The Fandom(104)

‘But why bring me? Katie?’ I have to swallow before I can say his name. ‘Nate.’

‘We only meant to transport Alice. But things never go quite as planned. And when you all arrived, my word, did it get interesting. Baba’s been keeping me posted.’

‘Rose wasn’t meant to die?’

He scoops up my teacup and pushes the halves together so the cup becomes whole. ‘Not then, no. She was supposed to hang at the Gallows Dance tomorrow, inciting a revolution, completing the cycle, and sending Alice home.’ A glimmer of pride offsets his usual look of disdain. ‘I must admit, Violet, you surpassed my expectations as an understudy. Baba told me you would.’

‘So I will hang in Rose’s place.’

He grins – his teeth remind me of those foam sweets I used to love as a kid. ‘That is correct. It is the only way the four of you will awaken in your world.’

‘So we are unconscious?’

He smiles his patronizing smile. ‘In your world, yes. And if you and your friends ever want to wake up, you will dance on those gallows as I ask.’ He laughs. ‘What a pickle you’ve found yourself in. To fear the thing you need the most – the hangman’s noose. Don’t worry, all good heroines find themselves in a double bind. It adds to the tension.’

I recall the paper chain, the grabbing hands, the Dupes, the crescent scythe, the Imps at the Meat House. Nate’s body dead on the concrete. I feel such fury. And then I think of Mum and Dad, Maltesers and Netflix and A levels and sleepovers. The President was right; I am in a double bind, he just got the wrong one.

‘I won’t do it,’ I hiss.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I won’t do it. I won’t play along. When Willow shouts out he loves me at the Gallows Dance, I’ll shout back that I hate him, that I used him. I won’t complete the canon and then Alice won’t be able to wake up to write her pro-Gem sequel. The Gems will never prevail.’

‘How interesting. Just as Alice has identified with the Gems, you’ve identified with the Imps.’

‘I am an Imp.’

He sneers. ‘As I said earlier, failing to complete the loop has consequences which we can’t determine. They may be dire. Not only will you fail to cross over, but this universe may just cease to be.’

‘Maybe that’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

‘We’re talking oblivion, Violet. Oblivion for you and that gutter-monkey boyfriend and all the Imps you love so much. You may gamble with your own life, but I seriously doubt you’ll gamble with theirs.’

He’s got me. I know it and he knows it. Deflated, beaten, I shake my head.

‘So when Willow Harper bursts forward at the Gallows Dance and shouts –’ he leaps from his chair and clasps his heart in a melodramatic pose – ‘“I love you, Rose,” you will say?’

‘I love you too.’

‘The Gems tear down the gallows, a revolution begins, the story completes and you can go home.’ He glances down at me, a sneer fixed across his plastic face. ‘Good little monkey.’





I lie on the bed in my cell, staring at the door, knowing that the next time it opens, I will be taken to the Gallows Dance. My brain aches, struggling to process all the new information. The fairy tales, the pips, the flatline. Back in my world, the real world, I am unconscious. And yet I’m also here. Two universes. Two Violets. It just makes no sense. I think perhaps Stoneback was right – I have the brain of a monkey. Tears leak down my face, spilling over the bridge of my nose, leaching into the pillow. After everything I have done, all that I have lost, I simply can’t win this one. The Gems win. Baba wins.

I reach into my pocket and find my split-heart necklace. I must have stuffed it there after our argument, too sentimental to chuck it in the dirt. It coils through my fingers like a delicate pewter thread, and when I open my hand, the split heart swings before my eyes.

My best friend. Sucked in by the Gems. At least the extent of her betrayal was limited to sleeping with Willow; at least she wasn’t responsible for Nate’s death. But she will destroy the Imps in the end, and I will inadvertently help her by completing the canon. I feel broken, like I’m made of eggshell and no amount of horses or king’s men could ever make me whole. I stuff the chain back into my pocket.

‘Self-sacrifice and love.’ I whisper the words to the walls. But they just sound stupid. And for some reason, an image of Miss Thompson pops into my head, leaning on her Formica desk, telling us about the black moment in literature, the moment when all hope seems lost. Only one side of my mouth smiles – right now, things couldn’t look much blacker.

The door opens. I expect to see another khaki uniform, but instead I see Baba. She moves forward, suspended in air, her feet completely still. At first, I think she’s a ghost, but then I notice the levers clutched in her shrivelled hands, and realize she’s using some bizarre hoverchair. I study her old, closed-up face, so relaxed and still, and the image of Nate bleeding out on my lap fills my mind. She told the Gems about the bolt-hole. The anger stretches around my body, filling my veins, contracting my muscles until they feel like a series of jack-in-the-boxes ready to pop. I think I may kill her. Only her frailty stops me.

The chair pauses next to my bed. I daren’t look at her, but I can smell lilies, hear her voice, warm and measured. ‘I sense your rage,’ she says.