Tell the Wind and Fire(79)

“Send him away,” Leila said at last. “Lucie, we need to talk. You need to listen to me.”

“That’s not what ‘We need to talk’ should mean.”

“Look what you accomplished at the clock tower,” Leila said. “Think of how much you could do if you joined our cause properly. You have so much power as a symbol.”

“It’s unlucky that I’m a person too, isn’t it?”

Aunt Leila looked at me. There was so much distance in her gaze: the wall between us could not be broken down, no bridge could be crossed. “It would be a mistake for you to think you have enough power to stand against me. You may be the Golden Thread in the Dark, you may be my niece, but you are not more important than our justice. Every time you stand against me, you will be punished. There is no victory you can win that I cannot take away.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded. “What have you done?”

None of us were expecting it when Penelope hurtled through the open door and straight into Aunt Leila. I barely saw her as she went by, blood gleaming in the tight black curls of her hair, her expression set with fury. She went for Aunt Leila as if there was nobody in the room but her target. She went flying with her against the wall, into a window, and then Penelope smashed Aunt Leila’s head against the glass. More blood spilled then, but it was not Penelope’s, and they slid onto the floor in a tangled, bloody heap, the thud of their bodies on the wood like a clod of earth hitting a coffin. Penelope looked up at me.

She had obviously been taken in by the sans-merci again. I had a thousand questions, but they all died in the fire of her gaze.

She snatched the pardon from Aunt Leila’s clenched fingers and threw it toward me. The roll of paper tumbled across the floor, and I stooped down, but Ethan got there before me. He knelt down and offered the pardon up, pressing it into my hand.

“Lucie!” Penelope shouted. “Lucie, you have to go now! Get to the cages! Lucie, run!”

I did not ask why, or what was happening. I did not ask what had been done to her, or if Aunt Leila was still breathing.

I ran.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



From the account of Marie Lorry:

They put us in one of the skinny black cars that important people drive in, and drove us around the city. I saw Ethan’s dad in one once, waving, and everyone watched him and cheered. I thought he seemed to bring a holiday with him.

But it was different when it was me. The car wasn’t as nice as it had looked from the outside. It was ripped up inside. There were no seats, and they put all six of us in standing up. It was like we were bringing a funeral with us.

At first I didn’t notice the people watching, because when they put us in the car I saw Ethan. He was standing up in the car, between two people I did not know. All of them had their arms draped with chains, fastened to the floor of the car. They had only put one restraint on me, and I could move better than any of the others.

“Ethan!” I called out.

I was going to tell him that they had taken me away from Mom and Dad, that Lucie’s aunt had called me her little contingency plan and sent me here. I didn’t know what was happening, and I wanted to go home. I was going to ask him for help. But I remembered that Mom and Dad had said Ethan was in trouble, and I figured that he would not be able to send me home. I thought he might want to go home as well and he couldn’t.

So I didn’t ask him anything, but I edged closer to him. Ethan was always nice to me. The nicest boy I’d ever met, nicer than any of the boys my age, and I always thought I’d like to marry him if he wasn’t going to marry Lucie. I always thought Lucie was lucky.

I thought that if I could be with Ethan, I would feel better, and I would not be so scared.

I pushed past the other people. I didn’t say excuse me. “Ethan,” I said again.

He stared at me and said in a weird voice, “What are you doing here?”

“The lady,” I said, “Lucie’s aunt, she said we were going to be sent to . . . to the cages, to be cleansed and to give power to a beautiful future. My mom and dad always said that things couldn’t go on with the Dark city the way they were, and that . . . that a change was coming. They said it would be good.”

If it was a good thing, I should want to do it. I shouldn’t feel so bad.

“A brave new world,” he said, and there was something funny about his voice, like he wanted to make a mean joke. He didn’t sound at all like Ethan. But then he said, “Maybe it will be, one day. But I’ll never see it.”

I reached out shyly and touched his hand, and he jumped, like people didn’t ever try to take his hand. Ethan held my hand all the time when we went out and had to cross streets.

It was then that I understood. He was the other one. I forgot what Mom had called him. She’d said he wasn’t nice.

But he looked nice. He looked like Ethan. It’s funny, but he looked more like Ethan in the car than he had at home. It seemed to me that he was trying to look like Ethan really hard, and it seemed to me that maybe he was doing it because Ethan was in trouble and the other boy wanted to make sure Ethan wouldn’t be in trouble anymore. Even if he had to be in trouble instead. I thought that was really nice of him. I hate being in trouble.

He could tell that I knew, right away. There was something careful about him, like he was doing a chore, cleaning something maybe, and he was watching out because he didn’t want to miss a spot.