The Fandom(105)

I jump to my feet, my fists clenched and shaking. ‘How could you betray us like that?’

Her eyes dart beneath her lids. ‘You’re forgetting that I am a Gem.’

‘But the Imps kept you safe for hundreds of years!’

She pulls a little lever and the chair levitates so her face sits level with mine. I can see the soft hairs on her skin like silver down, a hint of green behind her lids, the tiny tooth buds straining against her gums when she speaks. ‘And that is why I would never betray them. Or you.’

‘But the President—’

‘Is a dumbledick. No wait, he’s a turdweasel, yes, that’s my favourite.’ She pushes the lever back into position and the chair settles back on the floor. ‘Come, kneel with me, child.’

I watch her suspiciously, unsure whether she speaks the truth, whether I should open my mind to her again.

She chuckles. ‘What have you got to lose?’

Slowly, I uncurl my fists. Curiosity, desperation, I don’t know what, but something pulls me to the ground. She places her palms on my temples and I feel that pain blossoming in my stomach, pushing through my body and focusing between my eyes. It chases away the image of Nate, loosens the clasp of grief on my throat. I almost feel sad when the pain lifts – it’s all I have left of him. And when I open my eyes, I’m standing in my living room.

‘There’s no place like home,’ Baba says.

It looks so ordinary, so beige. I spin slowly, taking it all in. The tan leather sofa with the coffee smudge on the right arm; the photos of me and Nate slightly askew on the fawn walls; the battered coffee table Dad pinched from our previous, rented house. I feel the shagpile rug beneath my feet, smell the casserole in the oven, hear the familiar buzz of the TV behind me. My parents sit on the sofa, side by side, Mum balancing the remote control on her knee. I recognize the music from The Gallows Dance. This makes me smile – Dad always referred to it as ‘that dystopian drivel’. I study their faces, every line and curve of their features, my heart inflating in my ribcage.

Baba sidles up to me, her hoverchair long gone. ‘They look happy.’

I nod, but my heart suddenly deflates. ‘They mustn’t know about Nate yet?’

‘These people are not your real Mum and Dad, Violet. They are your projections.’ She lays a doughy hand on my shoulder. ‘And they are the reason you’ve been striving to complete the canon. The Holy Grail, the light at the end of the tunnel, are they not?’

‘Yes.’ I look at their fingers, gently woven together, their slippers bumping up against each other.

‘When you saved the girl with no hands, when you went to the Coliseum to stop Thorn hanging those Gems, when you pushed the boat into the river and returned to shore, when you dived into that water to save your friends – did you do it so you could go home?’

‘I – I don’t understand.’ My focus never leaves Mum and Dad, terrified they could just vanish.

‘After all that you have seen, all that you have become, are you really hanging at the Gallows Dance just so you can go home?’

I shake my head.

She spins me so I face the telly. The final scene of the film plays – Rose stands on the stage, noose around her neck. My hands automatically fly to my throat.

She moves her hand so it rests just above my heart. ‘Why, Violet? Why did you do those things?’

I speak with no hesitation. ‘To help the Imps.’

‘Yes!’ she shouts. ‘You have become so much more than Rose. You care about a cause, about justice. That is why I betrayed you. That is why I told the President where you would be. You needed to see the atrocities, experience the barbarity of the Gems first hand, in order to become a true Imp – an Imp who would stand up and fight for her people. Because only an act of true love and true sacrifice can complete the canon. This has always been a love story, Violet. But for you, it’s about a greater love than the love between two people.’

I tear my eyes from the screen and look at her. The apple of her irises is even greener against the beige of my sitting room. ‘Nate died so I could become a true Imp?’

A tear trickles down her face, funnelled through a lattice of wrinkles. ‘I’m so sorry. My powers lack precision sometimes – some things, I fail to see.’

A rush of unexpected sympathy passes through me. I know how it feels to fail, after all. I change the topic from Nate, for both our sakes. ‘But when I hang, Alice will return to our world and write a pro-Gem sequel. The Imps lose, no matter what.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Can I stop her? Is there a way?’

‘When Alice returns to your world, she won’t remember the past week. None of you will. Perhaps the odd echo, a fragment here or there, more like a dream. But your experiences will stay with you. The sequel Alice writes will be shaped by her experiences.’

‘There’s nothing I can do?’

‘All is not lost, Violet. There’s still time for you both to find your way. Perhaps you are not the only one capable of self-sacrifice and love.’

‘What does that even mean?’

She looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘Self-sacrifice. Love. They will mean something different to Alice, I’m sure. But they remain at the core of every great story, even hers.’

I have so many questions, so many uncertainties buzzing in my head, but she closes her eyes and begins to sing.