The Book of Love

  But those were not her own feelings changing her face. No, of course, those were Pete’s.

  And in a flash, it all made perfect sense—why Olivia had put on the Empathy Cream even if there was nothing new she’d find out from wearing it, why her tear-catcher vial wasn’t on, and why she’d been aware of Pete’s feelings for months, but hadn’t yet done anything about them. She hadn’t yet because she was never going to. What she wanted was not the power that came from his tears, but the power that came from his love.

  Everyone has secrets, Lucy.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” Pete asked.

  “Yup,” said Olivia. She ran her fingers down his arms, took his hand, and led him back outside.

  Lucy counted to one hundred, then reached into the back of the closet, pulled out the thing she’d smashed into, brought it out into the room, and turned on the light.

  It was a framed photo of three people sitting on a porch swing. On the left was a man in his early forties, round faced and handsome; on the right was a woman of around the same age, striking with dark hair and bright blue eyes, her etched gold necklace catching the light. And in the middle was a girl, around twelve or thirteen, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, freckles across her nose, and a tiny space between her two front teeth. The three of them had their arms around each other. They were all laughing.

  Lucy stared at the girl in the middle, at her light eyes, sharp cheekbones, dark eyebrows. This was Olivia. And these were her parents.

  And judging by the ages of everyone in the picture, this had to have been taken shortly before they died.

  How strange it was to see this picture and know what was about to happen. She imagined stepping inside it and warning them, warning this smiling girl who was so different from the Olivia that Lucy now knew.

  Lucy shook her head. She put the picture at the back of the closet right where she found it, and she closed the closet door. This wasn’t what she was here for. And who knew how long it would take, so she’d better get started.

  Twenty-Seven

  Hours later Lucy sat slumped on Olivia’s floor, The Book of Love in front of her. She’d flipped through hundreds of spells, hundreds of recipes for potions and elixirs, hundreds of accounts of hearts broken and tips on how-to, thousands and thousands of pages in total. But there wasn’t anything in this book telling her how to rebreak her own heart or even referencing the fact that such a thing was possible. Lucy had thought this was her one chance, but it had never really been a chance at all. Olivia hadn’t said no because she didn’t have to. Of course there was no going back, there never was. That’s not how life worked.

  With a freshly broken heart thudding heavy in her chest, Lucy had thought a broken heart was the worst thing in the world. But now Lucy understood that the real worst thing was a completely solid unbreakable one. Lucy breathed out as she stared at that last blank page. This was it for her now. This cold detached feeling was only going to get worse. Worse and worse until it was all she had.

  And she realized, then, just how dangerous hope was. The higher it lifted you, the farther you have to fall. And Lucy was falling.

  She felt an itch behind her eyes, a strange tingling, a tightening, and finally a release. And for the first time in a very long time, a tear escaped. It dripped out, down her cheek and onto the blank page.

  She looked down at the book, blinked twice. Something was happening there now—dark purple words were slowly swirling into view.

  Forget the fear, follow the LOV

  If you can still cry, it’s not too late. . . .

  Lucy gasped. Below the words a purple flower with heart-shaped petals was beginning to bloom, green leaves, and vines unfurled below it. And then a moment later the words began to fade, bit by bit, until they, and the flower, were gone.

  But it would be burned into her brain forever, that flower, because this wasn’t the first time she was seeing it. No. She’d seen it before inked onto skin, lit by fire and moonlight and explosions of sparks.

  Now she just needed to find it again.

  Twenty-Eight

  The next morning, instead of going to school, Lucy rode her bike to the bus station and bought a ticket to Bridgewater. Then she leaned back against the seat and stared out the window, watching the town turn to highway, to trees, to rocks, to hills, to an open field filled with horses, back to trees again, then slowly back to buildings and houses. Two hours after she boarded, the bus stopped at the end of a small town’s main street. WELCOME TO BRIDGEWATER, the sign said. And Lucy got off.

