by Amanda Marin
As we stand and gape, someone trudges by, crashing into my shoulder. “Move it!” he shouts at me, glaring.
I retreat, rubbing my shoulder, leaning closer to Sebastian. “He’s right, in a way,” I tell him. “We need to get going, or things will get worse.”
He nods. “Where do you think we should try first—Empire Opera House or Brambleton Terrace?”
The decision is an important one. I turn in circles, unsure, as I weigh our options. Kash mentioned going to Brambleton—but Empire Opera House is where we last saw Jupiter Raventhorne. Either one makes sense. “I don’t know,” I murmur, overwhelmed. “I don’t—”
“Bee, look—over there, by Grand Park.”
I jerk my head in the direction Sebastian points. In the distance, a cluster of birds—dozens, maybe hundreds of them—encircle the sky above some location deep within the park. It’s hard to hear much over the brash sounds of the city—traffic and chatter, jackhammers and machinery—but if I hold my breath, I can hear them cawing ominously.
“They’re Ravens,” Sebastian tells me. “My uncle has decorations of them all over the estate. I’d recognize them anywhere.”
I let out my breath, a long, slow exhale, hoping it’ll settle the uneasiness churning inside me, rising like a red tide. “I guess we’re going to Brambleton,” I murmur.
Like many of the other surfaces across the city, the sign pointing us in the direction of Brambleton has been vandalized. Spray paint is scrawled across its front, changing the name “Brambleton” to “Disaster-ton.” Not the most inventive choice of words, but at least it’s accurate.
The park is busier than I would have expected today. The paths are crowded, people walking shoulder-to-shoulder along them. Men and women, even children and elderly. There’s something strange about them all, too. They move in unison, in a cross between a march and a stumble, their arms barely swaying at their sides. Each has a dazed expression: glossy, vacant eyes and pallid cheeks, mouths ajar and unsmiling.
“They’re going to the same place,” Sebastian notices, craning his neck in the direction they all seem to be moving.
I follow his stare. He’s right. Everyone is moving like zombies, staggering toward the edge of the park—the side closest to Brightling’s front gates. In just a moment, they’ll reach the exit and begin spilling out into the street.
“They’re over-inspired,” I gasp. “Someone’s controlling them, sending them to the academy.”
Sebastian gulps and wets his lips anxiously. “My uncle. He’s told them to attack.”
My heartbeat quickens, thundering in my chest like an echo of the raven’s wings beating furiously overhead. “Let’s leave the school to the Board of Nine, like the headmistress said. We have to get to Kash.”
Together, we practically run the rest of the way toward whatever remains of Brambleton. As we ascend the small hill to the courtyard, the ravens’ calls grow louder, the beating of their wings almost deafening. The air seems to throb around us, pulsing in my ears and against my skin. Ash covers over everything, drifts of soot instead of snow, and the smell of smoke still wafts through the air.
Where the kiosks and fountains once stood is now a dark, charred mess. Waist-high movable fences have been set up around the worst of the damage, but someone has cast a section of them aside to allow access to the wreckage anyway. Inside that makeshift arena is a semicircle of white clay rubble. Arms and legs stick out from the piles at odd angles—the statues of the Muses, broken and scattered. And within the enclosure formed by their remains is Kash, dancing across the cinder-strewn ground, moving swiftly, as light and as graceful as a feather. There is no music; no instruments accompany her. Instead, she pirouettes to the ravens’ song.
Kash isn’t alone, either. People line up around her, as eager to watch her dance today as they were the other day, before the fire. They’re drawn to her like magnets. After a few seconds of watching, their stares dull, and their shoulders slacken. Then they shuffle off again down the path, winding their way out of the park and toward Brightling.
“It’s her,” I breathe. “She’s the one over-inspiring everyone, not your uncle.”
Sebastian’s face contorts, his anger turning his handsome features harsh and stony, like jagged rocks on a shoreline. He starts forward brusquely, determined.
“It’s not her fault,” I remind him, grabbing at his arm. “She’s too powerful—she doesn’t realize what she’s doing.”
