Whichwood(44)
This time, they did not stop to get tickets.
Alice and Benyamin shoved the lot of them into as many carriages as necessary before hauling Laylee, her barrow, and Oliver into another carriage. Once certain that Laylee was in control and still in communication with her drifting spirits, Alice and Benyamin hopped inside, squeezing themselves into the tight space, determined to stick together this time, no matter the discomfort.
Alice, as usual, wasted no time.
Laylee was feeling better than ever, but Alice was determined to heal her until she was completely cured, and with an hour and a half to go until they reached the castle, there was still a great deal to be done. Benyamin and Oliver lifted Laylee out of the barrow to lay her down on the bench seat, and Alice set to work. In no time at all, she was, again, making visible progress. Alice had already returned Laylee’s arms and legs back to normal, but now she was working on Laylee’s face. In the last several hours, her skin had gone from a warm, golden brown to an ashy, dusty shade of rust, and as Alice pressed her fingers to the mordeshoor’s skin, one gentle movement at a time, Laylee slowly came back to life. Her eyes were closed, but Alice could see the rapid movement behind her eyelids, and only after she was satisfied with the color coming back into Laylee’s cheeks did Alice finally remove her hands for a quick rest. It was tiring work, after all, and Alice was out of breath with exhaustion—and exhilaration. It was gratifying to see her hard work pay off, and it was even more gratifying when Laylee flickered open her eyes, and her friends finally saw her real eye color.
Gone was the cold silver gaze of the mordeshoor Alice and Oliver had only known, and in its stead were the warm amber eyes of a girl who, for the first time in over a year, was able to see clearly. Laylee, who could not understand exactly what had happened, but could feel the difference, sat straight up and wept. It was an extraordinary change, and a gift she’d not been prepared to receive. She looked at her hands, no longer trembling, and her legs, no longer aching, and she threw herself into Alice’s arms and cried.
By the time they reached the castle, Laylee was standing up. She was grateful for her health, but she couldn’t help but feel a deep pain in her gut for the four lives they’d lost this evening. Alice was sure that Laylee would, in the end, be ready to smile again, but Laylee couldn’t bring herself to be happy yet. There was still too much work to do—and she could only guess at the repercussions she would face for their losses tonight.
So it was with an unsettling grimness that she prepared to wash the last of her remaining dead, and it was with a heaviness in her step that she jumped off the glass carriage and into the train station and ran, strong and skillful, toward home.
(With many strange bodies following closely behind.)
It seemed clear what needed to be done.
Laylee charged directly into the backyard, her small army following, and prepared the tub. The spirits who’d stolen human skins needed a bit more persuasion to give up their new clothes, but after several minutes of show-and-tell on the part of the mordeshoor, they were eventually convinced they’d made a terrible mistake. Good thing, too, as they would have to go first. Laylee quickly separated their fourteen corpses from the large pile in her shed, and got to work.
Friends, it was a very, very long night.
They scrubbed until their fingers bled and their eyelids frosted open. They scrubbed until they couldn’t speak and could barely stand. They scrubbed until Benyamin’s mother showed up, hobbling forward disappointed and exhausted, with no volunteers in tow (none could be persuaded to help, I’m afraid), and still Laylee would not sit. She stood tall, scrubbing bodies until her fingernails broke, and as each body was shipped off to the Otherwhere, the corresponding spirit, duly shamed, stepped out of the human skin they awkwardly wore, and left it lying in the snow. Only then did Benyamin’s insects disembark their human ship, and allow the body to reclaim its flesh. They did this until all fourteen humans were reunited with their skins, and even then, Laylee would not stop.
Alice feared the mordeshoor had been reinvigorated just in time to destroy herself all over again. And though her friends begged her to stop, to slow down, to take a break before she grew ill, Laylee would not hesitate, she would not listen to reason, and she thought that she would rather die than live with the weight of this burden or this grief ever again. So she soldiered ahead, working with her friends—and even occasionally alone—until every single body was scrubbed and sent off into the night.
Only then, dear friends, did Laylee Layla Fenjoon finally fall.
FORGIVE ME, BUT THINGS ONLY GET WORSE
Polygons of light broke through damp branches, tree trunks perspiring in the misty dawn. It was a cold, golden morning, the sun unfurling its rays to touch pinpricks of dew, the rolling hills rumbling under blankets of snow. For a protracted moment, everything was new, untouched; the horrors of the prior evening were temporarily forgotten. It was that impossible time between sleep and consciousness, when fears were still too tired to exist, when responsibilities stood patiently behind a door. Laylee was loath to disturb this peace, but she could feel herself stir; she was becoming increasingly aware of sounds and surroundings, and she was now dimly aware of the fact that she’d fallen asleep in the snow. It was odd, then, that she felt warm and heavy—like someone had thought to throw a cloak over her as she slept—and it was only when, finally, reluctantly, she blinked open her eyes that she realized she was not covered in blankets, but in bugs—tens of hundreds of hard-bodied creatures—who had curled up quietly against her skin. Somehow, even in the face of this revolting realization, Laylee couldn’t help but smile. In fact, Alice swears she heard Laylee laugh out loud (she claims it’s the sound that woke her that morning), but Laylee has repeatedly denied this.