  “You don’t get shows like this in Bridgewater” is what that girl had said. At the time it had just seemed like the kind of random thing you say to a random stranger who you’ll never see again. But now, looking back, Lucy wondered if maybe the girl had been trying to give her a message. Maybe she’d been telling Lucy to come find her. Maybe she had the answers.

  Then again, maybe Lucy was just desperate.

  She started to walk. Quaint was what people might have called this place, or charming. There was a glass-blowing shop to her right and an ice-cream parlor to her left. And what was Lucy looking for exactly? She had no idea. She just hoped she’d know when she found it.

  Lucy passed a used bookstore, a store that sold framed art prints, another that sold organic scented candles, and another filled with fruit-themed baby clothes. She wandered down tiny alleyways and up sets of cobblestone steps. At the top was a pretty little shop with a purple painted awning. LOVELY was written in big white letters, and then below it, SWEET SHOPPE AND CAFÉ. And there was a small sign hanging in the window: TRY OUR HOMEMADE MARSHMALLOWS.

  He uses me for my tickets, I use him for his access to treats. That’s what Phee had said back at the fire.

  In a flash Lucy knew that this was what she’d been looking for.

  The door swung open. A woman carrying a small brown bag held the door as she walked out. A wind chime jingled.

  Lucy stepped inside.

  A dozen or so people sat at tables reading, nibbling snacks, and sipping tea. The shop was filled with purple cushioned chairs set at tiny black wrought-iron tables. Big bold flower paintings hung on the walls. Lucy approached the counter. It was lined with glass cases filled with cookies and sandwiches, and a tower of fluffy white marshmallows.

  “Well, hello there,” said the girl behind the counter. She had a long dark braid that hung over her shoulder. It was thick like a rope. She was a few years older than Lucy. “Can I help you?”

  Lucy looked at the hand-drawn blackboards hung up behind the counter.

  “That’s our list of organic teas,” Braid said.

  Lucy’s eyes scanned the list: Peppermint Snow, Orchard Apple, Violet Bloom . . . And there it was. Next to Violet Bloom was a tiny drawing of a flower with heart-shaped petals, curling leaves, and twisted vines.

  Lucy’s heart was hammering.

  “That symbol, next to the violets up there . . .” Lucy pointed.

  “You like it?” Braid’s lips spread into a smile. “I drew that. Do you want to try the tea? It’s pretty delicious.”

  “No,” Lucy said. “I mean, no thank you.” Lucy looked at the girl. Did she know? Could she possibly? “Do you happen to know a girl with a tattoo like that?”

  Braid tipped her head to the side. “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know. She has a tattoo of that symbol, though. And I think she lives here, in Bridgewater. She might even work in this café.”

  Braid shrugged. “Lots of people live here in Bridgewater, and lots of people work here.”

  “But that flower. Does it mean something? Because I saw it tattooed on a girl’s chest and also in a book. . . .”

  “What, like a tattoo guide?”

  “No,” said Lucy. “Like in something . . .” She stopped and took a breath. “Magic.”

  Braid stared at Lucy like maybe she was crazy.

  “Darlin’, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” She
shook her head and motioned to a tray on the counter. “Would you like a free sample of our chocolate marzipan cake? Now that’s what I call magic.”

  “No thank you,” Lucy said. “I just . . .”

  Lucy was watching Braid’s face, trying to figure out what to say next, and then something happened: Braid’s eyes flicked down to Lucy’s chest and focused on her tattoo. A tattoo she should not have been able to see.

  Lucy looked back up. Their eyes met. The girl reached up to her own chest, as if on instinct. And through the sheer fabric of her floaty white shirt, Lucy saw the outline of a deep purple flower.

  “I’m not one of them anymore,” Lucy said quickly. “Or at least I don’t want to be.”

  “One of who?”

  “The Secret Sisterhood of Heartbreakers,” said Lucy. “That’s why I came here. I’m trying to find my way out. . . .”

