Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2 (18 page)

"I don't know. I don't remember—"

Henri edged away. "But how could you know who will die next? How could you make this list unless—"

"I'm the murderer? Yeah, thanks, I thought of that."

"But—"

"You're right. I've been blacking out, waking up places I don't remember going. So it could be me..."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not safe—that's why we can't run away. Not until I prove it's Mazol."

We fell silent. My head throbbed. A vision of Henri's face struck me, right after Yesler jabbed me with the needle. 'You're not who you think you are,' Henri said. Or was it, 'you're not as awake as you think you are'? The memory was so faded; I couldn't even be sure it happened.
 

I clutched her hand. "I'm scared Henri."

"I am too." She paused. "What do we do now?"

"We use this clanker to find Pearl. It'll grow stronger the closer we get."

"What about Mazol? I've been gone too long. They'll know we're up to something."

I thought again of her quiet conversation with Mazol in the Caldroen.
 

She'll sell your life for a loaf of bread.

"This is our only chance," I said. "We have to go now."

She nodded. We padded noiselessly down long hallways and stairs. Henri limped through a beam of moonlight. She massaged her back, rubbed her eyes. Some intuition deep inside me screamed, telling me what was wrong, but I was too deaf to hear. I found myself fumbling through the bag of rubrics in my pocket. A fragment of the nightmare with Pearl's gravebox came back to me.
 

Dravus drove his old rickety cart through the castle gates into the jungles. In the cart's bed lay a splintered wooden crate with clumps of mud and dirt clinging to its side.

I stopped. "Did anyone come to the castle today?"
 

Henri turned away from me. "I don't know..."

"What about Dravus?"

She didn't answer. She wouldn't look me in the eyes.
 

"Henri?"

"I said no one came."

She walked on. I hurried to catch up. In the flickering candlelight, I kept an eye on Henri, her sunken face, her pale skin crossed with veins. I stumbled on a stair. The book fell out of my belt. Henri swooped it up.

"Give that here, Henri."

"Is this really it? The letter?"

"It belongs to me." I tried to grab it.

She held it out slowly; its pages flapping open. "Why don't you trust me?"
 

I snapped it from her. As I moved to shove it back in my belt, I caught a glimpse of large letters scrawled across a blank page as it flipped by.

Is someone there?

I found the page, read the words again. "Where's the nearest writing cabinet?"

"I think there's one in that big, blue room." She pointed down the hall.

I limped to it, threw open the door, and tore through the hutch until I found a quill and ink.
 

Henri appeared at the door. "What's going on?"

"Someone is sending a message."

CHAPTER THIRTY

Claire

I stared at the book, willing words to appear. As I waited, I took the quill and ink bottle outside to the balcony that surveyed the courtyard. Music and laughter and the clanking of dishes rang in my ears. I sat on the edge of a wicker chair and read the letters again. Minutes went by and nothing. I'd almost given up, was about to shut the book when it happened. Lit by moonlight, letters formed on the page.

Who are you?

Someone was writing to me—someone with horrible penmanship—but someone was writing to me! I grabbed the quill and spilled the ink. Dipping the pen in the puddle on the floor, I wrote back.
 

 
My name is Claire Amadeus. This book belongs to my father. What's your name?

I waited. A moment later:

Evan Burl.

I slammed the book shut. This can't really be happening. Can it? I opened it, slowly, squinting, afraid I might scare the letters away. New words were waiting.
 

Terillium is my father too. Is it possible, I mean, do you think you're my sister?

My chest thumped as I replied.

I want to help you. I'm trying to stop Papa from hurting you.

Feeling eyes watching, I looked up. All I could see from my chair was the wall Papa built to protect us from the jungle. Invisible ants crawled up my leg. The jungles were growing more dangerous every year, especially at night. I wondered what prowled out there at this very moment. I wondered what was watching me.
 

