The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)(50)
His gaze dropped. “A disease.” He hesitated, and looked around us at the empty stable. “The horses knew.”
The rough hardware of a stall door pressed into the curve of my spine. I had backed myself up against it without realizing. “How do you know?”
“I have seen it.”
“Where?”
“In your future.”
His words chilled my heart. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
I swallowed. “What are you?”
“Your teacher,” he said simply. “Now obey me. Get dressed, in dark colors preferably. Take nothing from this house. Nothing from this life.” He looked at the sky, which threatened to lighten. “We must begin before dawn.”
“Begin what?” I whispered.
“Your real education.” He reached into his waistcoat then, and withdrew something I could not see. He stepped out into the dim moonlight, and I followed him as he opened his palm. Something silver glimmered in his hand. A pendant, half of it hammered into the shape of a feather, the other half a sword.
32
OKAY, SHE’S OUT.”
I’m not
“What did you give her?”
“Morphine, I think.”
“You think?”
“I don’t know! Whatever was in that vial.”
“How do you even know how to do this?”
“YouTube videos.”
“Ha.”
“Okay, um, there’s like, tissue around it—”
Around what
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Hand me a scalpel first?
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. No, not that one, a different one. Yeah, that one I guess.”
“You guess? What if you cut, like, an artery or something?”
“Stop making me nervous.”
“Sorry!”
“Should we just take her to the hospital?”
“I think . . . I don’t know. I think maybe. Yeah.”
Something smashed against the wall. “Okay. Okay. Go call.”
No no no get them out “Oh, shit, Jamie. She’s moving. Hold her—”
“I can’t!”
“She’s digging. Oh, God. She’s, like, digging . . .”
“Give her more morphine or something. Christ!”
“I don’t want her to OD!”
“Well, she’s tearing out her intestines!”
“She is not. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Their voices blurred to silence, and my hands disappeared into warmth. I saw red and felt pain, but my hands kept moving, pushing, pressing, until I felt— “Is that— What the f*ck are those?”
What are they what are they “There are two of them. Oh my God.”
“She was right. She was right.”
“Is that—maybe that’s what’s been making her sick?”
“I don’t know. I think—I think I can stitch this up.”
“How can you even see?”
“Here, give me that towel.”
It hurts it hurts stop please “Stella, her lips are white.”
“Put some pressure here, maybe?”
“Should she be shaking like this?”
“Oh, no. She’s seizing—”
“What should I do?”
“Mara? Mara, look at us, okay? Just keep looking at us.”
But I couldn’t. Their words faded into darkness, and I did too.
33
BEFORE
London, England
I DISOBEYED THE PROFESSOR IN one thing when we fled London before dawn. I carried in my trembling hands the doll Sister had made me. Nothing more. Nothing less. I stared warily with tear-blurred eyes at the hansom cab the professor hired. The horses were uneasy, but he gave them something to calm them, he said, before he noticed what was in my hand.
“Mara—”
“That is not my real name,” I said hoarsely. I wanted to change the subject, so he would not force me to leave the doll behind.
He considered me. “Did you choose it for yourself?”
I nodded.
“Then that is what I shall call you.”
“What is your name?” I asked as the carriage rolled over the stone streets, toward the smoky sunrise.
The professor lifted an eyebrow. “I have had many.”
“What is the one you’ve chosen for yourself?”
At this he smiled. “I have chosen many. Abraham, Alexander, Alim, Abel, Arthur, Armin, Abdul, Aldis, Alton, Alonzo, Aloysius—”
“All beginning with A?? Why?”
“You are just as inquisitive as when I left. When you live the way I have, you must find ways to amuse yourself.”
I didn’t see how it was amusing at all, but I said nothing. There was too much else on my mind. What would happen at dawn, when the servants woke and found my husband—what Aunt Sarah would say, do, when she learned I was gone. My throat tightened, and I gripped the doll until my knuckles were white.
“How did you find me?”
“In England, or in India?”