It’s Jane.
Adorable, sweet, placid little Jane Pattinson.
She must have come to London with her mother.
Her delicate face is shining up at me and I notice there is no terror in her eyes. No fury like I see in nearly everyone else. As always, she looks serene. Contemplative. I don’t have much time. I’m already being tugged forward again but I manage to hold back long enough to crouch down so that I’m at eye level with her.
I wish I could reach out and touch her soft skin, run my fingertips through the fine blond hair that’s curled over the tops of her tiny ears. I wish I could embrace her. I know it would chase every other emotion I’m feeling away. If only for a fleeting moment.
But with my wrists bound in front of me, all I can do is offer her a genuine smile.
She beckons me closer, waving her minuscule hands. I lean forward and she brings her lips to my ear. “I knew you were the princess,” she whispers.
I close my eyes and inhale her sweet scent, trying to commit it to memory. It may very well be the last good memory I have.
By the time she pulls away there are tears leaking from my eyes.
She extends her arm again and this time I see she has her little cloth doll clutched in her hand. “Here,” she tells me. “Take Lulu. She will look after you.”
I shake my head, unable to speak.
But Jane is adamant, thrusting the doll into my shackled hands. “Please,” she begs. “Take her.”
I feel another tug on my wrist, this one much more impatient. The two guards have stalked back in my direction. They’re lifting me to my feet. I wrap my fingers around Lulu’s slender neck to keep her from falling.
Then I’m yanked forward, in the direction of the stone fortress rising in the distance, unable to say thank you, or even goodbye. I trip over my ankle chains, trying to put one foot in front of the other. When I finally regain my balance, I manage a single glimpse behind me. But all I see is the crowd.
14
HELP
Hours pass and no one comes. Night falls and I’m still alone. I’m tormented by the thought of Zen’s death and confused by Diotech’s absence. They should know where I am by now. They should have seen the historical records. I have to be in them. I was tried in the central court of London. Steps away from the king’s palace. It had to be documented.
Did they not recognize my face from the sketch?
Were the descriptions of my superhuman acts not detailed enough?
I find it impossible to believe that they simply stopped looking.
There has to be an explanation. They have to be planning something. They’re not going to let me die. That much I can be certain of.
Although I’m not sure which option I find more reassuring: death or an escape from it.
Either way, I’ll soon be able to forget. And in my mind, that makes them equal.
Somewhere deep inside of me, I feel a small shiver of release. Soon this will all be over. Soon the image of Zen’s face will be permanently erased from my memory.
I lie on the floor of my cell and watch the shadows from the single torch flicker and dance across the musty wall.
At some point during the long night, I start to shiver. And soon after, I feel a pressure against my temples. Like a creature living inside is fighting, begging, scraping to get out.
Then I hear the voice again. This time, I know it’s not just the wind. This time, it’s clear and crisp and urgent. This time, I recognize the source.
It’s coming from inside me.
Like a thought.
No.
Like a memory.
“Find me.”
I still have no idea whose voice it is. Or why it’s coming to me now. I decide to take a chance. I sit up, draw in a deep breath, and speak back. Aloud.
“How?”
I’m not convinced an answer will come. In fact, I’m highly doubtful. I wait in the dark expecting nothing.
But nothing is not what comes.
The pressure in my head builds. My brain feels like it’s going to explode. Like I’m going to faint. The pain is unbearable.
But eventually images flood to the surface. As though they’ve been long buried in the back of my mind—concealed, locked, hidden—and somehow only now I’ve managed to set them free.
And then suddenly I’m no longer in my cell.
I’m standing on a crowded street. People push into me from every direction. A sea of bodies trying to crush me. Drown me. Suck me under.
I fight to move through them. Shoulders bumping mine. Elbows jabbing into my rib cage. My hair is caught and my head lashes back.
Then the noise starts. A faint rolling thunder. A swelling rumble of deep booming sounds.
It gets louder, louder, louder. Faster, faster, faster. Like a parade of gigantic horses galloping through the air. Stomping on the clouds.
Until everything around me is vibrating. Pulsating with sound. Swelling. Heaving. Bursting.