Something grim moved across the courtyard toward me. I leaned forward. Orbs appeared, two of them. A pair of eyes. They saw me too; I swear they measured me, then blinked and were gone. The shadow faded through a door into our house.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Evan

Thursday

9:42 pm

25 hours, 7 minutes until the falling

We stared at the book. My words hung like an unwanted confession of love.
 

What is the falling?

The wall clock ticked off a full minute—never had sixty ticks taken so long. The sound was soon replaced in my mind with Pearl's heartbeat, growing fainter with each passing second. I stood. "We better keep moving."

Henri nodded.
 

We left the blue room.
 

"You have a sister," Henri said.

I smiled, but only because it seemed like the right thing to do. We arrived at a narrow door. Henri rattled the handle. Locked. Her eyes lit. "Can you break it down?"
 

I wrapped my fingers around the knob.

"I already tried," she said.

I peered inside the lock with my mind, trying to remember the sensation of the unlocked shackles. I heard a tiny click. Pressure from the stored up sapience in my veins released. My migraine all but evaporated. Turning the handle, I pushed the door open. It creaked long.

 
I thought you weren't using sapience?

I forgot—my instincts had taken over.

Keep it up. I'll be running that body of yours by the end of the night.
 

"But I just..." Henri said.
 

I coughed. "Must've been stuck."
 

She stepped through the doorway, glanced over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

I stared at Henri, trying not to imagine Mazol whispering in her ear.
 

Use pain. Make her tell you what she's up to with Mazol.

But I want to hold her, to feel her lips on mine.

You can't stay.
 

I have to get used to the idea of being alone. Of never seeing Henri again. I moved to pass her, but she stopped me, her hand on my chest. Could she feel the pounding? I tried to push past. She moved her hand to my face, forcing me to look in her eyes, so close I could feel her breath.

"We"—I swallowed—"have to go."

She leaned up, so our lips almost touched. "I'm sorry Evan."

I didn't breath. She kissed me on the cheek then took my hand. A moment later, I think my legs began to move, one in front of the other. Walking.

We passed through the next room and the one after that. Henri's hand so small, calloused, soft. Trembling. I wanted to live in that moment forever. But something began to twist inside me. Her hand hardened. Her skin chilled.
 

What's Henri sorry about?

Don't ruin my last few hours with Henri. Please.

What's she doing behind your back?

I searched her face for a clue. She stared straight ahead, her eyes wet at the corners. I tried to remember the kiss, to concentrate on how her skin felt so soft against mine, but I couldn't stop the images of her and Mazol from flooding my mind. Her skin felt rough now. I scanned her again. Her face, frozen; and her tears turned to flaking chrome.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Claire

I burst into my sister's room. Anastasia stood in front of a three-sided mirror, holding up a dress. She glared at me.

"I need to tell you something."

She shoved past me and fell onto a velvet sofa. "Look at me, I'm so fat."

"Ani—"

She yawned. "I think I ate too much."

I twisted the skin under her arm.

"Owww!" Anastasia clutched my hair, forcing me to lean over her.

"I only wanted you to listen."
 

Anastasia shoved me away. "You're a freak."

A thud came from the hallway.
 

"Did you hear that?" I imagined the shadow gliding down the passage, searching for me. Anastasia returned to the mirror, staring at herself this way and that. I joined her, the small book in my hand. "There's something I have to tell you about Papa."
 

Anastasia slipped an orange dress over her head. "Ouuu, it's pretty." She turned to admire the view of her back. The dress shimmered bright orange and red. She took the second dress off the hanger, shoving it at me. "Don't be an ungrateful pig."

"I don't want to wear that stupid thing."

"Put it on now!" Terisma had found her way into the room with us, I could feel her cold breath.
 

"Fine," I said. "Just listen to me."

Anastasia took a brush to her hair.

I wriggled out of my clothes. "I overheard Mother and Papa arguing."
 

"Your dress is brighter than mine, isn't it?"
 

"I found this book, and I've been writing to this boy named—"

"It's not fair; you always get the better gifts."

I whacked her with the book. "Would you shut it!"

Anastasia spun around and sank her nails into my arm.
 

