Illusions of Fate
Page 51
“You didn’t need the book,” I whisper.
“I did need the book. But not to fix Eleanor. Would you like a ride in my motor to her home?” He smiles, and again I see a hint of what is underneath his strange face that doesn’t move quite like it should as he talks.
“She would not.” Finn stands behind Lord Downpike, his cane gripped tightly.
Lord Downpike doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “His now,” he whispers. “Bought and paid for. You aren’t nearly as interesting as I’d hoped, little rabbit. Until we meet again.” He nods, tipping his hat at me, then walks past Finn without so much as acknowledging him.
Finn rushes up the steps and pulls me back inside, closing the door. “I should have known it was a trick to get me away from the house. When I got to the palace and they had no record of sending for me, I . . . but you didn’t leave. He couldn’t take you, not across the threshold.”
“Sir Bird.” I break into sobs. Finn takes me into his arms and I let him, resting my face on his shoulder, his hands rubbing gentle circles on my back.
“Why did you give him the book?”
“Eleanor. Eleanor! We have to get to her. He cursed her, she’s dying. She needs two scoops of sugar from the silver tea service.”
“It’s not safe for you, not now that we have nothing physical to threaten him with. Stay here. I’ll take care of her and be back as soon as possible.”
I nod into his shoulder, wanting him to stay and hold me. Then I pull away and wrap my arms around myself. “Go.”
He opens the door and runs out. I watch him disappear into the trees as he cuts straight through on the most direct route to Sir Rupert’s house. In the tops of the trees, a dozen yellow eyes stare at me from soulless black faces.
Twenty-eight
I WALK ACROSS THE SMOOTH BLACK SAND OF Melei’s northernmost beach, a day’s journey from my village. The breeze off the ocean whips my hair to the side, and I have to keep pulling it away from my eyes. A slight chill cuts through the humid summer air. I ought to be perfectly content but something is off.
I look around for Mama but she isn’t with me. I’m never at this beach alone. We come for summer holiday, Mama and I and Nani and even sometimes Henry and his family. But as far as I can see, there’s no one here.
The wind cuts colder, and I rub my hands over my bare arms. The filmy skirts of the red dress are trailing out away from me on the wind, reminding me of the scarlet ribbon spelling out LOVERS on the card I drew from Finn.
Why am I in the red dress? I don’t want to be in this dress, I hate this dress. I threw it away. I turn around to hurry back the way I came, but the beach stretches on infinitely. I look down and see Sir Bird’s lifeless body on the sand. “No,” I whisper, but when I reach to pick him up he disappears.
A nameless fear surrounds me, chokes me, and I turn to run back when I notice something ahead of me. I walk toward it, my terror growing, but I must go that direction. There are no other options.
On the beach is a table, rich dark wood, laid with a familiar tea service.
I try to run the other way but the table is behind me now, and this time Lord Downpike sits at it, wearing a suit and top hat, black feathered wings tucked behind him. “Do sit down,” he says, giving me his sharp smile.
I sit across from him.
This isn’t real, it can’t be real, but I can taste the salt air and feel the stomach-turning terror as I smell the tea.
“It’s not real,” I whisper.
“Of course not.” He says it with a condescending laugh and the wind dies, leaving us in a vacuum on the soundless, motionless dead beach. The smell of the tea is overwhelming and I put my hand to my nose to try and block it.
“Oh,” I cry out. My hand is a mess of broken, splintered bones and ghastly bruises. “No. No, Finn fixed it.”
Lord Downpike pours the tea, stirring in scoop after scoop of sugar. “But you still remember the pain. He couldn’t take that away, could he? He couldn’t make you forget what you’ve already been through. Put your hand on the table.”
I stare at my hand, fingers splayed out, unmoving on the tabletop. “Wake up, Jessamin. Wake up, wake up.”
“Not until I say so. Tell me, are you enjoying your time with your dashing Alben lord? Is he taking good care of you? You make a lovely pet.”
My brain screams at my hand to move, but it doesn’t. It should hurt, the state it’s in. “I can’t feel my fingers.”
“I can change that. What is Finn doing? Has he shown you any magic? Told you about his mother?” Lord Downpike picks up a hammer, idly waving it from side to side as though testing the balance.
I seal my lips shut. I will not engage this dream. I will not. I’m fine, I’m asleep, I know I am, I know I am.
Lord Downpike sighs. “Very well, then. Your mind already knows exactly what this will feel like. I don’t have to do a thing.” He brings the hammer down on my hand, and I scream.
“Jessamin!” Finn says. He’s not on the beach. Where is he? I’m screaming, screaming, my hand—the pain is too much, I cannot—“Jessamin, wake up.”
I sit up, gasping, my hair tangled around my face. “My hand!” I clutch it to my chest, stare at it in the dim candlelight. Nothing but the black glove, the cold tingling sensation overlaying the sharp, bright aftertaste of pain still lingering.
“That’s the third time tonight.” Eleanor leans against my doorway in her white nightdress. Her hair is in a long braid down her shoulder, and she looks exhausted.
