Chapter Nineteen

It’s as though my name was a stone in a wall, and now it’s been pulled free, sending all the rest tumbling down. The memories continue to bombard me, swift and relentless, and with each one I become more certain that I don’t want to know the rest.

I curl up in the corner of my bleak room, struggling to manage the onslaught. There are images of spurting blood, a full moon, bared teeth. Voices come out of the darkness, and it becomes impossible to discern what is real and what isn’t. Light flares and fades. Unseen hands brush my skin. I feel myself dancing and curtsying and smiling one moment while weeping and screaming and falling the next.

If anyone in Under tries to reach me, they don’t succeed. I’m lost in the past and can’t find my way back.

Eventually I learn how to grab hold. Tighten my mind around a single event or conversation. At first they’re slippery, like a fish just out of the water, and it takes many failed attempts before I manage to catch one.

I grit my teeth and open my eyes. There. I’ve done it.

My frustration fades as I take in where I am. I’m standing in a street, the lights casting soft shadows over the cobblestones. The moon gleams from its lofty perch.

Suddenly something separates from the darkness. A silhouette. It moves in my direction, going through the patches of light too quickly to see a face. I’m about to scream when I realize that it’s James.

Something in my chest loosens. I run into the street, meeting him halfway, and then we’re in each other’s arms. People will see, reason hisses. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this.

“I’ve missed you,” James whispers between kisses. Eventually, though, he lifts his head to meet my gaze. I make a sound of protest, which coaxes a tender smile from him. It doesn’t stop him from asking, a note of worry in his voice, “Have you made a decision, my dear Miss Campbell?”

Like nearly every other occasion that I venture into the past, I experience the sensation of having no control. Like two souls fighting for one body. There’s no chance to react at the revelation of my last name. “Soon,” I hear myself promise, and my hands clutch his lapels tight. The word yes hovers on my lips as I pull him back to me. James Alistair bends his head to kiss me yet again, a heated claiming that makes it impossible to think. Everything in me reacts like chemicals in a vial. His tongue tastes of something sweet and bitter at the same time, like cloves. Though I respond eagerly, pressing closer, something hovers at the edge of my thoughts. A reason that we shouldn’t be doing this, why it feels wrong…

“Leah?”

The voice comes from behind, drowsy and confused. I recognize it at once. “Kathleen,” I gasp, pushing James away. I spin toward her, making a belated attempt to cover myself with the shawl I brought from my bedroom.

Kathleen shuffles closer. Her bare toes step into the pool of light and the hem of her nightgown flutters. Her face remains hidden. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night? Is there someone with you? I heard…” At that moment James shifts, and my friend trails off at the sight of him. I know she’s staring. Finally noticing my swollen lips and rumpled nightgown and drawing inevitable conclusions.

Then her whisper emerges from the darkness, as powerful as her father’s fist. “How could you?”

“Kathleen, I…” There’s nothing I could say that would remove the pain and fury from her voice. I swallow.

She runs, her feet slapping against the ground. The front door to the house opens and slams, echoing into the night. With that sound, I feel her closing herself against me. Putting an end to everything I hold dear. Friendship, family, home.

What have I done?

James touches my elbow. He doesn’t attempt to comfort me, for which I’m grateful. When minutes go by and still I say nothing, he murmurs, “Leah?”

“Purchase the tickets,” I say, feeling as though the stars are crashing down around me. But my pain isn’t fair to him, not in this moment. Trying to muster some joy, I stand on tiptoe and brush a gentle kiss across his lips. “I’ll meet you tomorrow night, as soon as the sun goes down. Can you arrange a coach?”

“Does this mean…the answer is yes?”

I smile at his expression. “Yes, James Alistair. We’re going to be married.”

Then, giving him no opportunity to speak or see the sadness in my eyes, I adjust my shawl and walk away. Every step I take makes the details of the street dissolve. The houses become dirt. The light transforms to flame. The stars fade into nothing. The nightgown changes to a frayed gown. By the time I completely return to myself, to Under, two truths are devastatingly clear. Things I have fought to learn and know.

Are you certain dis is a parf you wan’ ter go down? Shilling once asked me. As if she knew.

My name was Leah Campbell. And I betrayed everyone I ever loved.

I can feel yet another memory coming; for a moment or two I’m aware of being on the ground in Under, holding my head, and moaning from the onslaught of nausea. Soon—but not soon enough—I open my eyes and find that I’m in a familiar hallway. The attic door is to my right, and I’m about to reach for the knob when a song drifts to my ears. I halt in disbelief. Turning, I spot a girl at the far end. She doesn’t look at me, but I still recognize her dark hair and solid build. My mouth goes dry.