"Stop, please, it's important."

She squeezed harder. I felt a trickle of blood on my arm. Grabbing a wooden hanger from the rack, I raised it above my head.

Anastasia's face turned to ice. "You wouldn't dare." Memories of tortured and twisted animal bodies flashed through my mind. But I didn't lower the hanger. Ani's eyes narrowed. "You think you're not afraid, don't you?"
 

"I'm not."

Anastasia shoved me into the mirror. I toppled over it with a crash, cutting my hands on broken glass.
 

She whispered in my ear. "Let's see if Terisma wants to play." The raven circle of her eyes doubled in size, nearly swallowing the white. Muffled sounds from the party outside seemed to grow in my ears, though the windows were shut tight.
 

"I'm not afraid."

"Liar."

"It's you who's frightened."

"Of a tatter like you?"

"Afraid of what I can do."
 

"Are you gonna wipe boogers on me?"
 

I shoved past her and pulled a piece of glass from my skin. "I can make you hurt. Burn you with fire. If I wanted."

Anastasia rolled her eyes.

The door creaked. My eyes snapped to the sound. It swung slowly open. A figure flashed past in the dark hall. I thought I heard beating wings. I pulled a lamp off the wall and crept closer. Lifting the lantern high, I peered into the passage. The shadow was gone.

Pushing the door shut, I checked that the handle clicked into place, then reached up and locked the bolt just in case. I found the book lying open on the floor and slipped it in the belt of my dress, then turned to Anastasia. "Papa isn't who we think he is—"

"No. I want to see your magic first."

I hesitated. "I can't do it right now. It only works when I really need it."

"Stultus."

"Fine. Stand back." I focused on Anastasia's bed.

"You're not going to burn
me
?"

"Don't want to hear you whine about how Fredrick doesn't want to kiss you anymore."

Anastasia held her nose. "Your breath reeks. Brush your teeth."

"Stand over there." I waved her back. "No. Further." I narrowed my focus so everything beyond the bed's white wooden frame went blurry.

Anastasia laughed. "You look stupid."
 

"Shhh."

"We could be eating candy and pie right now." Anastasia sighed. "Hey, they have the cake out there."

I spread my arms full, paused, then clapped my hands hard. Two tea cups rattled on a shelf beside me and something went bump, like a chest slamming shut. Did my magic make those sounds? Or the shadow?

Hair stood up on my skin as I felt someone's touch, a hand moving slowly up my arm, or a soft breeze. I backed against the window, folded my arms tight, checked the door. Shut. Locked. No... The lock was open. I couldn't think, did I remember to bolt it? Did Ani unlock the door when I wasn't looking?

"Can we go now?" Anastasia said.

I searched the room. "Is someone there?"

"Who are you talking to?"

I shook my head.

Anastasia pointed out the open window. "They're cutting the cake without us."

"Did you open this?"

"You did."

"The window was shut when I came in."

"What does it matter?"

I looked out, searching for the shadow. Papa noticed us. He waved. Then I saw it. Above the stairs, the shadow crept across the balcony. Or did it fly? It seemed to take the shape of wings. A huge crow. It could have passed through Ani's room and crawled out to the ledge through the window. Watching it enter the house again, I grabbed Ani. "Look!"

"What?"

"Something dark, like someone wearing a midnight cloak." I pointed. "Right there."

"Do you ever get tired of making stuff up?"

"I'm not. I swear."

"It was just a servant."

I sniffed. "Do you smell that?"

Ani sucked air through her nose.

"I think something is burning," I said.

"You mean those?" Anastasia pointed at a cluster of candles hanging from the wall below us.

I pushed the window open further, wincing from the cut on my hand. Staring out, I remembered the knife on the desk at the bottom of the stairs, right below where the shadowed had just reentered the house. I didn't touch it. Papa wanted me to take it, to finish off Evan Burl. But I didn't take it. I will never touch that blade, not if it means saving my own life. But the shadow might have found it. And if he used it, if he used it to hurt my Papa, it would be my fault.