Watch of Nightingales

by Honor Gable

  If I thought Pipping looked like a villain, he has nothing on the officer in front of me. Coal black eyes and bright blond hair slicked back. He even has a scar running from his lip to his chin. I'd laugh if I wasn't so terrified.

  It's hard to focus on him and his questions with the plate of steaming food on the desk, and a massive metal tub at the back of the room. I'm in some sort of basement room of the prison. They didn't take the chance of interrogating me at Avenue Foch. My stomach twists in knots of fear and hunger. I want nothing more than to shove everything in my mouth and fill myself with the energy I'm certain I'll need.

  My hands stay clasped in my lap.

  I want to shovel every last bit in my mouth, but they could have laced it with some sort of serum that'll make me talk. Spill my secrets.

  And I have too many of those.

  The officer scrawls something on his paper. I doubt it's the story I told him. He sneered the entire time I told it. Though I think he believes I'm French. Or maybe a Gypsy. Either way, I'm dead.

  Or I'll wish to be.

  He calls out to the men standing by the door, and I have one chance. With a flick of my wrist, the still hot food flips over and smashes right into his evil face. I jump to my feet, racing to the steel table and grab a sort of hammer, smashing it into the head of one of the Nazis who tries to grab me. The other fellow chops the side on his hand down hard on my wrist the hammer clatters on the floor. Hands grasp me from behind and I'm drowning. Underwater, flailing, clawing desperately for the surface, my lungs scorching, bursting, filling.

  Hands grip the front of my clothes and haul me up. Water spurts from my mouth down the front of me, my lips wide and sucking in the sweet, precious air. Before my breathing calms, I'm shoved back under. The water is freezing and burns my skin, mouth, nostrils, throat. Grey blurs the edges of my vision and I welcome and wish for the black. Please take me away.

  But they don't let me.

  I flop against their arms, unable to hold myself up and focus on the edge of the tub, waiting for everything to stop spinning and my lungs to open back up. The officer stalks over, food still stuck to his clothes and in his no longer perfect hair. I try to smirk, but I've lost control over my lips. I've lost control over my whole body. My bladder was full when I went in the tub.

  It's not any longer.

  A snarl twists his face. "Are you ready to tell us the truth?"

  "I already did." It hurts to speak and my voice isn't my own. It's raspy and weak. I clear my throat.

  "You expect me to believe your dead lover told you to open fire on German officers and you asked no questions?" He folds his arms across his chest.

  "Yes. He promised me they weren't loaded with real bullets." I open my eyes wide, trying to look innocent and confused. Though I probably ruined that with the whole food thing. I have to make him believe I'm French. If he suspects I'm a British agent, I'll be shot. And if I survive a shot to the back of the head, it will really be awful when I get right back up. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to say."

  "I want to hear something resembling truth."

  "Why don't you tell me what you think the truth is." I tense all my muscles, fighting the shaking, not wanting to show any weakness. I'll save my breakdown for when I'm back in my cell.

  "I think you and your lover were in on this together. Maybe you have a wireless operator from England you can tell me about. You were given instructions from London to save those prisoners."

  Relief and stark fear battle within me. I'm glad he doesn't seem to think I'm British, but how does he know London is involved? Is there another traitor? Are Viola and the others still in danger? "You have a fanciful imagination. I would never work with the British. They're no fun. I just did what my boyfriend said to do."

  With a roar of anger, he strikes my cheek with the back of his hand, and my head jerks back into the edge of the metal tub, blood filling my mouth. I spit it out on his shiny boots. I'm not making this easy for him. This time it's his hands that hold me under. I push and pull at his arms, trying to shove off his grip, trying to escape him, but my arms and legs grow too heavy to move. They rise to the rippling surface, the grimaces on the Nazis faces, distorted and grotesque, but my head and torso remain stuck to the bottom.

  When the black comes for me, I embrace it and drift away, smiling.

