Something I Don't Know

18: never turn down a samosa, unless it's life-and-death

Shivers go down my spine, double time, even if my name's not the one the voice called out to. Slowly, Jamie and I turn around for the first time since we even entered this place—and yeah, it's certainly not a bathroom. It's some sort of storage closet, several cardboard boxes of varying sizes packed in against the walls, plastic bags hanging from hooks on the wall. Directly behind us, however, is a wire cage.

Inside of it is a girl.

She's scrawny, pale, with bleach white hair that tumbles to about her belly button, her face decorated with light brown freckles in no particular pattern. She's looking at Jamie with an expression that can only be explained as wonder, like she's not even sure he's real.

The weirdest part? Jamie's looking at her the same way.

Then, it clicks.

Jamie says, his voice shaking, "Vy?"

The girl in the cage lets out a small "Oh my God," that's so quiet and so relieved that it's kind of hard to listen to. Then Jamie's on the floor in front of the cage, reaching his hands through the bars, cupping the girl's face, and she's crying, like full out, ugly crying, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm witnessing.

"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," she says, her whole chest caving as she cries. "I thought—God—I thought you were dead, Jamie. I was so sure you were dead."

Jamie shakes his head. "Well, I'm not."

She chuckles. "I can see that."

Still not entirely sure what's going on, I sigh and fasten a weapon—a short dagger about the size of my forearm—from the shadows that wallow in the corners of the room. Adjusting my grip on it, I kneel beside Jamie, ordering the two of them to sit back a moment. I swipe at the padlock on the cage's door, and the lock splices in two, the cage swinging open.

The dagger dissipates again. That's one good thing about creating demonic weapons. There's not a whole lot they can't cut through.

The girl looks up at me with watery eyes, then clambers through the opening of the cage and closes Jamie in her arms. He hugs her back, resting his head on her shoulder while she kisses the top of his head.

I grimace. It's all very sentimental. Sort of scary sentimental. I feel like I'm intruding. "So, is someone going to tell me what just happened, or...?"

Jamie breaks away then. He looks up at me, still holding her hands in his own. "Grey," he says, "this is my older sister, Violet."

So it had kind of clicked before, but it really clicks now. Looking at the two of them side by side—freckled, white-haired, gaunt—it actually makes a lot of sense.

"Oh," I say. Then, "Oh. Wow. This is...this is a surprise?"

The two of them nod, and then Violet's on her feet, however shaky her balance is. She's in a simple white T-shirt dress looking thing, though it's spattered with dirt stains and other dark stains that may or may not be blood. Needless to say, she looks like she's been through a lot.

She holds out her hand to me. "Grey?"

I nod, taking it. "Hi."

I expect a handshake, but Violet doesn't give me one. She just stands there, fingers linked in mine, her eyes searching my face. Unlike Jamie's, they're consistent: two pale blue saucers, fringed by pearly lashes like little snowflakes. She's sort of pretty, in a weird, ethereal, wintry sort of way.

"You've cared for my brother all this time?" she asks, still holding my hand.

Outside, I can hear the low warble of Anik's and my uncle's voices. They must have noticed how long Jamie and I have been gone.