by Caleb Krisp
“Her soul has faded. It fades still. Even if she never performs another healing, she will only last a few weeks. That is the price, Miss Pocket. That is the bargain.”
“Rebecca made no bargain,” I declared. “She wore the Clock Diamond in order to see her mother again.” I turned my back in a dramatic fashion and looked again at Rebecca. “We will cross together before the portal dies, and that is that, Miss Frost.”
The infuriating redhead left the room and returned some time later with a glass of milk and a rather delightful cookie. “Miss Always has been rather busy,” she said. “Word is spreading throughout the kingdom that the Dual will appear tomorrow.” She sighed. “Justice Hallow has declared her an enemy of the kingdom.”
As I munched the cookie, I wandered about, looking over the tabletop and chest of drawers. It was a plain room, with books on Prospa history and a collection of wooden soldiers. “Whose house is this?”
“It belonged to my uncles. I grew up here.”
I reached for a small portrait. In it were two girls and a boy—the boy and one of the girls had bright red hair; the other girl was rather mousy with spectacles. And I recognized them instantly. Well, two of them anyway. “That is you and Miss Always,” I said.
Miss Frost nodded curtly. “We went to school together.”
“Who is the dashing young fellow standing between you?”
“My brother.” Miss Frost snatched the picture away. “Enough questions. Let us focus on the problems before us—first, you need to change out of that ridiculous ball gown.”
Which was monstrously unkind! Miss Frost pulled a box from under the bed, looking for a dress I might wear. As she foraged about, a strand of red hair came loose and fell in front of her eyes. For some reason, this made me think of her.
“I have been dreaming of my mother,” I said. “Just in the last week or so.”
At that Miss Frost looked up. “Did . . . you have seen her then?”
“Not fully. The sun is always in the way.” I frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Miss Pocket . . .” Miss Frost paused and looked rather lost for words. “I know this probably isn’t the right time, but I have something—”
“I have not told you the strangest thing,” I interrupted, stunned at my forgetfulness. “Tonight I saw a girl with my face.”
“What did you say?”
I repeated myself. Which felt unnecessary.
Miss Frost demanded all the facts. Which I gave in thrilling detail. When I was done (and I had changed into a hideous auburn dress), Miss Frost said, “This millhouse where the girl was taken—could you show me the way?”
I huffed indigently. “Well, of course I could! I’m not some silly—”
“Wear this coat.” Miss Frost practically threw the dusty relic at me. She was already halfway out the door by then. “And do hurry, Miss Pocket.”
The carriage charged through the woodlands. Miss Frost and I were in the cabin. One of her women drove up front. Another hung from the back, a sword and dagger at her belt. On the lookout for any sign of Justice Hallow’s guards (or Miss Always and her locks).
“Who is this girl that looks like me?” I said for the sixth time. “You must have some idea. Otherwise we wouldn’t be roaring through the forest in the dead of night.”
Miss Frost smoothed down her dress. “When you wore the Clock Diamond for the first time on the boat from Paris—you lived. You lived when you were not supposed to.”
“What has that to do with me having a double?”
“Your soul was meant to pass into Prospa through the portal,” continued Miss Frost. “But instead you stayed stubbornly in your world, though with certain changes.”
I nodded. “I can’t get hurt, I have no blood in my veins, I can heal people from your world.”
“Correct.”
“I used to believe I couldn’t get sick either—but I’ve been violently ill of late. Brink-of-death stuff. And the Clock Diamond stopped working.”
“Yes, Bertha told me.” Miss Frost sighed, but it was out of frustration, not weariness. “I think it is all linked, Miss Pocket. When you wore the Clock Diamond, you did indeed stay in your world, but I believe that a part of you passed through the stone and arrived in Prospa like every other soul does.”
I gasped. “And that is what I saw?”