  Braid’s expression turned serious. She placed her own hand over her tattoo. “Put your hand on your heart,” Braid said. And Lucy did. Then Braid reached out and took Lucy’s hand. And she stood there for a minute with her eyes closed, just breathing. Lucy felt something shoot up her arm, and then there was a tingling in her chest. Braid opened her eyes and she nodded.

  “Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” the girl said. She smiled. “I’m Clara. Follow me.”

  Twenty-Nine

  They walked for a long time, mostly in silence. And as they did, Lucy realized that if this girl was indeed magic too, then her magic was different from Lucy’s. She watched the way Clara seemed to engage with absolutely everything and everyone around her—she waved at an older couple holding hands, smiled at a father holding a newborn baby, and when a dog ran by and dropped its slobbery rubber toy at her feet, Clara picked it up and threw it hard. She wasn’t separated from this world, she was a part of all of it.

  Finally they reached a white stone house with huge plate-glass windows. The walkway leading up to it was lined with brightly colored enamel pots. Growing out of each was a bunch of violets.

  “Here we are,” Clara said.

  They made their way to the front door. It opened before they knocked. And there was the girl from SoundWave. She was grinning. “Hey, stranger,” she said. “Well, this is a surprise.” But she didn’t look surprised at all.

  “See you later, chickies,” Clara said. She waved to both of them. “I better get back before the locals take off with all the cheese sandwiches.”

  “Bunch of ruffians around here,” said SoundWave girl. And both of them laughed.

  Then she swung the door open and stepped aside. “Come in. I’m Kai, by the way.”

  “I’m—” said Lucy.

  “Lucy.” Kai nodded. “I know.”

  Kai led Lucy into an enormous high-ceilinged living room that connected to an open kitchen. There was a massive sectional sofa in the center of the room on a fluffy white rug facing a glass and white stone fireplace. Above the mantel was a huge painting of a warrior goddess done in reds and browns and golds. Through the windows at the back was a large deck overlooking a garden, a greenhouse, and a little stream.

  There were at least twenty women there, maybe more. They were of all different ages, from around Lucy’s age all the way up to the two women chatting at the kitchen counter, who appeared to be in their seventies or eighties. Some of the women were typing on sleek-looking laptops, two were painting, a few were relaxing with books.

  “Lucy, this is everyone,” Kai said. The girls and women looked up and smiled. They looked friendly and artsy and smart, like they all probably read a lot of books and volunteered at animal shelters and made their own stained glass or ran a literary magazine. “Guys,” said Kai. “This is Lucy. The one I told you about.”

  “You told them about me?”

  Kai nodded. “I thought you might try to find us.”

  “You did?”

  “When we watched the fireworks together, I just . . . had a feeling.”

  “So it wasn’t random coincidence that you were at SoundWave, was it?”

  Kai shook her head. “We knew Beacon Drew was on the HHB’s list.” Lucy’s eyebrows shot up at the mention. Kai smiled at Lucy’s surprise. “The Heartbreakers are a powerful bunch, but we have a few tricks of our own. We knew the concert would be filled with Heartbreakers. And where there are Heartbreakers, there are the heartbroken. And the people who need us tend to find us. I guess this time, that was you.”

  “Who are you?” said Lucy.

  “We’re the League of Violets. But some people just call us the LOVs.”

  “And . . . what are you? Are you connected to the Heartbreakers somehow?”

  Kai shook her head again. “We’re just people who’ve had our hearts broken.”

  “Are you . . .”—it sounded so silly to say—“magic?”

  “Let’s put it this way: We know how to access certain forces that most people do not. But we don’t do it very often. We like life the way it is.”

  “And what do you all do?”

  “We have fun, we make art, we fall in love.” She pointed to the tattoo on her chest. “Our symbol is the violet. Every night they close up, but when morning comes, violets open and point themselves toward the light. Every morning, again and again, no matter how dark the darkness was.”

  “That’s . . .” She wanted to say really beautiful, but the words sounded too stupid in her head, so she was silent.

  “And if we happen to meet someone who needs us to remind them that that choice exists for them too, we do it.”

