Fifteen

Eleanor woke up in her bed, and for one blissful moment she didn’t remember how she got there. Then she rolled over and spotted the eclipse outside the window. She groaned and sat up. How long had she been asleep? She and the others had sat up for a long time, talking to Bartimaeus and the hedgewitch about ways to fix time. At some point Eleanor had started drifting off, and Ben had insisted everyone under the age of a hundred go get some sleep.

Eleanor slipped out of bed. Thea was asleep in the armchair by her desk, a blanket tucked over her. Pip and Otto were passed out on the floor in sleeping bags. There were plenty of rooms in the house, but none of them had wanted to sleep alone. Eleanor stole out into the hall, not wanting to wake them, and crept downstairs. Her stomach was rumbling. She didn’t really like the idea of eating Mr. January’s weird groceries, but if the alternative was starving, she’d give them a try.

She found the hedgewitch in the kitchen, clearing away the trash and putting away the dishes. “Is housework part of your Story?” Eleanor asked dryly as she padded in.

The hedgewitch gave her an amused look. “No, but orderliness is always helpful for my work. You don’t want to add the wrong herb and end up with a poison instead of a love potion.”

“Good point,” Eleanor said. She moved to help, putting the dishes away in the dusty cupboards. They worked in silence for a few minutes.

“You and your friends are extremely resourceful,” the hedgewitch said. “And wise beyond your years, and brave, and clever. All the things we ought to be.” Her voice sounded distant. There was almost, Eleanor thought, a hint of sadness in it.

“You mean the things the Stories are supposed to be, right?” Eleanor asked, turning a mug by its handle until it was arranged in just the right way. The way Aunt Jenny liked it, she thought with a small pang.

“It seems cruel, that I have come into myself fully only at the very end of my time as the hedgewitch,” the witch said. She stood looking out the kitchen window, but her eyes were unfocused. “It’s a wonder to be the hedgewitch. There’s all this knowledge, just there when you reach for it. But it’s not in your head. It doesn’t belong to you, not until you reach out and take it. If I’d known the end was coming, I would have claimed so much more.”

“Would have?” Eleanor asked. She didn’t really need to ask. She knew what the hedgewitch was saying, and what it meant. “You aren’t the hedgewitch anymore. It’s Otto now, isn’t it?” she asked.

The hedgewitch—or whoever she was, now—nodded. “It happened in the dungeon, when Melia stole my curiosity. You cannot be the hedgewitch without curiosity.”

Eleanor sucked in a breath and looked away. Otto was going to begin to lose his memory. He was going to start to change. But worse than that, for all that she’d stopped seeing her mother in the hedgewitch’s face, there had been some tiny part of her that still stubbornly believed that when she stopped being the hedgewitch, she would go back to just being Mom.

The woman standing in front of her was still a stranger. Her memories wouldn’t be coming back. She would never be Eleanor’s mother again.

“What are we supposed to call you, then?” Eleanor asked, voice harsh and unkind. “You really should have come up with a proper name.”

“You could call me Claire, I suppose,” she said, shrugging.

“No,” Eleanor said, more firmly than she’d intended. The hedgewitch raised an eyebrow.

“That’s fair. Something else, then.” She sighed. “It isn’t my fault, you know. What happened to your mother.”

“It’s the Story’s fault, and you’re the Story,” Eleanor replied stubbornly.

“The Story is the thing that changes us and makes us, but we’re merely one telling of it.”

Eleanor didn’t reply. It didn’t matter whether the hedgewitch meant to take her mother away. All that mattered was that her mother was gone, and there was a hole in Eleanor’s heart where she had been. She was going to lose them all. Her mother. Pip. Otto. And then she was going to lose even the memory of them, and that seemed like the most horrible thing of all.

The hedgewitch frowned, looking out into the orchard. “We have a visitor,” she said.

“A visitor?” Eleanor peered past the hedgewitch’s shoulder, and then she laughed. “This should be interesting,” she said. She walked to the back door and opened it for their guest, who trotted in without so much as a hello and leaped up onto the kitchen counter.

“I thought those humans in town had all lost their kibbles, but here you are in the flesh,” said the cat-of-ashes, magnificent tail swishing. “How did you manage that?”

“Ever hear of the Wending?” Eleanor asked.