“I think so. I cannot say for certain, but I suspect this girl, this part of you, would also be different from other souls—my informant at Prospa House tells me that her skin doesn’t glow and that she has been in some kind of stupor since she arrived. The mere presence of a girl like that would have intrigued Justice Hallow.” She looked out at the darkened woods. “When you told me the guards at Prospa House had recognized you, it confirmed my own suspicions. After I left you in Weymouth, I returned to Prospa, hoping to find your other half and return her to your world. But retrieving her proved impossible—she is watched by a dozen guards around the clock.”
Which was most unexpected!
“Despite your new abilities,” said Miss Frost, “you fell ill because half of you is dying—and I am certain your illness is the reason the stone temporarily stopped working.”
“Blimey.” I frowned. “Am I dying?”
“When the split happened, you got the better part of the bargain, Miss Pocket.” Miss Frost allowed a faint smile. “The girl you saw tonight is something of a remnant—while you gained strength and immunity from wearing the stone, she passed into Prospa a mere shadow of you. Think of it this way: without her, you are weakened, but without you, she cannot survive.”
We hit a pothole and were jolted around.
“If Justice Hallow was hiding this other me away, why did she not recognize me when I was captured?” I asked.
“She is playing games,” said Miss Frost crisply. “I am confident that tonight she planned to bring the two Ivy Pockets together.”
I shot up in my seat, nearly hitting the roof of the carriage. “Is such a thing possible?”
The millhouse was in sight, and Miss Frost signaled through the window for the carriage to stop. “That is what we are about to find out, Miss Pocket.”
Breaking in was a violent business. Miss Frost felled the guard standing by the Prospa House carriage. One of her associates picked the lock on the front door with ease. Then the other took on the pair of guards in the kitchen, thumping their heads together. Miss Frost ordered her associates to sweep the other rooms downstairs and check the basement. While I followed her up the stairs.
We trod lightly, though the boards did a great deal of snapping and creaking. At the top was a narrow hall. Three doors. A guard was snoozing heavily on a chair outside the last one.
Miss Frost ordered me to stay where I was. Then she walked furtively toward him. Tapped him on the shoulder and blew a handful of slumber rocks in his face. He slid from the chair and landed in a heap on the floor.
“Come,” whispered Miss Frost, her hand upon the door.
By the time I got there, Miss Frost was already inside. Standing by a bedside. She seemed lost for words. I hurried over, and saw what had startled her. There was girl upon the bed. She was . . . she had my face. Except hers was awfully thin. Cheekbones sunken. Dark circles tracked under her eyes. Skin as pale and washed out as a bedsheet. The Clock Diamond sparked to life, warming the top of my dress like a furnace.
“I cannot believe it,” I said softly. “She is me.”
“Yes. But after so many months in this stupor, she is wasting away.” Miss Frost pointed to a chair against the wall. “Get me that blanket.”
I did as she asked. Miss Frost wrapped the girl—me—in the blanket and picked her up with ease. “Let us go before the guards find their feet again.”
We were nearly at the bedroom door when we heard a loud commotion downstairs. Grunts and groans, breaking furniture and rattling pans. Then we heard one of Miss Frost’s women cry out. Then an awful thumping sound. Then feet pounding on the stairs.
Miss Fro
st darted quickly behind the bedroom door. She gestured toward the bed with her head. “Take her place, Miss Pocket,” she whispered. “And do not open your eyes.”
I could hear the footsteps hurrying toward us. So I ran to the bed. Dove on my back. Shut my eyes. And tried to calm my rapid breaths. I heard the guard enter the room. “She’s still here!” the brute hollered. “Keep your eyes peeled down there—you can bet there’s more of them about.”
“Yes, sir!” came an equally loutish voice from downstairs.
The guard’s boots clipped upon the floorboards. I smelled the sourness of his breath, close to my face. “When I find your friends I’ll break their necks,” he whispered. “Can’t think what Justice Hallow would want with an ugly runt like you.”
Which was simply too much to take. My eyes flew open. “You’re not exactly portrait material yourself, dear.”
Then I punched him right in the nose. He yelped. His puffy face red with rage. Then he grabbed me by the throat and thrust me against the wall. “They’re your last words,” he hissed. “Hope they were worth it.”
