Vella’s lavender dress drifted on the weird, breathable water. Her lavender eyes glimmered in the dim light.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“This I know.”
“But . . . if I can’t imagine what I want and write it, what is my Doolivanti power?”
She smiled. “’Tis the same, of course. Thou must write thy stories. The world needs thy stories, but thou must also look deep into the hearts of those who dwell here alongside thee, as only thou canst, and weave their stories and thy desires together.”
I tried to wrap my head around how I would do something like that.
“It shall take thee time to grasp,” she said. “Had we our leisure, we might spend days to ease thee into thy new clothes. Alas, time is not plentiful. Hearken close that I might impart to thee information that thou dost need.”
Her urgency, the tightness around her eyes, they were totally un-Vella-like. “Vella, you’re sad,” I said. “And . . . you’re hurt.”
Questions sprung up like weeds in my mind. I mean, what was she doing at the bottom of this pool anyway? Why not meet me at the shore, or even at the edge of the Kaleidoscope Forest? Was this some weird kind of prison? Could she not leave? And how the heck did Jimmy beat her in the first place?
“Prithee, let us discuss Jimmy,” she said. “Thou must face him, an’ thy wisdom shall be thy weapons. In this, I can aid thee.”
I clamped down on my thoughts and said, “Okay.”
“Thou must find a way to make his thread fit with thy desires. Thou must find a way to embrace his needs.”
“Um, could I eat a raw salamander instead?” I asked.
“Lorelei.”
“Embrace his need? You mean give him what he wants?”
“Heed thy vision. The Reflection Pool does not idly—”
“But he kills people! He should be stuck in a box and forgotten.”
“So thou wilt become a tyrant to best a tyrant?”
I glared at her. “I wouldn’t— Why are you always taking his side?”
“Because we are connected, he and I. Just as all of the Doolivantis in this Wishing World are connected. Just as thou art connected to him.”
“I am not connected to him!”
“Oh, Lorelei. Thou didst create him as surely as he didst create you. Thou art bound together as a binary star.”
A star? A happy little hand-holding star? “He didn’t create me,” I blurted, but even as I said it, I thought about how I wouldn’t be here if Jimmy hadn’t stolen my parents.
“Thou dost see,” Vella said calmly.
“Well, that’s a connection I’m happy to cut,” I said.
Vella shook her head. “Jimmy doth hate, an’ his head fills with visions of destruction. If thou dost foster thine own hate and use it to best him, thou wilt surely take his place.” She paused. “And I cannot e’en imagine the destruction thou wouldst then inflict.”
“Never.”
“Mine heart is glad to hear thee say this.”
“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I said. But I also hated Jimmy more than I’d ever hated anyone. What if I reached him and found out that he’d killed Gruffy? Or André? Or Theron? A murderer like that couldn’t be allowed to keep walking around. His absence would save others. “What about turning him into a stump and sitting on him?”
“Lorelei.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Swear it.”
“Swear what?”
“That thou wilt work with his story, to help give him that which he craves, e’en as I have striven to do as steward of this Wishing World.” She watched me steadily, and I hesitated. Her face contorted, and she looked like she was going to snarl at me, but then the look was gone, replaced by a strained, controlled gaze. It seemed like she was biting back a cry of pain, like someone was slowly stabbing a knife into her side.
“What’s happening!?” I asked.
“An’ thou does swear thine oath, then shall I tell thee all.”
“That sounds like a trap,” I said. “You tell me first and then I’ll swear.”
“I shall not.” Her lips pressed together in a firm line.
“Fine,” I said. “I swear to stop Jimmy. I swear I won’t hurt him anymore than I have to. And I’ll try to . . . try to help him get the story he needs.”
“I’faith, ’twill have to serve,” she said.
“Now tell me what’s happening,” I said.
She nodded. “Jimmy wished to take my place as steward. He didst steal the spinner, but true stewardship requires two talismans: the spinner and the hourglass. That which he lacks, he doth now desperately seek. ’Tis for this that he brought thee to this Wishing World. He hopes thou wilt recover the hourglass for him.”