“It doesn’t matter—we have to stop her.” Breaking away from me, Sebastian cups his hands to his mouth and begins to shout across the distance, trying to get her attention. “Kash! Kassia!”
She can’t hear him, though. Not over the ravens. She just keeps twirling and leaping mechanically. Ballerina and automaton alike.
“She’s over-inspired, too,” I realize. “Look at her face.”
It’s true. Her symptoms are the same as everyone else’s. The gaunt face and lifeless eyes, the lack of emotion in her movements.
Whirling around, we search the crowds for the source. For a dark Muse more influential than any of us. For one who would willfully control Kash and use her to manipulate the Mundane. For Jupiter Raventhorne. But before we can find him, he finds us.
“At last, the return of my wayward nephew,” says a cold, condescending voice behind us.
I know that voice. I heard it in the alley the day he stole the violin from the street musician and orchestrated the theft of the Laffitte painting.
“Uncle Jay,” Sebastian gasps as we turn. He takes my hand protectively.
Jupiter Raventhorne is exactly as I remember. The events of the past week have taken their toll on us and the city—but not on him. He’s still immaculately dressed, his tall figure framed in his trademark black suit and his silvery hair clean and combed. I’d assumed he was a Mundane the first time I saw him, but now I understand him differently. It’s not a lack of imagination that envelops him—it’s tragedy.
“I must commend you, Sebastian,” Jupiter says. He barely looks at us when he speaks, as though we’re unworthy of his attention. He simply takes the emerald handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to delicately brush away a bit of ash on his sleeve. “At first I didn’t believe that you could possibly defy me. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a day or two, even after Butler cautioned me against doing so. Alas, he was correct. I underestimated you.”
The errant ash gone, Jupiter folds his handkerchief neatly again and tucks it back into his pocket. He clears his throat then and, finally, raises his eyes.
“A most unfortunate thing for both of us,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
With a flick of his wrist, two men break away from their work of shepherding the curious passersby toward Kash’s enclave of doom. They’re dressed in black suits with green handkerchiefs, similar to the kind Jupiter wears. The lackeys Sebastian mentioned. I gasp and struggle against their grasp as they seize us. They grab at our shoulders and twist our arms behind our backs, immobilizing us. Making us their captives.
“No matter, though,” Jupiter continues, straightening the cuffs of his suitcoat. “I have found someone else to assist me, and I must say she is doing a rather fantastic job, wouldn’t you?”
The men turn Sebastian and me around so we can watch Kash create her endless stream of over-inspired Mundane robots. There’s nothing gentle in how they handle us, either. I cry out as pain jolts across my shoulder. I glance over at Sebastian, and he shakes his head sadly. A silent apology.
“Watching Kassia dance is a far more enjoyable sight than whatever the army she’s creating for me is doing to the academy right now,” Jupiter says as he joins us, flanking Sebastian’s other side. “I must caution you, though. Don’t get too close, or you, too, may find yourself susceptible to her inspiration.”
“Kash would never do something like this on her own,” I snarl, glaring at him. “Why are you forcing her?!”
Jupiter’s eyes find mine. They’re pale green like his nephew�
��s—but without the passion inside them that makes Sebastian’s so bright and beautiful. He raises his eyebrows as he studies me.
“Come now—Miss Harper, is it?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for my answer, just carries on with his monologue. “I’m familiar with your family. You look very much like your grandmother, you know … If you knew to find us here, then you certainly know what I seek to accomplish. When my nephew made it clear that he intended to have no further communication with me, I needed a substitute. Someone else inside Brightling who could help me hasten along Clio’s little prophecy. Fortunately, I found Kassia, and I must say, she has proven to be a far more useful stand-in than Sebastian ever could be.”
Sebastian scowls as if his uncle just inflicted and salted a wound. He jerks against his captor furiously, trying to get free, maybe wishing he could take a swing—just one—at his uncle. But his effort is useless.
“A remarkable talent like Kassia’s should be used for a higher cause, after all,” Jupiter adds.