Shilling.

“Miss Kathleen went upstairs, miss,” she says, rubbing vigorously at a table.

So Shilling was our housemaid. Feeling numb, I open the door and climb into the attic. This time I remember to avoid the low ceiling. There’s a candle burning on top of a trunk. It’s nearly gone, and melted wax drops to the floor. A strangled sound disturbs the quiet and all thoughts of Shilling evaporate. Searching the room, dread roils like acid in my stomach as I creep through the length of the attic.

The sound reaches my ears again. A sob. The same instant I realize this, I find her.

Kathleen sits in the farthest corner of the room, hidden by a crate. All I can see of her is a knee. “What are you doing?” I ask, rounding the corner.

Twitching in surprise, the girl hunches her shoulders and twists away from my gaze, making me wish I’d brought the candle. There’s a thump as she hurriedly closes the book. “Nothing,” she mutters.

“We promised we would only come up here with each other.” I say it cautiously, as though she is one of the caged beasts we saw at the circus once.

Kathleen twists back around, her body curled over the book as though I’m trying to take it from her. “I’m the one who found it!” she snarls, teeth glinting in the dimness. “You wouldn’t even know about magic if it weren’t for me.”

I shrink back. Kathleen is silent now, her breathing swift and labored. Then her hand stretches toward me. The book falls to the floor. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Please, don’t be afraid of me. I couldn’t bear it.”

Despite the severity of the situation, all I can think is that I haven’t betrayed her yet. The evidence is in her fingers, which are still reaching for mine. In this moment, we are still sisters. She has not yet discovered the darkness in my heart or witnessed our bond shrivel into nothing.

Relieved, I grab hold and strain to see her face. Even without it, though, her shame is so tangible and my own fear so overwhelming that I’m able to guess the cause of it all. It’s as if the truth has been waiting on the tip of my tongue.

“You were looking at a curse, Kathleen,” I whisper, tightening my grip. There can be no doubt as to who she means to perform it on. Kathleen may despise her father, but he isn’t the one who shattered her hopes.

She doesn’t try to deny my words. “Last night I went to Mr. Alistair, at the boardinghouse, to tell him what was in my heart. And he denied me.”

Desperation edges in, dampening the underarms of my nightgown and leaking into my voice. Whatever happened to cause Under’s curse, it began in this attic. With Kathleen and me. It’s impossible to change the past, but I still try. “Don’t do this. Using the magic this way isn’t right.”

“Isn’t right?” she echoes, pulling away. Bereft, I reach into the air. It seems colder than it was a few moments ago. “How can you say that, after everything you’ve seen? After how much pain he’s caused?”

“Oh, Kathleen…” My voice breaks at the end. It’s evident we are no longer talking solely about the American.

But she shakes herself and continues. “James Alistair deserves to know how it feels. And, fine, you may be right in that this isn’t just about him; I’m doing it to protect us. Once I’ve learned how, I can do the same spell on Father.”

“We’ll find another means to hurt him, then!” I insist. She doesn’t answer, and my urgency grows until it is a vine that chokes. I dare to crawl closer. She doesn’t move. Horror makes it difficult to speak, and my voice is hoarse as I beg, “Promise me, Kathleen. If our friendship means anything to you, if you trust me at all, make this promise. No curses. We will look for a different way to protect ourselves. Another method to take vengeance.”

She hesitates. I stare at her in a wordless plea, and I know she’s been silent too long. “I promise,” she says finally. But it’s weak. She’s lying.

Still, resolve hardens in my stomach. I can fix this. Change it. There’s still time—

“Key! Snap out of it, girl!”

The attic is shaking. A voice drifts through the walls, calling out a name that sounds vaguely familiar. Frowning, I stand and turn away from Kathleen. The knickknacks and crates quiver. What’s happening?

“Who’s there?” I call. Everything goes still for an instant after I’ve spoken, and then the voice booms again. The ceiling quakes and the floor trembles. My vision darkens. No! I need to stop Kathleen! Fighting the strange pull, my back presses against something hard. There’s a hum in my ears. The world I know disintegrates.

Terrified, I close my eyes, and when I open them again, a haggard face peers down at me. It takes me several seconds to identify the man. Sense returns, sluggishly making its way through the swamp I’ve been drowning in.

