We eat all of the eggs – scrambled over a campfire – and fall asleep on a bed of grass beneath a silver birch. I dream of feathers and thistledown, broken leaves and pieces of exploding apple. The air fills with glittering specks which stick to my lips and make it difficult to breathe. The flecks turn to bubbles, sea foam, and I suddenly realize I’m underwater. I glance down and see a fish tail sprouting from my torso like it belongs. I open my mouth to scream, but I have no tongue. I have no voice. Katie bobs opposite me, still wearing her black catsuit, her red hair circling her face like a lion’s mane.
She smiles. ‘You must win the prince’s heart, Violet, or we will turn to sea foam.’
I open my mouth to tell her I don’t know what to do, but a load of froth emerges, spewing down my chest like vomit.
I wake with a start. I think I’m going to cry out, but the dream retreats and I remember only the bones of it – something about Katie and water and an overwhelming sense of threat. I glance to Ash. He looks so peaceful, his long eyelashes flickering slightly, and the dream slips from me completely.
I touch his cheek with the back of my fingers. He feels warm and soft and real. We fell asleep barely touching. But now we coil together, swaddled in our own body heat, our chests rising and falling in complete synchrony. I notice how well our bodies fit together, and for the first time in for ever, I feel completely at peace.
The sun begins to fade, and I realize we’ve slept most of the day. Which means I will hang in four days . . . which means the ball starts soon. This thought shatters my peace. I sit up, knocking Ash with my shoulder, opening my mouth in panic. For some reason, I’m surprised by how free my tongue feels as I shout the words, ‘Shit! The ball.’
We run all the way back to the Imp-hut, sleep blurring our eyes.
‘Where have you been?’ Nate says as we push through the door.
Saskia’s gaze swings between me and Ash, her face locked in this suspicious frown. ‘Come here, bedhead. We need you to look waitress-ready.’
She washes my face with a scratchy cloth and pulls the remaining strands of straw from my hair. I’m hoping she assumes they’re from the bunks, but judging from the amount of huffing and puffing, I’m fooling no one.
She rubs rouge into my cheeks and arranges my hair in a tousled up-do. Ash watches me with a shy smile on his face. ‘You look beautiful, Violet.’
An echo from canon: the exact words Ash said to Rose just before she headed off to the ball. But real Ash – my Ash – sounds more assertive, less needy.
Saskia and Nate both glare at him.
‘Yeah well, she’s off limits. Got it?’ Saskia says.
Ash shrugs. ‘Doesn’t stop her looking beautiful.’
I try and bury the little smile which tugs at the corners of my mouth.
I arrive at the ballroom an hour before the party begins. I remember that Willow called it his coming-of-age ball, probably to save my feelings, but its real name is a Gallows Ball, thrown for a Gem debutant just before they attend their first Gallows Dance. Yet another way of mocking the Imps. My jaw clenches.
I banish the thought from my brain and focus on successfully completing the next part of the story; on making sure those two pieces of thread stay closely intertwined. All I need to do is serve at the ball, gaze longingly at Willow all night, and then hang back when the guests leave. Then, I get to star in one of my favourite scenes. Willow and Rose dancing to no music in the deserted ballroom, the bloom that Rose gave him pinned to his lapel. It was so beautiful. Loads better than that poxy stable. Hopefully, it will set the scene for our first kiss.
I take a second to absorb my surroundings – my favourite set. Double doors lead on to a sweeping staircase which takes you on to the marble floor – a giant, polished ice rink. It looks more like something from a fairy tale than a dystopian novel, and so removed from the Imp city that it possesses a dreamlike quality. Lilac walls reach towards a white, domed ceiling. A cluster of chandeliers form the shape of a flower, several smaller petals blooming from a larger centrepiece. And something the film simply couldn’t capture is the way the light bounces off everything – the crystals, the marble floor, the silverware. I think I would’ve stood and gaped for ever if the Imp in charge, a stout, middle-aged woman with a moustache, didn’t bark up the stairs, ‘Move it, new girl, you’re on drinks.’
The Imps busy themselves, setting out hors d’oeuvres and floral arrangements. They watch the food hungrily, and I feel a sympathetic grumble in my stomach. We look smarter than usual, dressed in the regulation grey suits reserved for special Gem occasions such as this. I should feel masculine, but four words beat over and over in my head: You look beautiful, Violet. I try and hide these words away, aware that I shouldn’t be thinking of Ash when I need to get the canon back on track, but they just keep popping back into my head.
