Exactly one week today, I will hang.
I will hang for my friends, my family, and above all else, love. A thought which offers surprisingly little comfort when I think about the noose closing around my neck, my feet searching for solid ground, my legs flailing . . . dancing in mid-air.
This morning I was clueless. This morning I was at Comic-Con, inhaling the scent of hot dogs and sweat and perfume, taking in the brightly coloured costumes, the flash of the cameras, the bass drums and the violins. And yesterday I was in school, stressing over some stupid English presentation and wishing I were in another world.
Be careful what you wish for, because sometimes the reality truly blows.
‘Violet?’ I hear Nate’s voice. ‘Violet, are you OK?’
I wake somewhere warm and soft – on my sofa back home or snuggled in bed. The fragrance of burning wood mingles with pollen, and candlelight pools on the walls. I hear low, pulsing voices and wonder if Mum and Dad are talking in the kitchen. But I quickly realize the voices belong to Baba and Thorn.
Nate leans over me. For a fleeting second, I recall my dream, but I see no chasm opening across his chest.
‘What happened?’ I whisper. It feels like I’ve been screaming, the lining of my throat cracked.
‘Baba did her weird thought-sucking-thing and then you passed out. Are you OK?’
I shake my head. The vast, empty space of the Coliseum, Rose’s body hitting the floor, the empty noose . . . Memories fill my mind until my skull feels like a sieve, incapable of containing them all.
‘Violet? What is it?’ Nate asks.
I open my mouth to explain, but Thorn raises his voice at that same moment.
‘I refuse to believe it,’ he says.
Baba – once again bent in her chair, her apple-green irises sealed firmly behind her lids – clasps his hand. ‘She’s the one, Thorn.’ The same words Baba spoke to Thorn in canon, right after her mind blend with Rose.
Nate turns to me, his face full of wonder. ‘They’re talking about you,’ he mouths.
‘She will save the Imps,’ Baba says. ‘Through self-sacrifice and love.’
Nate’s eyes widen, his face all apexes and points in the firelight. ‘You’re going to take Rose’s place?’
I nod.
The concentration nips at his face as he bites his bottom lip. ‘But if you take her place . . .’ His features twist in alarm as he follows the concept to its natural end point. It amazes me how clever he is sometimes.
‘It’s OK.’ I try to smile, though it feels more like a grimace. ‘Soon as I hang we’ll all get transported home. All of us. I won’t feel a thing.’
‘But . . .’
‘Baba promised, I won’t even know it’s happening.’ I’m not sure for whose sake I’m lying – mine or his.
‘But, Violet . . .’
‘Let’s not dwell on it, OK, bro. It is what it is.’
And I bury those terrifying, bleak words in some distant part of my brain – Exactly one week today, I will hang.
Thorn crosses the floor in three long strides and pulls me to my feet like I weigh no more than a doll. ‘Come then, Little Flower, I’ll brief you on your assignment.’
I follow him from the chamber, my arm linked through Nate’s for stability. I forget to say bye to Baba, too focused on the ache in my head and the weakness in my limbs. Only when I hear her voice following us up the corridor do I remember her. ‘You don’t need to brief her,’ she shouts. ‘She already knows what to do.’
Nate and I wait on a pew near the front of the church. All the other pews have been removed to make room for desks and chairs, so this one stands alone, making it seem more like a random park bench. It’s the exact same pew Rose and Thorn sat on after their meeting with Baba. But current-Thorn stands, statuesque, glowering once again at the plaque beneath the bombed-out window. He hasn’t bothered to rebind our hands, and I find myself just staring at Nate’s fingers as they spread over his thighs. They look so delicate, the skin unblemished by time.
A muffled shriek pulls our attention to the back of the church. Matthew half drags, half carries a gagged Alice towards Thorn. She arches her back and digs her heels into the ground, but Matthew easily overpowers her. Saskia follows with Katie, who also puts up a fight, but her petite frame makes little impact against Saskia’s vice-like grip.
‘Sit them all together,’ Thorn says, not even bothering to turn.
Alice and Katie slide along the pew so they sit beside us. My thigh presses into Katie’s – I can feel her shaking.
I try and still her knee with my hand. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ I whisper, mistaking her tremors for fear, but when she replies, the gag absorbing her words, she sounds pissed off, not afraid. Thank goodness she’s gagged, I think. Katie has no idea just how violent, how brutal, Thorn can be. She’d probably call him a toasted knob-cheese sandwich or something.
Saskia and Matthew stand behind us, their shadows fragmenting across our laps as a draught stirs the candle flames.
‘God knows how you’re still alive,’ Saskia whispers into my ear.
Thorn circles the desks and stops when he reaches the pulpit at the front of the church. He has this look of self-importance, like he’s going to climb the wooden steps and start preaching, but he settles on clearing his throat. ‘Turns out we may have a use for our visitors.’
‘Firewood?’ Saskia mutters. ‘Bet they’d spit and sizzle like pork chops.’
