Tell the Wind and Fire(3)

The guard’s face—he was an ordinary guy, stubble and tired eyes, a totally normal man just doing his job and burning my life to the ground—closed like a door.

“The guards of the Light don’t take bribes,” he said, and his voice had the definitive sound of a door closing too. He gave a single brief nod, and I felt hands close around my arms.

“No,” I said, desperate. I tried to twist away, out of their hold, even though I knew it was useless: once people begin using force, words will not stop them. “Wait—you have to listen to me! You can’t do this!”

The only thing standing between Ethan and death was me, and I was not enough. Two guards dragged me back, kicking and fighting and saying useless things, a victim’s chant of despair—You can’t do this, when we all knew they could, Stop, when we all knew they wouldn’t, and Please, please, for the Light’s sake, please, when mercy was not an option.

“Lucie!” Ethan’s voice cut through the sounds of my futile struggle. There were guards in my way, and I could not see him. “Lucie, I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“No!” I screamed at him giving up, at the guards, at the whole uncaring world. “No. Stop!”

There was the long, slow scrape of a train-car door opening. I twisted in the guards’ hold at the sound.

It was the car of the buried ones, the citizens of the Dark city, that had opened. Standing framed in the doorway was a doppelganger, his face shrouded by the doppelganger’s dark hood, fastened with the enchanted collar.

He was a boy, I guessed, though it was hard to tell with the hood. He was tall, whipcord lean, and strong-looking, but something about him suggested that he was not full grown. He would be no help, I thought with a burst of frustration—he was a doppelganger, a creature made by Dark magic, with a face that wasn’t his own and no soul. Nobody would listen to him.

I choked on my own hopelessness. The doppelganger was standing slouched to one side of the door, like a not-very-interested spectator.

“The lady’s right,” he said, and his voice was a drawl, as if he wasn’t entirely sure why he was bothering to speak. “You’d better stop.”

“Back inside, doppelganger,” the guard with the sword, the leader, snapped. There was none of the hesitation there had been with me.

The leader nodded again, and one of the guards dropped my arm and advanced.

I saw the guard’s walk turn purposeful and predatory as he came toward the doppelganger and uncoiled a whip from his belt.

“Don’t!” The sound burst from me, without my permission.

At the same time, from the guard, came the order “He said inside, beast.”

I heard the crack and saw the leap of the whip as it woke into light and transcribed a bright circle against the black sky. He struck at the shadow cast by the hood, aiming directly for the hidden face.

The doppelganger wheeled at the last moment, stepped out onto the train platform, and caught the lash on his arm, turning his wrist so the whip wrapped around it. He pulled, changing lightning into a leash, and yanked the stunned guard onto his knees.

Before the guard could scramble up or another guard could intervene, the doppelganger spoke again.

“I heard there was a witness who saw the accused consorting with a member of the sans-merci,” he said. “I just have one question.”

Silence followed, the guards taken aback by his casual air as they had not been by my screaming.

I stopped straining against the remaining guard’s hold and said, forcing my voice to match his, “What is it?”

“This terrible criminal your witness saw . . .”

The doppelganger threw his hood back.

The humming magic light of swords, my rings, and the train itself had transformed the platform into a brilliantly lit stage. The light was bright enough that I could see every detail of his face; it chased along his high cheekbones and the slightly crooked shape of his mouth, lending an icy sparkle to his dark eyes. His brown hair was cut very short, but I knew if it was longer it would curl. I knew the lopsided turn his mouth would take if he smiled. I knew the very line of his throat as it disappeared into the dark folds of his hood and the black edge of his heavy collar. I knew every detail of his beloved face.

Ethan was still on his knees, surrounded by guards. I could not see Ethan, and yet I could.

This was Ethan’s face. This was Ethan’s doppelganger—his exact physical double.

“How do you know,” continued the doppelganger, “that it wasn’t me?”



Another silence followed. We had a second chance, in this uncertain moment, to use words and change the world.

I had to get it right this time.