The cat-of-ashes narrowed her eyes. “Pah. You’re the ones that messed with time, then. I wouldn’t have thought you—what is that?” She leaped to her feet so fast a cutting board went spinning off the counter and crashed to the floor. Her tail poofed into a bottlebrush.

The kitten-of-ashes stiff-legged into the kitchen. She arched her back and laid her ears flat against her skull, hissing and spitting sparks. Eleanor scooped up the furious kitten, shushing her with scratches behind the ears. The little feline hunkered into her arms and growled.

“She’s the kitten-of-ashes,” Eleanor said meekly. The cats looked at each other in unconcealed horror.

“It’s me. But it’s small. And weak and stupid,” the cat-of-ashes said in a complaining tone. “Why would you bring that thing in here?”

“We helped the kitten-of-ashes and Thea escape the Pallid Kingdom,” Eleanor said.

“Thea,” the cat-of-ashes repeated. Her pupils had expanded to swallow her bright green irises, and she stretched her claws out almost nervously. “You stole a baby monster from the nest? You’re bigger fools than I thought.”

“Old,” the kitten-of-ashes squeaked.

“I—I am not—how dare—” The cat-of-ashes stammered to a halt and began furiously grooming herself. Her voice came out garbled between fierce licks, muttering as if talking to herself. “Whiskerless fools. Meddling with things they shouldn’t. What were they thinking?”

“Thea hated it there,” Eleanor said. The kitten-of-ashes clambered its way up onto her shoulder, hunkering down under her hair and glowering at the older cat. “She’s sleeping upstairs. I don’t know what happens to her after we leave the Wending, but for now, she’s with us.” She said this with a hard look at the hedgewitch.

The hedgewitch crossed her arms. “I’m in agreement with the cat. It is an unnecessary risk to have her with us, and a missed opportunity. She’ll turn on us eventually.”

“I don’t think she will,” Eleanor objected. “She’s just a little girl. If we take care of her, she’ll have a chance to be good.”

“You’re the one who is going to suffer the most if you are wrong,” the hedgewitch said. “The People Who Look Away don’t need me, they need you.”

“Then why do you even care?” Eleanor demanded. “You don’t remember me. You don’t care about me at all.”

“I’m not entirely unfeeling. I don’t want something bad to happen to you, Elle, and—” She stopped. Eleanor stared at her. Elle. Her mother had called her that. The hedgewitch tensed.

“Well, this is very dramatic,” the cat-of-ashes said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I suppose it explains where Katie got to, at least. And good riddance. Apart from the bit where it destroyed reality itself, it was a genius move.”

“Wait,” Eleanor said slowly. “If taking Thea made Katie disappear, how are you and the kitten-of-ashes both here?”

The cat and kitten wore identical smug expressions. “I’m a cat. I don’t play by the rules,” the cat-of-ashes drawled. She stretched. “Oh, I nearly forgot—the January Society is on its way.”

“On their way here? Now?” Eleanor yelped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was a bit distracted by figuring out how you had all gotten here. And then that showed up. How’s a feline supposed to focus under these circumstances?” the cat-of-ashes demanded, flicking an irritated ear in the kitten’s direction.

Eleanor swore under her breath and dashed toward the Great Room, scooping up the kitten-of-ashes on her way. Bartimaeus and Ben were in there, midway through a game of Catan.

“Longest road! Hand it over!” Ben declared, putting out his hand.

“The January Society is coming!” Eleanor interrupted. “We have to hide. Where’s the key to the secret room?”

Bartimaeus looked over his glasses at her. “Have you not been paying attention? There is no secret room. All my between-world spaces collapsed.”

“What’s going on?” Pip asked sleepily, stepping into the room wearing Eleanor’s pink flannel unicorn pajamas, Gloaming belted around her hips. Otto and Thea trailed after, looking mildly more awake.

“The January Society is coming,” Eleanor said.

Just then, someone hammered on the door. “Should we hide?” Otto asked.

“They already know we’re here. Better to face them unafraid,” Pip said. The knocking came again.

“I’ll get it,” Ben said grimly, and strode toward the foyer. There was the sound of voices speaking quickly, Ben’s tone one of protest, and then Delilah Foster walked into the Great Room. Ben trailed behind.