“That’s why he wants me alive,” I murmured. Squeak had been right.
Vella’s lip curled in a snarl again, and her brows lowered.
“Vella—”
She held up a hand for silence. Whatever was happening to her, she fought it off, smoothed her expression, and continued. “Thy friend, Sir Real, has the hourglass. Jimmy didst bring him to this Wishing World. But when Jimmy demanded Sir Real stand against thee, the Lord of Flimflams resisted. ’Twas an ugly battle, Jimmy prevailed, and Sir Real only escaped by cleverness and narrow chance. He didst seek me out, and I did give him the hourglass. Alas, we were discovered, and Jimmy did then take Sir Real as his prisoner. Thankfully, thy friend is cunning. The hourglass is well hidden, and Jimmy knows not that his prisoner doth carry it. But Sir Real is weak, and Jimmy may soon pry open the truth. An that doth happen, Jimmy shall be unstoppable.”
Vella had begun to fade, just as she had at the sea palace. “Thou must use thy powerful imagination to create the solution I could not,” she said. She flickered, faded, then came back, her face contorted. “I didst seek harmony with Jimmy, but I . . . found not the answer.”
My heart thumped painfully in my chest. She wasn’t here. This was just another projection like at her palace. She was so faded now that I could barely see her. “Vella, where are you? Tell me so I can help—”
“Lorelei,” she interrupted. “There is more . . . What thou dost see before thee is not what thou dost think. ’Tis a life ripple, an echo of what once was. I didst conjure it to help thee, imbued it with mine own life’s essence that it might converse with thee as though I was really here, but ’tis nearly spent,” she said.
A cold snake wrapped around my heart. “What do you mean ‘once was’?”
“I . . . have died. This last piece of my life’s force lives only for the purpose of preparing thee, and only here where memories may come to life. ’Twas all I was able to save—”
“Shut up!” I said. “No, that’s not right. You’re somewhere else, talking to me. I can find you. I will find you. I can—”
She smiled sadly. “’Twas my most fervent wish that we would know each other for many years, milady. Alas, some dreams are not meant to be, even in this Wishing World.”
“Jimmy killed you,” I whispered, and my mind filled with fire. “He killed you in your fight with him.” My hand slipped into the pouch at my side, and I clenched my little quill so hard my fist hurt.
Vella’s brows furrowed fiercely. “Thou didst swear an oath, milady. And thou must now keep it. Thou hast greater responsibilities than revenge. Take up the spinner and hourglass. Take up the mantle destined for thee—”
“You’re not dead,” I said.
“Lorelei—”
“You’re not dead!” I said, and my voice caught in my throat. “We’ll find out how to . . . how to . . .”
“Find thy courage, milady. Take thy spinner from Jimmy, thy hourglass from Sir Real. Thou art the only one who can.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You have to come back, because . . . Because you have to.”
“Lorelei—”
“I’d make a horrible you. I’d get angry with people all the time.” I choked on a sob. “And I don’t have blue skin or a cool accent. And . . . and the new name of the Wishing World would be, like, Lorelark, which is stupid. And so you have to . . .” I began to cry. “You have to come back and be you!”
She was crying, too. “Give thyself freely to this Wishing World,” she whispered, as though each breath was painful for her. “Thou must do what I no longer can.” She reached out a hand to me, and her ghostly finger passed through my cheek. Then she was gone.
“No!” I yanked the wooden quill from my satchel and raised it. I looked into my story vision, searched the ethereal threads, looking for hers, rooting around. I would make her live. I’d bring her back to life!
But I couldn’t find her story. I felt all around through my new connection, through hundreds of threads of children’s stories. I floated in the water for who knew how long, my heart and mind inside the stories of the Wishing World.
But she wasn’t there.
I screamed, hurled my pen away, which flipped and wobbled in the water. I curled into myself and sobbed.
Vella Wren was dead.