I set out the champagne flutes on trays, my white regulation gloves preventing contamination from my dirty Imp hands.
‘Attention,’ Moustache calls.
We stand in a neat little line. Heads bowed and gloved hands clasped before us. The string quartet begins to play, and I try not to stare at their impossibly elegant Gem fingers dancing up and down the strings. I think of Katie, the way her hair falls across her face as she strikes her bow against the strings of her cello. There’s something far more alive, far more beautiful, about her imperfect face scowling with concentration when compared to these airbrushed, uniform Gems.
The guests arrive. The women look like a parade of Disney princesses, the men all handsome in tailored suits. I try to remain invisible and avoid eye contact while offering drinks; a difficult task which requires all my effort.
‘Oh my, Howard! Look,’ one Gem cries. She looks Asian, and has amazing long black hair and full, red lips. I remember this scene from canon. Two horribly patronizing Gems talking really loudly about Rose as though she couldn’t hear. Howard Stoneback, the nephew of the Gem President, and his wife. At least it means the canon is dragging us along, even if I do want to smack them in the face. ‘This Imp is almost pretty.’ She points a manicured nail right in my face.
Howard laughs, his blond curls bounce around his face. ‘Oh yes. Stranger things, darling, stranger things.’
‘Get a photo.’ She stands next to me and smiles, her sticky perfume invading my nostrils.
‘Darling, don’t stand so close to the Imps. They’ve scrubbed up tonight, but they’re still . . . you know . . . dirty.’ His voice strengthens, in search of an admiring ear. ‘And as the President’s only nephew, standards must be upheld.’
Standards indeed! I know from canon that Howard regularly frequents brothels. Imp brothels at that. I look at my boots so they don’t see my smirk.
Mrs Stoneback steps away. ‘Quite right, darling, the champagne’s making me giddy.’ This doesn’t stop her grabbing another glass, her scarlet nails tapping on the stem. They hurry away, laughing. I force my features into a neutral expression and imagine spitting in their drinks – this cheers me up.
Before long, the room swells with music and laughter and the air is thick with perfume and the fizz of champagne. I continue to navigate the thirsty masses by their reflections in the marble floor, clutching a tray of glasses and ordering my arms not to tremble.
A deep, sonorous voice cuts through the chatter and the violins. It must be Jeremy Harper. I risk a quick look, aware that all other eyes will be trained on him. He looks like Willow, but with none of the warmth, none of the softness. He doesn’t look much older than thirty, but the skin around his eyes looks a little too tight, a little too shiny, and I suspect a surgical knife has slowed down the aging process. Even genetic enhancement can’t prevent aging completely. ‘Thank you for joining us for our son’s Gallows Ball. For eighteen wonderful years, we have watched him mature into the man he is today. And next week he will attend his first Gallows Dance, and now . . .’ He leaves a dramatic pause, just like he did in canon, and a drum roll builds, reminiscent of the countdown to death at the Gallows Dance. I shudder in spite of the heating. ‘. . . the time has come for him to dance his very own Gallows Dance. So let’s get this party in full swing.’ He mimes pulling a rope around his neck, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes. The crowd laughs. This pissed me off when I read the book and watched the film, but now I feel this hot fury, this sense of injustice filling my chest like a noxious gas. I notice the flutes on my tray quivering slightly. I glance at the other Imps, but they conceal the dark, twisting shapes which must fill their heads as their misery is openly mocked. Years of practise, I guess.
The music builds and Willow appears at the top of the staircase. He looks stunning – hair swept to one side, skin even warmer beneath the bright light of the chandeliers – and he wears a navy suit which really contrasts with the copper of his eyes. I try to let some of the anger go, anticipating his gaze meeting mine, that shy, boyish smile. But something is very wrong. My heart jams in my chest. Not only is he missing my rose stem from his lapel, but an equally stunning Gem girl stands beside him. Oh God, in canon he attended the ball alone. I feel the tray tip and some champagne spills from the flutes. I try to steady it, try to focus through the fog of my own panic.
Who is this mystery Gem girl?