“I did need the book. But not to fix Eleanor. Would you like a ride in my motor to her home?” He smiles, and again I see a hint of what is underneath his strange face that doesn’t move quite like it should as he talks.
“She would not.” Finn stands behind Lord Downpike, his cane gripped tightly.
Lord Downpike doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “His now,” he whispers. “Bought and paid for. You aren’t nearly as interesting as I’d hoped, little rabbit. Until we meet again.” He nods, tipping his hat at me, then walks past Finn without so much as acknowledging him.
Finn rushes up the steps and pulls me back inside, closing the door. “I should have known it was a trick to get me away from the house. When I got to the palace and they had no record of sending for me, I . . . but you didn’t leave. He couldn’t take you, not across the threshold.”
“Sir Bird.” I break into sobs. Finn takes me into his arms and I let him, resting my face on his shoulder, his hands rubbing gentle circles on my back.
“Why did you give him the book?”
“Eleanor. Eleanor! We have to get to her. He cursed her, she’s dying. She needs two scoops of sugar from the silver tea service.”
“It’s not safe for you, not now that we have nothing physical to threaten him with. Stay here. I’ll take care of her and be back as soon as possible.”
I nod into his shoulder, wanting him to stay and hold me. Then I pull away and wrap my arms around myself. “Go.”
He opens the door and runs out. I watch him disappear into the trees as he cuts straight through on the most direct route to Sir Rupert’s house. In the tops of the trees, a dozen yellow eyes stare at me from soulless black faces.
Twenty-eight
I WALK ACROSS THE SMOOTH BLACK SAND OF Melei’s northernmost beach, a day’s journey from my village. The breeze off the ocean whips my hair to the side, and I have to keep pulling it away from my eyes. A slight chill cuts through the humid summer air. I ought to be perfectly content but something is off.
I look around for Mama but she isn’t with me. I’m never at this beach alone. We come for summer holiday, Mama and I and Nani and even sometimes Henry and his family. But as far as I can see, there’s no one here.
The wind cuts colder, and I rub my hands over my bare arms. The filmy skirts of the red dress are trailing out away from me on the wind, reminding me of the scarlet ribbon spelling out LOVERS on the card I drew from Finn.
Why am I in the red dress? I don’t want to be in this dress, I hate this dress. I threw it away. I turn around to hurry back the way I came, but the beach stretches on infinitely. I look down and see Sir Bird’s lifeless body on the sand. “No,” I whisper, but when I reach to pick him up he disappears.
A nameless fear surrounds me, chokes me, and I turn to run back when I notice something ahead of me. I walk toward it, my terror growing, but I must go that direction. There are no other options.
On the beach is a table, rich dark wood, laid with a familiar tea service.
I try to run the other way but the table is behind me now, and this time Lord Downpike sits at it, wearing a suit and top hat, black feathered wings tucked behind him. “Do sit down,” he says, giving me his sharp smile.
I sit across from him.
This isn’t real, it can’t be real, but I can taste the salt air and feel the stomach-turning terror as I smell the tea.
“It’s not real,” I whisper.
“Of course not.” He says it with a condescending laugh and the wind dies, leaving us in a vacuum on the soundless, motionless dead beach. The smell of the tea is overwhelming and I put my hand to my nose to try and block it.
“Oh,” I cry out. My hand is a mess of broken, splintered bones and ghastly bruises. “No. No, Finn fixed it.”
Lord Downpike pours the tea, stirring in scoop after scoop of sugar. “But you still remember the pain. He couldn’t take that away, could he? He couldn’t make you forget what you’ve already been through. Put your hand on the table.”
I stare at my hand, fingers splayed out, unmoving on the tabletop. “Wake up, Jessamin. Wake up, wake up.”
“Not until I say so. Tell me, are you enjoying your time with your dashing Alben lord? Is he taking good care of you? You make a lovely pet.”
My brain screams at my hand to move, but it doesn’t. It should hurt, the state it’s in. “I can’t feel my fingers.”
“I can change that. What is Finn doing? Has he shown you any magic? Told you about his mother?” Lord Downpike picks up a hammer, idly waving it from side to side as though testing the balance.
I seal my lips shut. I will not engage this dream. I will not. I’m fine, I’m asleep, I know I am, I know I am.
Lord Downpike sighs. “Very well, then. Your mind already knows exactly what this will feel like. I don’t have to do a thing.” He brings the hammer down on my hand, and I scream.
“Jessamin!” Finn says. He’s not on the beach. Where is he? I’m screaming, screaming, my hand—the pain is too much, I cannot—“Jessamin, wake up.”
I sit up, gasping, my hair tangled around my face. “My hand!” I clutch it to my chest, stare at it in the dim candlelight. Nothing but the black glove, the cold tingling sensation overlaying the sharp, bright aftertaste of pain still lingering.
“That’s the third time tonight.” Eleanor leans against my doorway in her white nightdress. Her hair is in a long braid down her shoulder, and she looks exhausted.