  WHEN I COME TO, I'M still sopping wet, lying in a puddle beside my mattress. They couldn't take one more step and dump me on something soft? I shiver in my cell that the sun never reaches or warms. It's been so long since I've been cold. My powers make me run hot, my body always healing the slightest aches and pains. I crawl over to my mattress, no longer caring what nasty surprises are living in it. The floor hurts too much to stay there. My nose wrinkles at the stench of the fabric. At least I no longer stink after the nice bath they gave me. I snort and then frown. I can't start talking and laughing to myself. I can't lose it.

  I almost burst into sobs when the whispers start.

  It takes me a good two minutes to realize they aren't coming from my head.

  With shaking hands, I pull up the edge of the mattress, finding a small vent. I scoot down so I can paste my ear against it, starving for news, for human contact, for anything other than the nothingness of this cell. Being alone is worse than the torture.

  The voice becomes clear. It's a man. "I'm Pierre, here for espionage, part of the Inkstain network. Who are you?"

  My heart stutters. The coincidence is too much, even for me. How have I been placed right next to someone from Theo and Xavier's network?

  Not willing to take the chance this is a trap, I lie. "I'm Justine. I'm from no network."

  "Then why are you here?"

  I pause before replying. It stings my pride to say my lover got me in trouble, but I can't afford the truth. "Got in over my head. Got caught. Now I'm here."

  "I see. I'm sorry for that. How long have you been here?"

  I chuckle without humor. How long? A year, a day, three months, a week? I don't know. "I think two days. You?"

  "Almost three weeks."

  Despair is strong and dark. I won't last for three more weeks. I'll break. Shoving the mattress back down, I turn my back on his now muffled voice and curl up on my side. Fighting desperately to keep from shattering into pieces.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  AUDREY

  The cell door opens and a girl my age is thrown inside. She tumbles to her knees on the cement floor and the door slams shut. I eye her with suspicion. Was she sent here to get my story? Is she a spy? She stares back at me with the same expression. She has a bruise marring her eye and I'm flawless. I suppose I do look pretty suspicious. But I'm not taking the chance. I'm Justine until death or rescue.

  One more moment of tense silence and her body relaxes as she seems to come to some sort of decision, getting to her feet with a grimace.

  Her face is young and round and covered with freckles. "Hello. I'm Henriette."

  I fight an incredulous smile. She's acting like we're sitting in a restaurant or something instead of a hard floor and getting eaten alive by fleas. "I'm Justine. Nice to meet you." I hold out my hand and she shakes it with a grin.

  "So, what're you in for?" Somehow she makes her accent American, like something straight out of Hollywood.

  "Wrong place, wrong time." My accent is nowhere near as good as hers. I need to practice before I move there. "You?"

  "The newspaper I worked on wasn't well-received by the Gestapo." Her silver eyes dance in suppressed amusement.

  My brows furrow for a moment as I try to figure out what she means. The underground newspapers. Of course. "Which paper?"

  "Defense de la France."

  I haven't run across any copies of that one, but I assume it printed much of the same as the others I read. "Impressive."

  Her mouth twists. "Not really. I wasn't allowed to write for it."

  I'm taken aback. "Why the hell not?"

  "I'm a girl. We don't get to air
our opinions."

  I snort, annoyance shuddering through me. "But you get to die for them."

  A huge smile lightens her face. "I like you. I think we'll be great friends."

  A familiar ache hits me at her words. I miss Viola so much, but she isn't here, and I could use a friend. "I think you're right." I shove away the suspicion.

  We grin at each other like gits for a few minutes before I shake myself. "What did you do before all this?"

  "I was a student. I was studying social anthropology. What about you?"

  Heat sweeps across my cheeks. "I...I was... Well, I was a mess. I was still in school when it first started, and then I just did nothing. Played around until I ended up in trouble, and here I am again." I don't want to admit to the prize fighting and motorcycle racing and mad stuff of that sort.

  "All the more reason for you to get out of here and change that. What will you do?"

  Telling such a scholar my silly dreams is embarrassing, but I say it anyway. "I want to go to America and join the Motor Maids. Maybe be a stunt double in Hollywood. I don't know. I wanted something fun and mad and thrilling. Now, I'm not so sure."