  Lucy nodded.

  Kai smiled. “So now we’ve told you who we are,” she said. “Who are you?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How about you start at the beginning,” Kai said.

  So Lucy did. “Less than two months ago, I had my heart broken and I thought it was the worst moment of my life.” Lucy looked down. “I was wrong about that.” And she went on. She told them about Alex, about Tristan, about meeting Olivia, about completing their Heartbreaker family. She told them about her parents, about the Breakies and The Book of Love. About not being able to cry at all and then finally crying and seeing that violet blooming there as though her tear had made the flower grow. She told them how very, very badly she knew she wanted her heart back, even though every moment she could feel that less and less.

  When Lucy was done, Kai smiled as though nothing Lucy had said or could say would ever shock her. She motioned to a spot on the couch. Lucy let herself sink into it. Kai walked away, and when she returned a moment later, she was holding a violet silk drawstring satchel.

  “We will try to help you the best we can,” said Kai. “But there’s good news and bad news.”

  From the satchel she removed a piece of carved amethyst. “This is the mold for what is known as a Rebreaking Blade.” She held it out. “It’s hollow, but if a powerful Heartbreaker fills it with brokenhearted tears and pulls up energy from the center of the earth, a blade will form inside it. Then the mold is smashed away, and what’s left is a blade made of tears, pain solidified. It is the only thing strong enough to get through the impenetrable wall of an unbreakable heart.”

  “So what does that mean? How does it work?”

  Kai took a breath. “You have to stab yourself in the heart.”

  “Is it . . .” Lucy knew it was a stupid question as she heard the words come out of her mouth. “Safe?”

  Kai looked down. “No. Not even when it works exactly as it’s supposed to.” When she looked back up, all trace of a smile was gone from her lips. “When it works perfectly, all the feelings you avoided by having an unbreakable heart come back to you and demand to be felt, all at once. That means the heartbreak you were escaping in the first place, and everything else that happened to you in the time your heart wasn’t working, and all the guilt over all the hearts you broke. But it’s not just that. You also have to feel the pain of all the boys who cried the tears that make up your blade. When the blade enters your he
art, you absorb whatever was left of their heartbreaks, and their hearts heal back.”

  “Wow,” said Lucy. “That’s . . .”

  Kai nodded. “The grief drives people crazy sometimes. But that’s only if you get the chance to feel it, which is the very best case. In order for it to work at all, your heart has to be filled with enough love to deflect the blade and keep it from . . .” Kai trailed off.

  “To keep it from what?”

  “If your heart is empty, then the blade will affect it like any regular blade would.” Her voice was only a whisper now. “Which means . . .”

  Lucy looked up. She felt all the blood drain from her face, and a prickle of terror poked through her impenetrable heart. Kai didn’t have to finish because Lucy understood perfectly. Getting an unbreakable heart had ended her life. Getting her old heart back could kill her.

  “It’s why we never just outright offer the blade to Heartbreakers—they have to really want it, they have to come and find us.”

  Lucy’s entire body was tingling. The room was silent. “Okay,” said Lucy slowly. She took a breath. “So then what’s the good news?”

  Kai sucked air in through her teeth. “That was the good news. The bad news is that only an incredibly powerful Heartbreaker can make the blade. How many hearts have you broken?”

  “Two,” Lucy said. “The one I broke to join, and one other.”

  Kai looked for a moment very sad and very sorry. “Then you’re not powerful enough yet.”

  “And you can’t make it for me, I’m guessing,” Lucy said.

  “I wish we could.”

  “So how many do I have to break to make it?” Lucy felt her face grow hot.

  “A hundred.”

  “You’re joking.” Lucy’s words hung in the air. “Even Olivia hasn’t broken that many.”

  But of course, Kai wasn’t joking at all. And there was nothing to say beyond that. Lucy knew she’d never get to a hundred hearts. Even if she had the skill for it, she didn’t have the stomach. All those boys brokenhearted. For what? So she could undo her own terrible mistake?