Eleanor hadn’t seen Ms. Foster up close since Halloween, but she hadn’t changed at all, from her immaculately tailored navy suit to the bright red nail polish she wore to the way she moved when she walked, like she was hunting something.

Of all the people to pop back into existence, did it have to be Delilah Foster?

Eleanor reached instinctively for Pip’s hand, but Pip was looking at her mother with wariness, not distress, her hand on Gloaming’s hilt.

Ms. Foster’s eyes widened when she entered, and her perfect poise wobbled for a moment. “My goodness. It is true,” she said, soft as the slithering of a snake. “All three of you. And is that—Claire Barton?” She stared at the hedgewitch with unconcealed shock and distaste.

“You are not welcome here,” Bartimaeus rumbled. He looked thin and frail, standing before Delilah Foster with her bright colors and youthful face.

“Pip. Darling. It is so wonderful to see you,” Delilah said, her smile wide and unconvincing. She held out her arms as if for Pip to rush into them.

“You’re . . . my mother,” Pip said. There was a small, puzzled line between her brows.

“Of course I am, Philippa my dear,” Delilah said. Her lipstick was the color of a bruise, and it made her teeth look impossibly white in contrast. “And I’m delighted to find you returned. Delighted and—well, a bit confused. Perhaps you could explain it to me, Bartimaeus.”

“I need not explain anything to you,” Bartimaeus said. “Leave my house and leave me in peace.”

“Defying Mr. January has serious consequences,” Delilah said warningly.

He laughed. “What consequences would those be, Delilah? I was one of the original signatories to the deal. I enjoy all the same protections as Eden Eld itself.”

“Not for long,” she snapped, her voice bitter. “Without your little hidey-holes, time is going to catch up to you. No more keeping yourself alive. You’re going to get old and weak.”

“At this point, that will be an invigorating change of pace,” Bartimaeus said, unperturbed. Eleanor smirked. She didn’t exactly like Bartimaeus. He’d done the absolute bare minimum to help them, instead of actually putting himself in any risk to right the wrongs he’d helped cause. But she did enjoy seeing Ms. Foster flustered, as she looked between all of them.

The hedgewitch’s hand fell to Eleanor’s shoulder, almost possessively. Eleanor stiffened at the touch.

“Delilah. Things have changed since we last met, and you will find that I am not so easy to chase off,” the hedgewitch said, her voice low and dangerous. “Claire Barton is gone. I am the hedgewitch, and these children are under my protection. When last we met, you nearly got burned. I promise you the fire will not be so easy to escape again.”

Ms. Foster flinched, and Eleanor’s breath caught. She was talking about the day their house burned down. The day that Eleanor’s mother disappeared.

“Do you remember what happened on Halloween?” Eleanor asked. “Do you remember how we beat you, or did you get plucked from an earlier time? Do you want us to show you?”

Ms. Foster’s lips thinned. “I have no idea how you three managed to wriggle out of the curse, but I promise you I won’t let you do it again. I’ve been given a second chance,” she said.

Eleanor peered at her. “Mr. January doesn’t know you’re here talking to us, does he?” Eleanor asked. Delilah’s gaze snapped to her. “You wanted to find out what was going on before you told him. Because if we’re here, maybe that means you messed up. And Mr. January wouldn’t like that.”

The hedgewitch looked down at Eleanor approvingly.

“An astute observation,” Bartimaeus said. He folded his arms. “Your master may have power, Delilah, but you do not. I have over a century of knowledge. The hedgewitch is practically magic incarnate. And if nothing else, Ben can sit on you to keep you from running off for help. So I suggest you run off with your tail between your legs, and find someone with actual power to intimidate us with.”

Ms. Foster’s eyes narrowed. Eleanor could see the calculation running behind her eyes. Finally her brilliant smile returned. “I only wanted to drop by and say hello. I’ll be sure to give Mr. January your regards. I’m certain he’ll want to speak with you. Soon,” she said.

She turned on her heel and strode back out of the house, shoes clicking on the hardwood floors. The sound of the door slamming was followed quickly by an engine starting up.

“She’s gone,” Ben reported, checking the hall. He shot finger-guns at them. “You were all very impressive.”

