subside.