“You picked her?” I seethe, glaring. “How did you convince her? Did you threaten her?”
Jupiter tilts his head back, chuckling. His laughter is like the cry of the ravens overhead. “She presented herself to me if you must know, Miss Harper. Not long after the Brambleton fire, I came to examine the handiwork of the men I hired to carry out my plan. The place had already been fenced off by the city. I didn’t expect to see anyone here—let alone sweet Kassia, come to mourn over the loss of her former stage. I had seen her dance before. I recognized her, and I approached.
“As we talked, I saw how upset she was, and when I suggested that I might have the means to contribute funds for the city to rebuild Brambleton, she came alive with delight. I promised to make the donation, but I told her I may need a favor from her someday … to which she eagerly agreed.”
“You’re revolting—you took advantage of her,” I scold.
Jupiter shrugs nonchalantly. He’s done worse, I’m sure—he’s doing worse now, in fact.
“Of course, I had no such intention of donating the funds,” he continues. “I have invested quite a bit of time and energy in progressing Clio’s warning. To undo all that I have accomplished would be absurd. But I did gain Kassia’s trust with my lie—and extracted her promise to serve me. By the time she realized she was wrong to put her faith in me, it was too late for her to resist.
“She came here late last night, exhausted, weeping, dressed in her pajamas. Butler found her trying to sweep away the ash—to rebuild Brambleton and destroy the wonderful progress I have made. He brought her to me immediately. I knew it was time to call in my favor before Kassia turned me in to the Board of Nine. She argued and fussed when I told her she must destroy the statues. She even tried to inspire me to let her go.”
A hearty laugh—even deeper and more condescending than his chuckle a moment ago—bursts from Jupiter’s lips. “As if she could ever inspire me,” he says, like he’s telling a joke.
His cruel disregard for Kash makes my blood simmer. Where’s one of the dragons Aurelia Ketterling believes in? I’d train it to strike, to incinerate Jupiter Raventhorne so there would be nothing left.
“Sweet Kassia has been under my control ever since. Such a lovely marionette.” He shakes his head and tuts in a show of false sympathy. “She smashed the statues at Brightling in the early morning hours and, with Butler’s help, brought them here. I have great reverence for the ancient Nine. It’s important to me that their likenesses receive a proper burial—I could think of no better place than Brambleton. After the school has fallen, I’ll see to it that they are laid to rest.”
“The school won’t fall,” I rage at him, my own teeth clenched now. “The Board of Nine is on their way and sending reinforcements. It doesn’t matter what army you make Kash create for you. The Board knows what you’re doing, and they will find you and stop you.”
Even as I say this, something changes. Overhead, the swirl of ravens begins to break apart, the birds scattering across the cloudy sky. As the sound of the squawks and wings dissolves, Kash stops dancing. She collapses to the ground mid-pirouette, a trembling, exhausted heap struggling to catch her breath amid the ash. I want to run to her, wipe the soot from her face, and assure her she’ll be all right now, but I can’t. Jupiter’s lackeys still restrain me.
“Ah, at last,” Jupiter says, a self-satisfied grin curling the corners of his mouth. “Kassia has completed her task. She’s over-inspired enough Mundanes for my army, as you call it, Miss Harper. Three thousand of them, to be exact—certainly more than enough to overwhelm the Board and take the academy. So while I admire your bravado, I rather think we’re finished, don’t you? All that remains is for us to find a good seat from which to watch the show.”
Jupiter Raventhorne holds out his hand again and, turning his wrist, inspires our captors to begin dragging us forward, taking us down the path behind the last of Kash’s zombies.
But we don’t get far. We barely go a step before Kash hauls herself to her feet again. Her sheer skirt, tights, and ballet shoes are soiled, and a mixture of sweat and ash is smeared across her face, but her eyes are her own. Clear and lively. She’s no longer under Jupiter’s control.
Now, she dances for herself.
14
“What is she doing?” Jupiter seethes immediately. “Stop her! Stop her at once!”