  Her eyes shine and she claps her hands together. "That sounds marvelous. Oh, you must do it. So much more exciting than me going back to school and maybe writing a novel. That's my real dream. I've always wanted to write, but I'm terrified."

  "Why?"

  "I've scratched out some poems, but nothing as daunting as a novel. And my poetry is complete rubbish anyway. I don't even really like writing it, but it's faster and easier than a whole book. And I could never quite find the perfect idea."

  "I'm pretty sure after all this, you'll have plenty of possibilities."

  As if my words were prophecy, the cell door bangs open again.

  A familiar voice echoes off the cold walls. "Ready to get out of here?"

  CHAPTER FORTY

  VIOLA

  Tonight, it's Xavier's turn to be bait. He's going to cause some sort of disturbance near the prison and in the confusion, it should be easy for us to slip in. Originally I wasn't supposed to go inside with the others, but since we don't know where Audrey is, we have a better chance of finding her with me searching too. Once we find her, Rivka can melt the locks and off we'll go.

  This is our third try to get her out. The others were epic failures.

  An explosion rocks the world and fire reaches for the sky. Sirens and whistles scream through the air in response. There's our signal. Lois and Rivka disappear and I grit my teeth and run, ignoring the euphoria and focusing on staying in the dark. Staying as hidden as I can.

  Hopefully they'll only see a blur they can excuse as a trick of light or shadows, and for me everything slows down so I can observe and see. I peek into every cell calling out the name of Justine, hearing it echo through the halls back to me. Gaunt and hopeless faces stare back at me through the tiny windows in the cell doors, but none of them are Audrey. No one responds to her name. Where is she?

  I peer into the last cell of this hallway and my pulse stutters. A woman about Audrey's size with long dark hair is curled on a mattress, facing the wall. A wall with a quote by Thomas Carlyle etched into it. "Justine! Come on, we're getting you out of here."

  With a groan, she turns over and even with the swollen bruises marring her face, I can tell it isn't Audrey. I stumble away from the cell, choking on the cry demanding to burst from me in a scream. Where is she?

  A whisper halts me in my tracks. "She's gone."

  I double back to search out the voice telling me horrible things.

  A bruised and bent man meets my eyes, his shining with tears and hopelessness. "They sent her away this morning."

  The bottom drops out from my stomach. My voice comes out in a garbled tortured groan. "No."

  "I'm so sorry. She was brave and lovely. Took whatever they did to her and never lost her spirit. She never told them whoever she really is. She never told me either."

  His words should relieve me, but nothing is pulling me out from whatever I'm drowning in.

  We're too late.

  My chest is too tight and I can't make my lungs work. I need air. I need air.

  I have to get out of here.

  Racing away from his sympathetic and depressing gaze, I stumble for the exit. A hand shoots out and grips me and everything goes black. I hate Lois's power.

  A voice hisses in my ear. "She's not here. She was deported this morning."

  "I know."

  I wish the blackness would just take me. Because I cannot handle this. We're here. In one of the worst prisons and we made it inside here for nothing. She's gone. There's no way we can make it to Germany and find her. Hope is gone, leaving nothing. I want to go home. I've done all I can, but I'm done. I don't remember the girl who was brave and strong from a few days ago. She was someone else. Not me. Not me.

  My body rattles so hard my teeth knock together and I recognize Lois's voice. "Not here. Be strong just a little bit longer. We’re going to cause some mayhem while we're here. Rivka. when I tell you to, use your energy to melt the locks. I’ll guide you. We're going to cause a massive jailbreak."

  Her words are what I need to wake up long enough for us to get somewhere safe.

  Lois refuses to let me go, and I'm glad I’m lost in darkness. I don't want to see the starved bodies and the death this will probably cause. We can't leave them here though. We have to give them a chance. We have to try.

  I know Audrey would be laughing right now if she were here.

  The murmurs and cries of those we're helping to freedom I can still hear. They bless us, curse us, thank us. Even though they can't see us, they know someone is here helping them. Some pray to God, call us angels, and it makes me squirm. But at their gratefulness and faith, tears flood my eyes and soak my face. At least we did this one thing. For Audrey.