I felt my throat being crushed. The air sealed off. But I managed to say, “Justice . . . Hallow won’t be happy.”
He smiled wickedly. “Accidents happen.”
“Unhand her!” said Miss Frost, stepping out from behind the door. “Or do you only fight children?”
The brute turned. And seemed stunned to find another Ivy Pocket in Miss Frost’s arms. I looked about and glimpsed the water jug by the bedside. Grabbed it. Then smashed it over the swine’s head. His grip on my throat slackened as he moaned and held his head. I followed up with a swift kick to the stomach.
“Well done, Miss Pocket.” Miss Frost glanced out into the hallway. “His accomplice is sure to have heard the commotion. Let us go.”
“Where?” I whispered. “Won’t he see us coming?”
There wasn’t time to respond. As we ran out of the bedroom, the brute was already charging down the hall toward us. “Hurry, Miss Pocket!” shouted Miss Frost.
We flew down a set of rickety back stairs. The guard bore down on us, hollering abuse and gaining ground with every step. “I’ll break your necks when I get my hands on you!” he grunted.
I scurried after Miss Frost. Praying the violent brute never got the chance.
16
“Do something, Miss Pocket!”
“Like what, you unreasonable redhead?”
He was still pounding the stairs behind us. And as Miss Frost was carrying my other half, it fell to me to bring him down. I leaped down the last three steps. Grabbed a broom that was leaning against the larder door. Slipped it between the rails. The rotter took flight, sailing through the air, bulging arms flailing about. He landed on his head, somersaulting across the drab kitchen.
We charged out into the night and ran toward the carriage. Miss Frost’s two associates had recovered, though one had a nasty gash on her forehead. They were already taking their positions at the front and back of the carriage. I was still climbing into the cabin when the horses took off at speed.
“Close the door, Miss Pocket,” ordered Miss Frost, carefully unloading her cargo on the seat beside her.
“I’m trying!” I shouted back.
With great skill, I gripped the side of the carriage, swung out, and pulled the carriage door shut. I landed in a heap. Opposite me, Miss Frost took the blanket from around my other half. The girl was slumped against the window, her face ghostly white, her dark hair plastered against her hollow cheeks.
“Well,” I said, “now what?”
The answer came before Miss Frost could reply. The Clock Diamond came alive beneath my dress again. And the cabin began to shake as if we were driving over a valley of rocks. The air thickened and hummed. I pulled out the Clock Diamond, crimson light spilling out. It was suddenly impossibly hot, the carriage crackling and fizzing as if we were inside a furnace.
Miss Frost must have seen the uncertainty on my face. “Relax, Miss Pocket. I had hoped that having both of you in such close proximity would quicken the process of unification, and it seems I was correct.”
Two things happened next. The first, I felt. An unseen force seemed to swirl around me, catching me in its grasp and pulling me toward my other half. The second, I saw. The other Ivy Pocket awoke with a rather violent start. Looked about and quickly spotted me.
“I’m not surprised,” was the first thing she said. “I always suspected I was a twin. Separated at birth, possibly at the hands of a witch or a double-crossing pixie. All very tragic.”
Despite my predicament, I couldn’t help sighing. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
Miss Frost was having none of that. “You are two halves of the one exasperating whole—so stop fighting it and come together.”
“Who are you?” said the girl, looking rather doubtfully at Miss Frost. “Are we in London? The last thing I recall was being on the Britannia—it’s a perfectly glorious ship and I’m in first class, as you would expect. But I’m keeping very much to myself, quiet as a church mouse and whatnot. You see, I’m on a mission for the Duchess of Trinity—she was a wondrous fatso, stabbed brutally in the heart. The murderer is still lurking about, which is rather thrilling.” She gasped and pointed at me in a most accusing fashion. “That’s my necklace! Give it back, you—”
“Oh, do shut up!” I thundered.
My body began to slide off the seat toward her—pulled as if by a gigantic magnet. It felt awfully wrong. As if I were being sucked into a void from which there would be no return. So I thrust out my leg, pressing it against the seat opposite to halt my progress.
