Chapter 28
Alistair’s snow-stung eyes were fixed on the spot above the railing where Ben had just been standing. The sound of screaming tires echoed from the road below the bridge. She felt her bones shudder. She shambled toward the bridge’s edge, oblivious to Marjory or the Mirrors, as if another invisible string was pulling at her chest. Maybe Ben was clinging to the edge. Maybe he was floating in midair, another magic trick. Maybe he’d vanished before hitting the pavement.
He wasn’t. He hadn’t.
Alistair could see Ben’s contorted body on the asphalt below the bridge, bloody-black ribbons beginning to spill from his head like streamers, a crooked procession of parked cars framing him, headlights still trained on his twisted body. In the blur of tears and stinging snow, the scene could
