The Alchemy of Forever

chest. She looks so much like Kailey.
    “The epitome of cool,” I assure her.
    Bryan pokes me in the arm. “Listen to this one! You’re just trying to get out of being grounded.”
    Mrs. Morgan sighs. “Bryan, you’re so mean. I bet we can find some funny pictures of you in there. I seem to remember a certain phase when you wore a Power Rangers costume every single day.”
    “And that’s my cue to leave,” says Bryan, picking up his plate and carrying it to the sink.
    I scoot closer to Kailey’s mom as she leafs through the album. Photos of Kailey as a squalling, red-faced infant in Mrs. Morgan’s exhausted arms. Kailey, at age two or three, with Bryan, shirtless and tan at the beach, their white-blond hair coated with saltwater. Kailey eating strawberries, red juice all over her face. Kailey, age seven, missing her front teeth, with her dad in front of a brand-new backyard tree house.
    And more recent: sullen twelve-year-old Kailey, pouting on a camping trip. Kailey wearing a black dress with purple hair. “Hmm . . . your Goth phase,” Mrs. Morgan says. “We always let you do what you wanted, but I have to say that color didn’t do much for you.”
    I laugh. I have to agree.
    I’ve never had any photos of myself—Cyrus thought it was too dangerous to carry around any trace of who we’ve been—and I don’t even remember what I looked like as a human. I remember my parents, though. My mom with her honey-brown eyes and dark tresses and my dad’s square chin and easy smile.
    Mrs. Morgan flips to a page filled with pictures of the whole family. Not one of them is technically perfect—Mr. Morgan has his eyes closed or Kailey is sticking out her tongue at Bryan and Bryan’s giving Kailey bunny ears while Mrs. Morgan smoothes down his hair—but they perfectly capture how much this family loves one another.
    There’s a phenomenon that humans talk about, of seeing your life flash before your eyes in the moments before death. Of course, I have no way of knowing whether this is true or not. But I have the eerie sensation that, if it’s true, I’m seeing what Kailey saw in those fiery, bloody, painful moments as she lay in the wreckage of her car.
    “You know I’m going to miss you,” Mrs. Morgan says, shaking her head.
    My chest pounds. “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer.
    “College, Kailey. It’s coming soon.”
    I force a hollow laugh. “That’s not for two more years.”
    She pushes my bangs out of my face. “You’re young. When you’re my age, you’ll realize two years is nothing. Over in an instant.”
    She kisses me on the forehead, and I give her a hug, feeling another wave of guilt. She’s right. Two years is a drop of water in the ocean. And Kailey will be gone from her life much sooner than that. I’m surprised to find I’m as sad for her as I am for myself at the thought of leaving—though I’ve only lived with the Morgans for a few days, in an odd way, they feel more like family than the coven ever did.

nineteen
     
    I’m staring at the stars on Kailey’s ceiling Thursday night when I hear footsteps in the hallway and whip my head toward the door. It opens a crack and Bryan pops in his head. “Get your stuff,” he hisses. “I’m breaking you outta here!”
    “Seriously?” I say, startled.
    “Yes, get dressed!”
    We drive into the Oakland hills, and the neighborhood goes from urban to forest astonishingly quickly. The house is a modern version of the forest cottage, all straight lines and glass walls, but somehow perfectly situated in an ancient redwood grove. Inside, kids are drinking beer out of red plastic cups and dancing to the pulse of electro music from Dawson’s stereo.
    Emerald City was the last party I attended—the jeans and plaid, pearl-buttoned cotton shirt I wear now are a far cry from my silk dress.
    “Kailey! I thought you were still grounded!” Leyla wraps me in a tight hug, spilling a bit of beer on my sleeve. She’s wearing a raspberry-pink eyelet dress over cherry-colored tights. Her hair is piled on her head, loose magenta-hued ringlets falling on her shoulders. She looks like a valentine.
    “I am,” I explain into her shoulder.
    “I broke her out of the joint,” adds Bryan, his gray-green eyes sparkling.
    “You’re like Robin Hood, bringing my best friend to me,” Leyla tells Bryan, releasing me.
    Bryan furrows his brow. “Did Robin Hood break people out of prison?”
    Leyla shrugs, then takes a sip of her beer. “We’re in