“Tintype? What are you doing here?”

The soldier yanks me to my feet and grips my shoulders again. Were I alive, his fingers would leave bruises. “You’ve got to run, child,” he whispers urgently. His breath is fetid. “Someone has them believing you’re the one behind all this. They have moved past speculation. If you’re found, you will be burned. You must leave Under and never come back.”

I am slow to respond. My mind is still partially in that attic, making a futile attempt to save all our lives. Tintype makes an impatient sound. His words finally register and a new kind of fear travels down my spine. Who could have convinced everyone of my guilt? And for what purpose?

You know, the beetle hisses.

Confirming this, Kathleen’s voice slices through the cloud of terror. How could you?

Whoever she is, my adoptive sister must know that I’m close to the truth. Swallowing, I meet Tintype’s gaze. He’s right. If I don’t want to burn, I must run to the safety of the tunnel. “But what about the curse?” I ask faintly. “You—”

“Hang the curse. Go, Leah.”

The sound of my name on his lips is startling. Tintype gives me a rough shove. There’s so much more to say, but now a different sound echoes through the earth. Shouts. There’s fury and hunger in their voices, all of it directed at me.

They’re coming.

Without another word to Tintype, I flee. Through the tunnels and the dark, aiming for the safety of the door. The torches cackle with amusement. The doorways watch with detachment. My skirt keeps getting in the way and I pause to gather it up. Suddenly there’s movement up ahead. They hold dozens of lights aloft, revealing their rotting skin and hollow eyes. I bolt in the other direction, but they spot me before I can disappear.

“There she is!”

“Catch her!”

“Don’t let her escape!”

The thunder of pursuit surrounds me. Overcome with terror, I sob and slip in the dirt. I manage to push myself back up by thinking of the door—I just need to get to it and then I’ll be safe.

A leg appears in my path. Before I can check myself, I collide into it and go sprawling. My skirt and petticoats prevent me from jumping up again. A shadow falls over me, and I look up. “Please,” I croak.

As an answer, the man places his boot atop my hand and puts all his weight on it. One of the fingers crunches, making it permanently useless. I scream more from shock than pain. The man shifts into the light, and I see it’s Eye Patch sneering down. Then the others are here, surrounding me, grabbing what they can reach and moving toward the square. I babble at them wildly, declaring my innocence. No one listens.

The sleeve of my dress tears until it’s hanging from the bodice by just a few threads. We burst into the clearing, and I scan the crowd. Ribbon is nowhere in sight, and I know she’s probably out looking for me. If my friend were here, none of this would be happening. Where is she? As the bloodthirsty crowd leads me to the front, I silently implore her to hurry.

Using a rope that must be from Henry’s collection, they tie me to a thick root jammed into the ground. One tug reveals that the knot is firm. Eye Patch and his followers leave me there. It takes them quite some time, but they manage to find enough kindling to surround me. It would be easier to just put a torch to my dress, but perhaps they see something more humane in this.

The square fills until nearly everyone in Under is present to watch the spectacle. Straining my neck, I spot a familiar face in the throng. “Shilling, please believe me,” I beseech, raising my voice to be heard over the chaos. “I couldn’t have killed anyone!”

But she averts her eyes, shamefaced. There will be no saviors this time. Losing any last shred of hope, I squeeze my eyes shut and wait.

“Open your eyes, wench!” Eye Patch materializes, a torch in his beefy fist. Perhaps he expects me to beg again. Refusing to give him the satisfaction, I clench my jaw. Eye Patch grins and swings to face the others. “This is for Splinter, Fiddle, Freckles, and Pocket Watch,” he roars.

They scream their support and approval. Triumphant, he lowers the flame. The pile is so dry that it ignites instantly, hissing and spitting. I imagine I can feel the heat. Cheering climbs higher than the smoke. I wish I were dying to a better sound. Not Shilling’s song, or the stomp of dancing feet, or the hush of snowflakes falling from the sky, though each is striking. Instead, I imagine Smoke’s voice, telling me I’m beautiful. Asking me to marry him.

“Key!”

This voice is not part of the illusion, and my eyes snap open. It feels as though my heart quickens at the sight of Smoke and Journal pushing through the horde even as I realize it’s too late. They realize it, too, because Journal looks as though he’s been punched in the gut and Smoke is arguing with Eye Patch in agonized bursts.

I want the last thing I see in this world to be Smoke, his face, but another memory is creeping over everything. As the blaze consumes me, I close my eyes…and remember.