“That woman just now,” Pip said slowly. She was looking out toward the hallway, her eyes not quite focused on anything. “That . . . that was my mom, right?”

“Of course it was,” Otto said. “Red hair, killer fashion sense, super evil. She’s pretty distinctive.” He gave a nervous chuckle.

Pip was frowning. “Right. She was in the January Society, so she was there when they tried to give us to Mr. January?”

“Yes,” Eleanor said slowly.

“I think I remember that,” Pip said. Her brow furrowed. “Was she nice before? Did I like her?”

Eleanor’s mouth fell open. One of the first things she’d ever known about Pip was that she hated her mother, and thought she was evil, even before they figured out it was literally true. Her whole childhood had been shaped by her mother’s casual cruelty.

“She was horrible,” Otto said, looking stricken. “She was always awful.”

“Oh, okay,” Pip said. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I guess I can’t be that upset that I don’t remember her, then.”

“That’s a pretty big thing to forget,” Eleanor said, struggling to keep her voice even. “What else have you forgotten?”

Pip shrugged uncomfortably. “How should I know? I don’t remember what I don’t remember. I mean, what have you forgotten? We’ve been bouncing around worlds like pinballs, that’s got to be doing something to you. World-walker and all.”

Eleanor started to reply that she hadn’t forgotten anything, and then she stopped. How could she be sure? She’d assumed she would notice when things started to fade, but this wasn’t like being Emptied. She might never notice that things were slipping away until she was so far gone she was barely herself anymore. Bright panic welled within her. It was already happening. They were already losing themselves.

She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t.

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything yet,” Otto said. When they looked at him, he dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet. “I checked the mirror. My eyes are totally gray now. And I can just tell. There’s all this knowledge, and I can just want it and it’s mine.”

The hedgewitch looked at him with unconcealed envy. “You’re young,” she said. Her voice was not friendly. “You don’t have so very much to lose. You may as well throw yourself into the Story. Get as much from it as you can, before it abandons you.”

“No way. I’m not forgetting my family,” Otto said fiercely. “Besides, I like learning things the normal way. Knowing things is fine. Finding things out is way more fun.”

“So we’re all double-doomed now,” Pip said with hollow humor.

“We’re not doomed,” Eleanor said, but it was getting harder and harder to feel it. “The Library. We have to go to the Library.”

“We don’t have time,” Pip said.

Eleanor glared at her. “You’re right. We don’t. Because if you’ve already forgotten your mom, time is almost up. Getting rid of the Stories doesn’t mean getting our memories back. If we don’t stop them, there won’t be any us to save from Mr. January,” Eleanor said.

“You and Otto still have plenty of time,” Pip said. “The warrior is useful. Way more useful than plain old Pip. Let me help save everyone from Mr. January, and then we can get rid of the Stories. It’ll be fine.”

If Eleanor hadn’t known Pip so well, she might have believed her casual tone and the way she shrugged one shoulder to show she meant every word. But Eleanor saw the way her chin trembled, just a bit. The way her fingers curled when she crossed her arms, to hide the fact that she’d bitten her nails down to nothing.

“We don’t know how to fix time. We don’t know how to beat Mr. January. But we know how to stop the Stories. It’s the one thing we can do, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for my best friends to vanish,” Eleanor said.

Pip looked at Otto. “Come on. Back me up here,” she said.

But Otto looked at her gravely. “You forgot your mom. What if you forget your dad?” he asked. “What if I forget my sisters and my parents? Eleanor’s right. We’re not going to win by being heroes. We’re going to win by being us.”

Pip’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to forget my dad. I don’t want to forget any of you,” she said. “But I’m scared that . . . that just Pip won’t be enough.”

“But it’s not just Pip,” Ben said, his voice warm. He put a hand on Pip’s shoulder. “It’s Pip and Eleanor and Otto, the three coolest kids I know. And it’s me and Claire—er, whoever you are—and Barry, too.”

Slowly, Pip nodded. “Okay. We go to the Library. We destroy the Stories,” she said heavily.

“And we fix time,” Otto said.

“And then we beat Mr. January,” Eleanor finished.

“It’s not much of a plan,” Pip said.

“We’ve had worse,” Eleanor told her. Pip laughed quietly. And then she looked Eleanor in the eye and took a deep breath.

“Let’s do this.”