Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Everything hurts.
“STOP! HARRIET!” Tom’s blown-out voice almost causes me to trip. Tom of all people? I risk a glance over my shoulder. He’s the one running after me at a break-neck speed.
I don’t understand why. I don’t want to stop and find out.
I just want to leave. I want to disappear. I want to have never met Ben Pirrip Cobalt and his four brothers.
18
BEN COBALT
My little sister can’t catch her breath as she cries into the phone. I’ve been in the bathroom at The Labyrinth Library for only a few minutes—a couple of those were dedicated to me disposing my stomach contents in the toilet.
I’m not that close to figuring out the cause of her distress. Mostly, I’m trying not to jump to the worst-case scenario since this could be about literally anything. A failed grade. A fashion emergency. A shitty day at Dalton—especially now that Winona and Vada aren’t there. Maybe she’s regretting not going to boarding school with them.
What’s strange: Audrey didn’t immediately put me on a video call. Normally, she’d ask to see my face to ensure Eliot and Tom aren’t impersonating me as a prank.
“Audrey, breathe,” I instruct, my frown deepening. “Just take a breath.”
She inhales between sobs.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I ask.
She mumbles incoherently as her cries intensify. I press a hand against the porcelain sink and try to concentrate and piece apart her words. The smell of lavender overwhelms my senses. The dim lighting gives off a yellow-gold glow so it’s not too harsh on my eyes, but my throat is sandpaper as I swallow. And my ears still ring from the siren.
It’s hard to focus. Especially when all I can picture is Tom rubbing a panicked hand at his windpipe. I should have asked about emergency exits. Guilt craters a wound in my gut, and I’m just trying not to puke again.
“Theo…” Audrey’s voice shoves me out of my head. In between her cries, I hear, “Theodore.”
I go eerily still at the mention of my pet cockatiel—or rather her pet. I gave him to her. “Put me on video, Audrey.”
“I ca-can’t.” She hiccups. “I don’t want you to see him like this.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “What’s wrong with him?” My ribs constrict around my lungs. This can’t be happening. Why is this happening?
“H-he’s just a little slow to move.” She intakes a sharp breath. “Theodore. Theodore, come on. Please.”
“Is he in his cage?”
She’s quiet.
“Audrey?”
“He’s lying on the bottom. Possibly, he’s just sleeping.” Her voice fractures and goes high-pitched. “He could be sleeping.”
My heart rate keeps accelerating. Sweat suctions my shirt to my chest. It’s doing everything to suck in oxygen and speak clearly. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
She doesn’t answer. In the next short pause, I picture her silent tears streaming down her fair cheeks as she nudges the lifeless, gray-feathered bird. He has an energetic personality, which I attribute to being raised first by Eliot and Tom. He loves hopping around. Tossing his little head to the beat of music.
I don’t want to imagine him motionless.
The corners of my eyes go wet, and two involuntary tears drip into the perspiration of my skin.
“Did I kill him, Ben?” She’s no longer sobbing or hiccupping and that concerns me even more. “I-I gave him water. I fed him. He ate sliced apple out of my hand. We were learning how to play a fun ring toss game together. We were bonding.”
I lift my shirt and wipe my entire face with the damp fabric. Maybe he ate an apple seed. Which is highly poisonous.
“H-he must be sleeping. He must be.”
“He might be,” I console, exhaling a few times. “Go get Mom or Dad, or I’ll hang up and call them myself.”
I hear the thud of her footsteps, and while I wait, I stare at my reddening eyes in the gold-framed mirror.
I made another mistake. Giving Audrey my bird. I thought it’d be a good thing for her to have a reminder of me when I’m gone. Something she could hang on to. The average lifespan of a cockatiel is fifteen to twenty-five years, some living to thirty, so why would I be worried he’d pass away anytime soon? Let alone two weeks after I gave him to her.
I shake my head slowly to myself.
Life isn’t full of loops and repeats. It’s not cyclical. Audrey wasn’t meant to have Theodore because Eliot and Tom had once gifted him to me. Isn’t this proof enough of that? Fate doesn’t exist.
Life is a swerving, unpredictable line of falling dominos. There are reactions to every action. Consequences.
Some brutal. Some eviscerating.
I’m just hanging on to the slimmest chance that he might be alive. Maybe his breaths are weak. Maybe he’s ill.
“Audrey? What’s wrong, ma petite?” I hear my dad’s calming voice.
They both grow more muffled. I wonder if Audrey is cupping the phone to protect me from the news.