I claw desperately at my clothing, scraping against my knotted kerchief and tight bodice. But my shaking hands slip and fumble. And there are just too many layers. Too much fabric.
I look anxiously back to see the mob storming toward us, shouting curse words, bellowing nonsense about Satan.
“Sera,” Zen prompts in a warning tone.
“I can’t!” I cry. “I can’t get to it.”
“Rip through,” he commands me. “You’re strong enough.”
I do as I’m told, grabbing a fistful of material and yanking as hard as I can. The fabric tears with a popping sound. I dig down the front of my corset, under my shift, grappling for the chain.
I pull until the smooth, black charm is out. Zen reaches for it. Wraps his fingers around it. Slides his nail into the narrow slit that unites the two sides of the heart.
I reach out, push up his sleeve, and grasp his arm, holding on tight. We have to be touching. Skin-to-skin contact. Otherwise, we’ll be separated.
I close my eyes to focus on another time. Another place. Anywhere but here. I feel my body lift from the ground. Floating upward. Tugged into the air.
It’s working! I think with desperate relief.
We’re safe!
But then I feel Zen’s arm being ripped from my hand. The sweat causes our skin to stick together momentarily and then I don’t feel him at all. There’s a hard yank on the back of my neck as the chain of my necklace snaps, leaving behind a strip of searing heat at the base of my skull.
I open my eyes to find that I’m being carried by the three men who led the pack of angry townsfolk. One has his hands under my armpits, the other two have hold of my legs. We are moving swiftly away from Zen and the scene of the crashed wagon. I kick and flail, lifting my head long enough to see Zen finally manage to flick open the locket.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and imagine myself next to him. If I can transesse back to his side, just a few feet away, I can grab on to him and we can leave. Together.
But I don’t move. I stay firmly locked in the strong hold of the three men. Which means it’s not working. My gene has not yet activated.
But the locket is open!
I saw him open it.
There can be only one explanation: I’m too far away. Whatever technology Rio put into that locket must only work within a short distance. Or perhaps it has to be touching me. Which would explain why Rio placed it inside my locket. Something that would always be close by, resting next to my heart.
Zen must have figured out the same thing. At the same time. Because I watch him leap shakily to his feet and run toward me. But his knees give out after a few steps and he plummets to the ground. He rolls onto his side, gasping for air, shaking, attacked by another onslaught of ragged coughs.
“ZEN!” I cry out, thrashing against my captors.
Then I watch in horror as a set of large, grubby fingers pries the locket from Zen’s clenched fist. The man is tall and stocky, wearing an ornate green-and-gold-trimmed doublet, ruffled collar, and a velvet-lined cloak. His rounded middle and the gold chain around his chest mark him as a man of means.
Zen groans and tries to lift his head, tries to reach for the stolen property, but he’s too weak. Whatever sickness is coursing through his veins is too strong. His body starts to convulse.
The thief stalks toward me, clutching the necklace. The broken chain dangles below his fingers. When he reaches me, he shakes it forcefully in my face, bellowing, “Is this how you summon him? How much innocent blood did you have to spill to cast your spell on this!?”
A spray of saliva hits my cheeks.
Desperately, I reach for the locket but he pulls it away too quickly. Then he turns to the gathering throng of people, hoisting it proudly above his head, the eternal knot turned outward for everyone to see. “Look at this symbol! It’s a sign of the devil himself!”
Based on the revered, deferent reaction of the crowd, I infer that this man must be some kind of authority figure. A person of power.
He turns back to me and snaps the locket closed with a decisive click. “Let’s see how fast and strong you are without your black magic!”
He stuffs it into the pocket of his doublet and gestures to the men holding me. “Take her to Newgate Prison. Let the central court decide what becomes of her.”
In an instant I’m being carried away. Farther and farther from my necklace and from Zen, who now lies trembling in the middle of the street.
“No!” I scream, thrashing forcefully. I have to get back to him. I have to get the locket. It’s my escape. Our escape. Without it, I’ll be trapped here forever. Doomed to face whatever fate these outraged people have in store for me.
I hear Zen’s raspy voice scream feebly from somewhere behind me. “Fight, Sera! Don’t let them win! You’re stronger than they are!”