  And one day I will tell her all about it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  AUDREY

  If I close my eyes I can almost believe I'm somewhere else. Somewhere open and free, clean and fresh, safe and happy. I picture Rivendell. Majestic mountains, clear waterfalls, beautiful Elves, the scent of fruit and flowers floating through the air. Not naked in a crowded shower, wet clumps of hair stuck to my skin and snaked between my toes. Not aching under the stinging crops of the guards. Not shivering under the cold and harsh spray with eyes burning into my bare skin.

  What must I look like with my wasted body, no fat or curves left on it, skin speckled with scars, hair cropped closely to my head? I'm glad I can't see. There's comfort in ignorance.

  We're herded from the showers and into the next room. I keep my head raised and face blank. They can't touch me here. Or shame me. Or break me. Other women try in vain to cover their breasts, the patch of hair between their legs. Some are more ashamed of their bare heads. And some are like me. Arms at our sides, gaze fixed somewhere else. Looking into another place and time.

  Now doesn't exist.

  Neither does the last week.

  It didn't happen.

  It didn't happen.

  Male guards don't smirk and stare as every part of us in inspected and invaded.

  I don't feel hard cold hands on and inside my body, worse than the scientists in London. None of it's happening. I'm in the Shire with Bilbo, eating cakes and drinking tea by his fire, listening to him tell stories of his ancestors. Smelling his pipe as he blows rings into the air. Teasing him until he lets me try too.

  A scratchy and faded dress with crosses painted on the front and back is shoved at me along with a pair of wooden shoes. I'm back in prison. Somehow I think this is going to make Holloway look like a fancy resort I spent holiday at. Nothing fits right, the shoes are too big and the dress too small, barely buttoning over my breasts. What breasts I have left. Henriette meets my eyes. Her uniform swallows her. I suck in my cheeks and bite my lip to keep the hysterical laughter from escaping. It's worse when I notice her turn away quickly, hiding a smile.

  I'm
glad she's here.

  What a selfish beast I am.

  A red triangle is right under my new name. My new number. 71210. Everyone else has the same red patch. Maybe it's because we're all French. Some from Fresnes like me, and others we picked up in Lyon from the Montluc prison.

  With cracks of the whips and hoarse yells in German, we're herded outside into the dark starlit night. How long were we in there? It felt like half the night. We arrived under the cover of darkness and here we are, still surrounded by darkness. Maybe it's always night here.

  Why would the sun shine on such a place as this?

  What day is it? I've lost track after the two days in Fresnes and what seemed like a week packed into the train like cattle. There was no singing on our transport. Just moans of pain and cries of hopelessness, most of us fresh from interrogation.

  Guards mill about, but I see no other prisoners. I guess we'll be allowed sleep then. Long lines of barracks fill my sight and we're shoved into one of them. It's empty, but the stench is enough to make me gag. Old urine, rot, dried vomit, and armpit. What a palace. We're locked in with no further instructions. There's three women for each mat and blanket on the floor.

  All too tired to care about the fleas and lice and bodily fluids we're lying on, we settle in. I don't recognize my mat mates, but we huddle up together anyway. For comfort. For warmth. There's no telling how long they'll let us sleep.

  Turns out, not long.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  VIOLA

  Rivka halts in the middle of the trail, her arms shooting out and stopping us. Her head cocks to the side, and she frowns. Lois, Xavier, and I exchange confused glances, our brows puckering. What does Rivka hear? I open my mouth to ask her, but she scowls at me and shakes her head. Her eyes widen and she backs up on soft feet, drawing us along with her. She's like a hunting dog on a scent.

  I pick a tree to lean against. Weariness digs at me. We've been traveling on foot for days, trying to put as much distance between us and Paris as we can. Descriptions of us too close for comfort cover the city. Xavier's taking us to a Maquis, partisans who live in the woods where Theo is meeting us. Xavier didn't want him to travel with us and chance him seeing our powers.