“Miss Frost, what is happening?” I asked.
“Do not fight it, Miss Pocket.” Miss Frost was now perched on the edge of her seat, watching the process with great interest. “Let go. Let go, Miss Pocket.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, woman!” I shouted. “This girl talks a huge amount of nonsense—we are nothing alike! This could be some wicked plot to steal my soul.”
My other half was feeling the same pull. She had her hands on the back of the seat, trying to hold on for dear life. “I had a great-uncle who had his soul stolen by a pickpocket,” she shouted through gritted teeth. “Poor fellow ended up locked in my grandmother’s basement eating candle wax.”
“That’s not even slightly true!” I bellowed.
“Who can say?” she shouted back.
By now my knees were buckled, straining against the unceasing pull. My other half had her nails dug into the seat cushion and was gripping most violently.
“Miss Pocket, if you have ever trusted me before, then trust me now,” said Miss Frost. “Let go, and you will be whole again.”
“Never trust a redhead,” my other half shouted at me. “Have you no sense, dear?”
I fixed my gaze upon Miss Frost. “If you’re wrong, I will box your ears!”
Then I let go. What happened next took mere seconds. My body lifted from the seat and flew at the girl. As it did, the scarlet light flaring from the stone became a golden orb that swelled, reaching out and enveloping the other me. She gave a startled cry. Her skin took on a heavenly glow, and she was pulled from the seat. Shooting straight at me. No, not at me. At the Clock Diamond. We collided in an instant. The shimmering girl was swallowed into the stone, her nightdress falling in a heap on the chair.
I heard Miss Frost call my name.
My head began to churn. The cabin swirled. A great light filled my eyes.
When the dazzling light cleared, I was somewhere else. A desolate room. Bare walls. An empty hearth. A broken window, the snow billowing in. I was bundled in my mother’s lap. Puffs of mist slipped from my mouth and curled into the cold air. I looked up—she had a scarf pulled over her face. She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were open, though she appeared not to see me.
I touched her hands. They were ice cold.
“Mama?”
No reply.
I reached up and pulled the scarf from her face. L
ooked upon it properly for the first time. It was plain but sweet. There were lines upon her forehead. Her skin dry and mottled. Her lips dry. No puffs of steam escaped from those lips. Then I looked in her eyes and realized they were not looking back. I touched her face and noticed the mark under her eye. It was small and looked just like . . . like a cloud.
The door flew open, and a woman in a yellow bonnet stalked into the room. Marched toward us. Crouched down. Then sighed. “You are not who I have been searching for.”
She stood and walked about. Then asked me my name. I gave no reply. I burrowed into my mother and turned my back on the woman.
“Your mother is dead,” she said softly.
I felt her searching my mother’s coat. Then my own. She pulled out a piece of paper. “Is Ivy your name?”
I stayed silent. She scooped me up in a bundle.
“Come, Ivy,” said Miss Frost. “We must find you somewhere more suitable to live.”
And I began to scream.
“It’s all right, Miss Pocket.” Miss Frost’s voice was calm and crisp. “You are safe.”
I felt her hand wiping tears from my face.
“How do you feel, Ivy?” said Rebecca.
Opening my eyes, I saw that I was back in Miss Frost’s house. She was sitting on the bed beside me, Rebecca standing over her shoulder. Both looked rather concerned.
“Well, Miss Pocket?” said Miss Frost.
I went to speak, but nothing came out.
“You said she would be stronger,” said Rebecca to Miss Frost. “Why does she not answer you?”
And I did feel stronger. Utterly wretched, but stronger than I’d felt in a long time.
“Now that Ivy is whole again, all should be as it once was.” Miss Frost reached down and pulled a small dagger from her boot. “But there is only one way to be sure.”
“What are you doing?” said Rebecca anxiously.
But I knew. For Miss Frost had done this once before. So I didn’t flinch or call her a mad cow when she sliced the blade down my arm. And this time, instead of dark smoke coiling up, blood oozed from the wound. I was fully human again.