Chapter Twenty-Two

I lead them to the door.

Their whispers of wonder and trepidation bounce off the passageway walls. Smoke walks close behind, his presence a comfort after all that’s happened.

With Ribbon gone, the time for secrets is over. The people of Under now know the truth. About the choices, the curse, the murders. There are some who resent me, resent Ribbon, which I can understand. They were innocent in all this; their deaths should not have been so premature or their afterlives so bleak. Most of them, however, are just…relieved.

To avoid being seen, we wait for night to fall before making the journey. They follow me to the surface willingly when the time comes. A sense of anticipation builds, a pressure on the air that makes my still pulse want to race.

There is one from our party who’s missing. After the confrontation in the graveyard, the citizens of Under went in search of Handkerchief. We soon found his body—or what was left of it—in Ribbon’s room. His last words were etched on the wall above him:

I em sry. I luvd hr.

My thoughts linger on the butcher’s son the rest of the way to the door. Once we emerge into the night, though, I think of nothing but the stars. Jaws drop in shock and disbelief. They’ve existed so long in the darkness, they had begun to believe there was no light anywhere else. One woman puts her arms out and spins, around and around, laughing at the moon. Others join her, looking like children in a game. While they revel in the sensation of fresh air and open space, the rest get to work. The ground is still frozen, so we build fires on top of the graves and wait for them to thaw. It takes hours.

By the time our shovels—conveniently found in the mausoleum—thump against the top of the caskets, another morning is nearly upon us. It would not do to be discovered by anyone living, so I call to those who’ve wandered away. “It’s time,” I say. No one argues.

“Can you imagine the townspeople’s reactions when they find us like this? Graves unearthed and wide open?” says a girl whose name I never learned. She giggles with wicked delight.

“Not to mention the fact that our corpses should’ve been past decomposed by now,” someone adds. Brooch, who is cradled carefully in the crook of Eye Patch’s single arm, hums a happy note.

It strikes me, then, that I got exactly what I wanted. At the start of all this, I longed for more than death. More than a single object and a fatal wound. I wanted to stand in the land above and have a head full of memories.

It’s a strange sensation, contentment. But it also feels right.

While everyone gathers to say their farewells, I drift away. Snow falls gently from the sky, covering everything in a glowing blanket of white. It helps me to find the grave I’m seeking.

Kathleen Talbot. A brittle vine twines around the edge of her headstone. Kneeling, I whisper one last apology to the girl who I once thought of as a sister. She knew such pain and anger. Like me, she made the wrong choice. She turned to magic and revenge instead of hope and love.

Perhaps she is waiting for us, wherever that is. And ready to make peace.

I begin to stand, but a thought that has been lurking in the back of my mind pushes forward. Pausing, I succumb to the urge and lean over, writing words in the snow.

Someone says my name. I lift my head and see Muriel throwing her spoon aside. I wave at her, and she winks and lowers herself out of sight. Next I find Emily, who we used to buy flowers from on the street. She plays with that toy in her final moments. She feels my gaze on her and gives me a shy smile, that one eyeball bobbing with the enthusiasm of her movements. There’s Irene, singing to herself as she straightens the bedding in her casket. Lastly I locate my father. His expression is one of unconcealed, unadulterated relief. So many things end the same way they begin, yes, but there are instances when they are vastly different. Like this. In life I did not know these people. In death, I loved them.

Thinking of love, I turn again. Henry looks at me, and I look at him. Neither of us says a word. The corners of his mouth tip in a bittersweet smile.

“Are you ready?” James asks. I tear my gaze away from Henry. I know that he will find peace with the rest of us.

“Almost.” I step back and survey the message embedded in the snow. My name is Leah. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll last long enough for someone else to see. Someone else to notice and carry back to Caulfield, where a woman called Mary will hear about it. Well, she did say she loves a good story.

Finished, I go to James. We clasp hands and step onto the soft velvet of his resting place. “It’s fortunate that you were buried in a rather large casket,” I murmur.

He kisses my nose in agreement, then asks, “Are you ready for another adventure?”

Fear is suddenly a bitter taste in my mouth. Facing the unknown is always unnerving, no matter how badly we want to see it. “I think so.”

“See you above,” James whispers. And just like that, my anxiety fades. I tuck myself into his side and wait. I know it will be beautiful.

Though I don’t watch it happening, we all sense the moment James cuts his hand and presses his palm to the ground. A sound escapes me, a sort of half gasp as I feel my soul lifting. James’s grip loosens. Everything becomes bright and glowing. I am weightless.

Together, we ascend into the next chapter of our afterlives.

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