The ravens are already gone, off to watch over the army swarming down on Brightling this very moment. All Jupiter has to rely on are his two lackeys. Abandoning Sebastian and me, they start forward, heading toward Kash. They walk a few paces, then stop abruptly, as if an invisible fence has risen between us and her.
Jupiter’s composed demeanor shatters. “Why are you waiting?” he screams at them. “I said to stop her!”
No matter how vigorously he waves his hands or twists and turns his wrists, though, they don’t obey his commands. They’re inspired by Kash now. The marionette turned puppet master.
I reach for Sebastian, winding my arm around his. “What do you think she’s up to?” I whisper as we watch.
“We’ll have to see.”
We don’t have long to wait. Kash picks up speed, twirling and leaping to some fast-tempoed tune in her head. I’ve never seen her dance with such precision and life. And as she moves, the evening breeze begins to rise around her. It blows and howls until it mixes with the ash on the ground. Then it intensifies, picking up pieces of the statues. A mess of soot and artificial limbs swirl around her.
“She’s making this happen—she’s doing this!” I gasp.
The windstorm grows and rises, its circle expanding. It tosses my hair and makes my skirt billow. Sebastian wraps his arms around me, holding me tight—as though I might blow away—while it engulfs us.
“Don’t let go,” he shouts over the roar of the wind.
I close my eyes and brace myself, clinging to his Brightling blazer, waiting to be coated in grime and battered by the whirling pieces of statues. The wind rages, taking us—along with Jupiter and his servants—inside Kash’s circle. But the beating never comes. Instead, the wind seems to be sheltering us, guarding us, a fence between us and the destruction outside its boundaries.
I open my eyes tentatively. First, my left … then my right. What I see amazes me. The statues turn in the wind, the pieces gravitating toward one another. They meet and mend, knitting together on their own to restore the likenesses of the ancient Muses they represent. Calliope. Urania. Erato. They reshape so fast that I barely have time to recognize one before another appears.
Then, as quickly as the statues repaired themselves, they burst again—this time in a swirl of color and fog. In each statue’s stead appears an ethereal being. A form made not of blood and bone but of light and mist. Each one is a woman—one bearing a lyre or a compass, a crown of laurel or a veil.
“It’s them,” I breathe, taking them all in. “They’re here—the Muses, resurrected.”
“I don’t believe it,” Jupiter hisses bitte
rly.
For a moment, the Nine rotate in the wind around us, then one of them separates herself from the mythic cyclone. The Muse is an impossibly beautiful woman with long, wavy hair—so much like mine—and a scroll in her hand. She moves to the center of the circle, her white tunic billowing around her, but her stare stays on me the entire time.
“Clio?” I ask her.
The woman nods. “My Lost Scroll has been found, its prophecy nearly fulfilled.”
“You’re here, though,” I tell her, freeing myself from Sebastian’s grasp and stepping closer. “There must be something you can do to stop it.”
Clio shakes her head sadly. “There is one who has the power to stop this tragedy from passing, but it is not me.”
“Who is it? Where can I find them? I’ll look for them—I’ll get them here,” I tell her, talking quickly, desperately. “Just give me time—please.”
“I’m afraid the person with the power to end this cycle has no set name or dwelling, Bianca,” she says softly.
I frown, and tears fill my eyes as I drop slowly to my knees, weak and defeated. This is useless—another riddle, a tease. “How can such a person exist?” I murmur. “Everyone has a name and a place where they belong.”
“The one I speak of must be a very singular Muse, one with pure intentions and a strong will,” Clio continues. “She must be able to carry on even after the brightness in the halls of her eyes has gone dim. She must be willing to make a sacrifice.”
“What kind of sacrifice?” I squeak.
“The sacrifice of her gift—of that which makes her what she is: a Muse. In so doing, her powers will replenish the Well from which all the others drink, and with the source of our ancient magic restored, the prophecy will be reversed.”
Clio reaches out to me, brushing her hand against my cheek. I cannot feel the warmth of her flesh—she has none. Instead, I feel a gentle dusting, like the tip of a feather, where she touches me.
“Could you be such a Muse, Bianca?” she asks me softly.