The Fandom(74)

‘You don’t do anything. You just hope Alice comes up with the goods – it isn’t just Katherine I’ve got locked in a cell any more.’

‘Katie,’ I say, almost to myself. The guilt multiplies as I realize she hasn’t entered my head since I arrived back at headquarters. But something about the way he used her full name, the way he rolled it around his mouth like he was exploring its contours with his tongue, makes me fear less for her safety.

‘You can’t see her,’ he says.

‘Is she OK?’

He nods. ‘For now.’

I take a deep breath and push my hair behind my ears. I need to convince him to let me see Baba. I steady my voice. ‘What if Alice doesn’t deliver the goods?’

‘She’s doing OK so far.’ His single eye flits between my own.

‘Last time I saw her, she was enjoying being a Gem a little too much. It’s a lot to give up.’

‘I managed it.’ He raises his eyepatch to remind me of his origins. This close, I can see his pupil shrink to a dot, unaccustomed to the light.

‘Yes, but the Gems haven’t killed the man she loves.’

‘Speaking of love, it seems your mission may have been compromised by a certain Night-Imp.’

My cheeks flush. ‘Ash is just a friend.’

He laughs like he doesn’t believe me and pulls a silver flask from his jacket. ‘Go on then, what makes you think Alice loves the Gem brat?’

‘Back in my world, Alice is a fanfic writer, a really good one. She gets thousands of hits every day.’

He hands me the flask, his features controlled and still. ‘A fanfic writer?’

‘Alice didn’t write the original book, but she expanded on it, twisted it, wrote new bits.’ Tentatively, I take a sip. It tastes pungent, gouging a path of fire from my tongue to my belly.

‘She makes shit up.’

I laugh softly. ‘Yeah.’

He plucks the flask from my hand. ‘I trusted Baba when she said you were the one. But she got it wrong. And I’m not about to believe her bizarre idea that you’re from a different dimension and our world is just a . . .’ He tails off and takes several hungry slurps. I notice his hand tremble slightly, a sheen of moisture on his brow.

I press on. ‘Alice’s favourite thing was to write stories about girls who could win Willow’s heart, made-up girls . . . and they were all tall and blonde, and called things like Abby and Ada and Amelia. She’s imagined being with him since she was fifteen.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘You still need me, because Alice isn’t on our side. She’s on Alice’s side. She always is.’

Thorn tucks the flask into his jacket and flips his patch back into position. ‘It seems you share a similar view to Katherine. Let me show you something, Little Flower.’

He leads me to the dark rood screen at the front of the church. A golden bird spreads its wings, trapped beneath a circle of angels.

‘The bird is a pelican,’ Thorn says. ‘In ancient Imp mythology, it fed its young with its own blood by plucking the feathers from its breast.’

I don’t know what he wants me to say, so I just mumble, ‘Gross.’

‘There is nothing gross about self-sacrifice, Violet.’

He looks past the painted cherubs to the high vaulted ceiling for inspiration. ‘You get one minute with her.’

‘Who?’

‘Baba.’

I smile. ‘That’s all I need.’

Baba hunches in the corner of her cell, watching the fire and humming a tune. The scent of lilies and woodsmoke transports me to my first meeting with her. I think of the gallows and the falling bodies and my mouth dries up.

She turns her head towards me, her eyes wavering beneath her sealed-up lids as though she’s dreaming. Her lipless mouth puckers at the corners. ‘Violet. You seem . . . different.’

‘Hungrier and sleep deprived.’

‘Stronger.’ She offers her withered hands, and I cross the slabs to hold them. They feel surprisingly warm. ‘Where’s Thorn?’ she asks.

‘He gave us one minute.’

She laughs, causing her frame to rock slightly, the firelight moving across her skin. ‘He’s so mean when he’s stressed.’ She gestures to the ground before her. ‘Come, kneel, my child.’

I kneel – letting the stone cool my shins – and bow my head. This time I want the pain. Something to numb the ache of guilt and failure. She cradles my temples and that bolt of pain shoots down my neck, glancing off my sternum and ricocheting around my body. Every part of me hurts. I inhale, but my lungs reject the air and my throat closes. I get the sense I’m drowning without any water. I see a paper chain of Imps crumpling to the ground, a floating, half-dead boy, a scythe-like blade raised high and glinting in the sun, a muddle of bronzed legs cushioned in satin sheets.

Then, just like before, the pain collects in that space between my eyes. I see Ash kneeling between the rebels, a ribbon of blood running down his chin. I was thinking with my heart, he says.

And as swiftly as it arrived, the pain vanishes.

I know where I stand before I even open my eyes. I breathe in the scent of freshly mown grass, hear the chatter of the birds and the soft thud of falling apples. The orchard. I’ve never been here in the midday sun before. It’s so vibrant – bursting with colour and perfume. The wind shakes the leaves and my skin becomes a collection of strobe-like shadows. I smile to myself.