Thorn pulls the gags from Katie and Alice’s mouths, taking more time over Katie’s, letting his fingers brush up against her freckles. She turns her face away and he inhales sharply, as though her gesture wounds him. But whatever Katie stirs inside him leaves as quickly as it arrived – his face hardens and he wipes his hand against his blazer. He addresses Saskia and Matthew, speaking over our heads. ‘Violet has agreed to take Rose’s place in the Harper mission.’
Saskia and Matthew begin to laugh.
‘I’m serious,’ Thorn says.
The laughter stops abruptly.
‘But – but – she can’t possibly take Rose’s place.’ Saskia raps on the pew with her knuckles, as though trying to drum all the frustration out of her.
‘What choice do we have?’ Thorn says. ‘Rose is dead. And we still need a pretty young Imp to infiltrate the manor house and befriend Willow Harper. Little Flower here is the best hope we have.’
I hate the way he calls me Little Flower; he never called Rose that.
Saskia’s knocking increases in volume. ‘But we don’t know anything about this girl. How do we know if we can even trust her? She and her idiot friends killed Rose, for Christ’s sake.’
Thorn looks a little unsettled, but he papers over it with a stern expression. ‘They didn’t kill Rose, the Gems did. The day we start blaming each other for the sins of the Gems is the day we fall apart. But I share some of your concerns, Saskia, which is why you and Matthew won’t let them out of your sight. You will make sure they’re onside and on-task every second of every day.’
Dammit, I think. Saskia and Matthew worked at the Harper manor for almost a year before they pulled Rose from that street fight – that’s how they identified Willow as a target. They helped Rose blend in at the estate, told her about Willow’s routine, and just generally supported her. But they’re coming with us to criticize and kick us if we fall.
And it seems Saskia isn’t too happy about it either. Her knocking crescendos and then cuts out. ‘Who the hell are these weirdos?’ She hurls the words like weapons. ‘At least tell us that. They turn up in the Coliseum claiming to be spies, dressed up as . . . God knows what.’
Katie turns to me and whispers, ‘Was she this much of a tit-turnip in the book?’
I risk a little shake of the head, wishing I could replace that gag.
Thorn arranges his features into a controlled expression. ‘I don’t have to explain myself, Saskia. I want them on that Imp-bus tomorrow night. Got it? They aren’t from this city and they’ve never worked in the Pastures, so make sure they pass for slaves. OK? If they get shot for trying to cross the border illegally, I will hold you personally responsible.’
Silence.
‘All of them?’ Matthew finally asks.
‘No, only Little Flower and the boy.’
‘Don’t send the lad,’ Matthew says. ‘It could be really dangerous, and he’s only young.’
‘I’m fourteen,’ Nate says.
Thorn smiles. ‘And Violet’s obviously very protective of him. His presence will serve as a constant reminder of what’s at stake if she fails in her mission.’
I think about that knife, pushed into Nate’s throat, and the words I’m about to say fade to a whisper in my mouth. ‘What about Alice and Katie?’
Thorn studies Katie. ‘So, the one in black, Katie is it?’
‘That’s right,’ she replies.
He lets his gaze linger on her a little too long. ‘Well, Katie, you’re my insurance, my leverage. If Violet is successful in her mission, if she gets those secrets, then you will live. But if Violet does a runner, or betrays me, or simply fails in her mission, then I’ll kill you myself.’
Katie’s tremble becomes more pronounced, sending rhythmic waves up my forearm. ‘You can’t be serious?’ She gives him that look, narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips together like she’s back in class dealing with Ryan Bell.
‘Katie, don’t.’ I squeeze her thigh.
‘No,’ she says, her voice rising with indignation. ‘If this dicksplat thinks he can intimidate us then—’ She never gets to finish. Saskia whacks her around the back of the head, pretty hard judging by the sound of it. Her red hair whirls forward and she nearly falls from the pew.
‘Katie, don’t,’ I say to her again.
She must see the panic in my eyes, because she falls silent.
Thorn kneels before her and leans in close. ‘I admire your spirit, Katie, but you must never insult me like that again. Do you understand?’
Say yes, say yes. The words repeat over and over in my head, but the pause keeps on stretching until it becomes a full-on tumbleweed moment, and Katie just stares back at him, tight-lipped and hard-eyed like a cowboy waiting to draw.
‘Do you understand?’ he repeats. He stands, looming over her, his single eye flitting up and down her form. He adjusts his eyepatch and I’m reminded of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, hiding his fangs beneath a poor disguise.
‘Katie, please,’ I whisper.
Very slowly, she nods her head.
He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, a flash of pink against the darkness of his skin. ‘Then we’ll get along just fine, Katie.’
‘And what about this one?’ Saskia says, jabbing a finger into Alice’s back.
‘Ah, the Gem lookalike?’ Thorn shifts his gaze to Alice. ‘Gem on the outside, Imp on the inside. At least her blood is decent,’ he says.
‘We could cut her open and see,’ Saskia says.
Thorn laughs. ‘Steady now, Saskia. I need to keep her Gem casing intact . . . at least for now. I’ve got a very special job for her.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alice asks.
The shadow of something more youthful, mischievous, crosses his face. ‘And then you would know everything, and where would the fun be in that?’