She wears a flowing dress, the colour of trees after too much rain, and a simple tiara, matching the gold of her hair. Her honey-glazed skin is exactly the same shade as Willow’s, making it difficult to tell where his hand finishes and hers begins. For a brief moment, I almost laugh, just the thought that he might want me. Of course he wants this beautiful, honey-coloured doll – every Ken needs a Barbie. They walk down the staircase in perfect sync, and she smiles like a bride approaching the altar.
Their feet touch the floor at precisely the same moment and he sweeps her into the centre of the room beneath the grand chandelier. The crowd breathes a collective sigh as the couple begin to waltz. I can feel sweat beading between my inferior breasts, the air growing clotted and dense. How am I meant to compete with her?
The Gems begin to waltz in their pairs, closing around Willow and his mystery partner, obscuring my view. I stand completely still, just trying not to drop my tray. The not-staring rule completely evades me now, but nobody seems to notice. Through glimpses of fabric and flawless skin, I see Willow laughing.
The waltz finishes and Barbie walks in my general direction. I stare at her reflection in the marble and shamelessly wish I were her. She moves closer, and I continue to avert my eyes, not yet daring to steal a proper look. I decide to wait until she passes – that way she’s less likely to notice the slave studying her face. But she seems to walk straight towards me. I lift my tray slightly, my heart trembling beneath my shirt. Her hand connects with a champagne flute, her nails smooth and long and perfectly formed, and I snatch a quick glance at her face. To my surprise, she smiles at me.
Only when she speaks do I finally recognize her. ‘You’ve got to try some of this, Vi. It’s so much nicer than Lambrini.’ She takes a massive slurp and coughs a little.
‘Alice!’ I feel this huge surge of relief, just knowing she’s OK. ‘Alice, what are you doing here?’
‘Shhh, I can’t be seen talking to the riff-raff.’ She winks a long, fluttery lash, and as she glances towards the exit, I notice how the curls piled on her head look slightly paler, slightly waxier, than her natural hair. ‘Meet me outside in half an hour and I’ll explain.’
The minute hand on the grandfather clock seems to crawl forwards, the air seems to grow even thicker and more resistant, my tray heavier in spite of the diminishing load. In canon, Willow watched Rose all night, his eyes darting feverishly to her mouth as he recalled the texture of her lips. But he doesn’t even look my way. He’s transfixed by Alice. I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach like I’m back at Comic-Con watching Anime Alice with Russell Tosspot-Jones. Well you really are in Wonderland now. I know I should feel angry, scared even, Alice messing up canon like this, but I just feel jealous. And can’t quite unpick my matted thoughts. How did Alice infiltrate the ball? Was this the special job Thorn mentioned back at headquarters?
Finally, Alice kisses his cheek and dashes out of the door. I almost expect her to lose a glass slipper on the way. I tell Moustache I need to pee and slip out of the room, using the staff door at the back.
The cool evening air catches in my nostrils, and the stretch of lawn – the stillness of twilight – calms me for a moment. I close my eyes and listen to the lilting melody floating on the air. Something beautiful I can’t quite reach.
I tread lightly, moving across the gravel, heading towards the side of the manor where I expect her to be.
‘Violet!’ Her golden head bobs around the side of the building. She beckons to me.
I reach her and she pushes me back so a privet hedge shields us from view.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she says.
We embrace and the jealousy grows blunt at the edges, the familiar scent of cherry blossom and lemon-grass filling my head. The whaleboning of her dress digs into my ribs, but I continue to hold her, allowing myself to acknowledge just how much I’ve missed her.
She holds me out at arm’s length and looks me up and down. ‘You make a good Rose.’
‘Thanks, you make a good Gem.’
‘Aw, thanks.’
I fail to return her smile. ‘Alice, what’s going on?’
She smooths down the fabric of her dress, avoiding eye contact. ‘So Thorn asked me to pose as a Gem.’
‘Yeah, I kind of guessed . . . But why?’
‘He wants me as a back-up plan, in case you fail. There’s more than one way to skin a cat and get those Gem secrets. He doesn’t believe the alternate universe thing, can’t blame him really – he thinks Baba may have lost the plot, excuse the pun.’
Just at that moment, the band bursts into a lively jig. She turns her head as though she can see the music floating on the breeze.
My body grows rigid, paralysed, and frustration builds deep inside, pushing upwards and outwards until I think I might burst. ‘But that’s not why we’re here. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re here to make sure Willow still falls for Rose. To make sure the story runs its course so we can go home. Remember? The psychic lady with no face . . . “You must save the Imps, Violet.”’
