The Trilogy of Two
Page 30
The women’s eyes lit up like six small flames. They parted their thin lips and spoke one after the other:
“She will come.”
“Sooner than she thinks.”
“We will be waiting.”
A hundred other Swifters floated up into the air out of the mass of creatures. The three women lifted off to join them, and together, they flew away into the night.
The Great Tiffin turned to Mr. Fortune Teller. “Dawn approaches. We must start the pyre and say our goodbyes to Staghart.”
The old man nodded. “We’ll find Alexandria. Come, girls. Come, Tatty.”
Sonja glimpsed Cornelia crying on Wolf Boy’s shoulder. Her cheeks burned. Her pulse quickened. Who did this girl think she was, slobbering all over Wolf Boy? The truth be told, Sonja did like Wolf Boy. She not only liked him—she sort of, maybe, possibly, slightly, somewhat . . . loved him. Sonja strode quickly through the crowd and stopped in front of him, face-to-face. “I wanted to kiss you back,” she said quickly.
Wolf Boy stared, confused. Cornelia frowned.
“In the ship. I’m sorry. I was scared.” Sonja stood up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She felt like a box of fireworks had just exploded inside her. Moritz covered a giggle with his hand.
She looked at Cornelia with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, and by the way, I’m not human. I’m a Pearl Catcher.”
Wolf Boy watched her in a trance as Sonja joined Tatty, Mr. Fortune Teller, and Charlotte.
“What are the three of you gawking at?” Sonja said, irritated.
They walked out of the crowd. An enormous swirl of gold dust was spiraling up from the legion of dead white animals. It mixed with the cloud of orbs and drifted toward Sandy Shores.
“The Talents. They’re going back to the children,” said the old man happily.
Charlotte smiled.
Dear Jack Cross—
She paused. Never mind. One day, she would tell him in person.
Alexandria and two Pearl Catchers had carried Kats von Stralen’s body to the bottom of the hull. She sat over him, hunched, with Dottie perched on her shoulder. His cats had flooded out of the boat and were scattered across the desolate sea, wandering aimlessly.
As they approached, Alexandria looked up. Her cheeks were powdered white with dried-up tears. “It’s for the best,” she said. “He was a good kid, but he grew up into something else.”
Kats von Stralen looked like a young boy in the dimming light. Alexandria touched his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said to her dead brother. “I should have come back for you.” She put her handkerchief over his face and crossed his arms against his chest. She turned to Charlotte. “You had no choice, Charlotte.”
“You didn’t, either.”
Sonja pulled the marionette from her pocket and placed it next to Kats von Stralen. “So he won’t be alone.”
Alexandria stood up. She took Sonja by one hand and Charlotte by the other. Tatty hooked her arm through Mr. Fortune Teller’s.
The five of them returned together to the pyre to say goodbye to Staghart. Dottie flew beside them, and Monkey scurried among the wreckage looking for something to eat. The rising moon peeked over the horizon.
Charlotte and Sonja looked at each other as they walked with the adults. Everything they had lost, they had recovered—and more.
Charlotte?
Yes, Sonja.
Happy?
Very. You?
Sonja nodded. Think they know we’re speaking to each other?
Charlotte glanced at Tatty, then at Alexandria. I don’t think so.
This is going to be useful, isn’t it?
Especially with two mothers.
Tomorrow, they would go home. Wherever that was meant to be. The one thing they knew for certain: they would be together.
EPILOGUE
Rain City (Reprise)
IT TOOK THREE HOURS FOR THE FIRST CLUSTER OF ORBS to reach Rain City.
The tiny spheres descended, glowing through the drizzle, falling toward a haggard crowd waiting in a long line, toward a team of yelling Enforcers and barking hyenas, toward hooded faces riding pedal-cars. Everyone’s eyes looked up, puzzled, and reflected the dots of dancing light.
The orbs swirled down around the tallest of the Million-Mile-High buildings. They whizzed down single file along a skinny steel track. They darted down under an iron gate, circled a squat, brick factory, and sparkled past a bronze swan with outspread wings. One after another, they squeezed through a keyhole in rapid succession, then zoomed up a staircase and down a corridor. They spilled into a cavernous black room and filled it with light.
The orbs hummed and hovered, roaming below the ceiling above a thousand rows of stiff cots, a thousand sleeping children, a thousand nightmares-in-progress.
Jack Cross’ eyes opened. One of the orbs slowly approached him. He sat up. He stared at it, hypnotized, and said out loud, “Are you looking for me?”
With a sudden dip and a whoosh, the orb zipped up Jack Cross’ nose. He grabbed his throat. The orb shot down his windpipe and plunged deep into his heart. His eyes jolted wide, and his mouth snapped open in a soundless scream. A surge of electricity blasted through him to the ends of his fingers and toes.
Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see the glowing balls hovering, closing in all around the room. One for every startled child. Each returning to where it belonged.
Jack Cross whipped off the thin bedcovers and jumped to the floor, bare feet thumping down on cold concrete. He searched noisily under his cot and pulled out a violin case. His breath quickened. He snapped open the lid and blew a layer of dust off the instrument. He grabbed it by the neck and slapped it onto his shoulder. His chin snapped down on the chin rest, and he swung the bow into the air. He held it, stiff and still, just above the strings.
Then he took a deep breath and twiddled his fingers to warm them up.
Suddenly, the room exploded all at once: picture painting, poetry reciting, dancing, running, singing, leaping. Music! Each of these children had a name, a history, and a Talent.
As he played—and he played wonderfully—Jack Cross looked down at the musical note hanging from his pajama top. He thought about Charlotte, the brown-haired girl from the circus, who had promised to get back his Talent. He had been hearing her voice in his head ever since she disappeared. One day, he would find her. One day, he would thank her. He might even write her a song.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks: to Wes. To two witches, Taryn and Hanan, for your endless support. To the true Staghart, Fouad. To my first twin, Tarek. To the real twins, Kim and Amy (and their mother, Susan). To Jake. To Jonathan. To my cousin, Sara. To my oldest friends, Roo, Danny, and Jono. To the big girls: Emily, Mavette, Bernie, and Jen. To the little girls: Whistler, Ruby, Rose, Mei, Coco, Bella, Violet, Clementine, and Imogene.
To my editor, Jennifer Besser; my agents, Amanda Urban and Jennifer Joel; and our designer, Marikka Tamura. Also, to Cecilia Yung and Kate Meltzer.
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