‘Yeah, but Thorn’s priority is still getting Willow to blab about Daddykins.’
‘And your priority is . . .?’
‘To help you, obviously.’
‘By hitting on Prince Charming.’ I tap my foot – she hates it when I do that.
She wrinkles up her nose, her make-up cracking like a china glaze. ‘Look, Violet, things have deviated from canon already. You’re not Rose for a start – you may know her lines, but you’re still not her. You need all the help you can get.’
This tugs at some deep-rooted insecurity. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Do you know how eligible Willow is? Seriously, every unmarried Gem girl wants a piece of him, he’s gorgeous and kind and rich—’
‘Says the unmarried Gem girl.’
‘Violet, don’t be an idiot. If I’m seen with Willow, then I’m putting off the Gem competition and you stand a better chance.’
‘A likely story,’ I snap.
‘I’m just trying to help.’
The insecurity grows and grows until all I can hear are the words Violet the Virgin. ‘What, you think I can’t do this on my own? You think I can’t make a guy fall for me?’
‘Not just any guy – Willow Harper. You know, the most perfect man in the universe . . . this universe and ours.’ She makes a circular motion with her finger.
‘Oh, so if he was an ugly loser, then I’d stand a chance.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘Then what exactly are you saying?’ My tone rises, and I realize this is the first argument we’ve had since she stole my red dress and wore it to a party back in Year Ten. I remember feeling so angry, not because she didn’t ask me, or even because she slopped garlic dip all down the front, but because she looked better in it than me.
She exhales quickly. ‘I’m saying, we just need to get Willow to fall for you and follow you to the city, how it happens doesn’t matter.’
‘Jesus, Alice, this isn’t some little fanfic exercise – you can’t just rewrite the plot and hope for the best. We’re the butterfly, remember, flapping our massive wings. Just the slightest change and the consequences could be drastic.’
‘Yes, but you also said the story wants to unfold. Anyway, I’m not rewriting the plot, I’m ensuring it hits its key climax moments.’
A bitter laugh erupts from my lips. ‘Yeah, I can see climaxing is your main concern.’
‘Now you just sound jealous.’
‘Well maybe I am. You get to be with Willow, the most perfect man in existence, and I have to slum it in the Imp-hut, worrying about me and Ash, Saskia breathing down my neck, and you get to live like – like –’ I gesture around me, to the manor, the estate, the stars – ‘a Gem.’
Her brow knots. ‘You’re worried about you and Ash?’
I stutter on my words. ‘Well, not worried . . .’
‘Seriously, the hero with the big dong and the massive crush? He’s just background noise in canon, you know that, yeah?’
I study the ground, dodging her accusatory stare, banning thoughts of feathers and potential first kiss scenes from my mind. I notice how intricate her diamanté sandals look in comparison with my boots. ‘Of course I know that.’
‘You’re a hypocrite, Violet.’
The band stops and the world seems strangely empty. Flat. Like a reflection of itself. I open my mouth to respond, but only a strange hissing noise escapes.
We stare at each other for a moment, and then she does this familiar thing – she rubs the little split heart between her thumb and forefinger. A sign she’s anxious. I hadn’t realized she was wearing it till now.
I feel myself soften. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘With a Gem family who live nearby. Thorn has a lot of connections – there are Symps in all sorts of places.’
‘So they know you’re—’
‘An Imp?’ She laughs. ‘Yeah they know. I don’t think they believe it, though.’
‘Try not to sound too pleased.’
She glares at me. ‘Look, I need to get back to Willow.’
‘Wait.’ I catch her arm. ‘How did you end up as his date?’
‘I need to get back to Willow,’ she repeats. ‘If he comes looking for me and sees us together he’s bound to get suspicious.’
I know she’s right, but I can’t bring myself to agree. ‘Yeah, and I need to get back to waiting on you and your Gem friends, slave that I am.’
‘For God’s sake, Violet, I’m an Imp too.’
But I think of those honey hands wrapped around her waist and the jealousy combines with anger, a lethal combination. ‘You’re also supposed to be my best mate – turns out you don’t know how to act like either.’ I turn on my heel and slam my feet into the gravel, my head full and hot and ready to burst.