The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There(70)

“It won’t work,” September said. “You’ll float away, too. And we’ll all be home, only Fairyland will be gone forever, and we’ll be in Nebraska and that will be that. You’ll just be shadow and light again.”

“You’re lying,” Halloween scoffed.

“I’m not. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. You and I are taking Father home, right now.”

“Come now.” Halloween laughed. “You can’t do a thing to me. I have everything and you have nothing. And the Revel will be starting again soon. You can hear the trumpets and the harps sounding.” Indeed, from far below, a sweet, wild music picked up.

“Take my hand, shadow,” she said.

“No, girl,” Halloween whispered.

September leveled the Rivet Gun at her.

Saturday and Ell cried out desperately.

“Please, September!” Ell wept, his great heart heaving with the strain of being torn between two girls he did love so terribly. “Leave us alone,” he whispered. “We just want to live our own lives. We just want to keep on being alive.”

“Where did you get that gun?” Halloween said fearfully.

“Belinda Cabbage gave it to me.”

Halloween’s face trembled. It was September’s own face, and it broke apart, tears trickling down and her voice shaking. “You can’t do this to me. I’m you. I’m your sister. I have been with you all your life,” she said. “I have only done what you’ve done—tried to think slantwise and be brave and ill-tempered and irascible, tried to make my family happy, tried to have an adventure and grab hold of magic when it came near me. Please, September. Please. Let me live. You get to live—no matter what happens, you get to live. Why is it so terrible that I want to live, too?”

September did not shy away. She pressed forward, reaching for her shadow’s hand to bind them together, but Halloween slipped away. She fled into Saturday’s and Ell’s arms, and the three of them cowered from her, terrified—they had never had to be afraid for themselves, only afraid when their sunlit selves were afraid. It undid them. They buried their faces in each other and braced for some awful pain. Halloween kissed Saturday and then Ell, tried to smile for them, held them close.

But Aubergine did not quaver. She stood very still. So very still, as still as only a Quiet Physickist can. And instead of fading from view, a cold, thin light flashed from her violet feathers, landing upon the tableau of the Queen and her friends, freezing them where they stood.

“I didn’t know what they meant to do, September.” Aubergine whispered a whisper so light and gentle it could hardly be called sound. “You must believe I didn’t. You see? I’ve held them fast for you, because you are my friend. And I did it, I really did it. I controlled it. The Quiet came from me and did what I told it to.” The Night-Dodo could not help puffing her breast-feathers a little.

“I do believe you, Aubergine, I do,” September answered softly.

September looked at her frozen shadow, her frozen Marid, her frozen Wyverary. They were helpless now. She could use the Rivet Gun to socket them together and Halloween couldn’t do a thing to stop it. She could do whatever she liked. Yet somehow, she could not. She could not be pitiless and cold with her father lying behind her. She could not—because that was the power of the Marquess and of Halloween, too. To simply not care and do what you wanted.

She had pitied the Marquess, but not enough to hesitate when she had to hurt her. Yet her raw, young heart beat boldly now, and as it looked on the shadows of the folk she loved best, it broke open. She could not call them wicked, could not see them only as selfish and savage as villains must be seen if they are to be fought without pulling punches. Halloween was her. A little girl had gone after her father, breaking the worlds in two just to get him back. Wouldn’t September herself have done the same? But then again, perhaps she would not have even thought of a thing so daring and slanted and strange. That dark, still girl holding her friends close had done a hundred things September had not. She was a sister—she was not September herself.

September lowered the Rivet Gun. She would not do it. Even though the weapon ached to perform its Use, the thing it had been made for, everything in its little mechanical heart yearning for this day—she would not. She would do something else. Something slantwise.

“Aubergine,” September said. “Come and hug me and say hello. I’ve missed you.”

“If I move, they’ll move too!” warned the Night-Dodo.

“It’s all right. Don’t worry.”

Aubergine fluffed her feathers and crossed the throne room in a few short strides. She pressed her soft head against September’s and flushed silver with relief.

Halloween stirred. Saturday and Ell gasped as they came to with a jolt and a shudder.

“Come here, Halloween,” September said. “Come here. Don’t cry.”

Halloween stood, her face plainly saying she thought she still faced her executioner. A moment’s stillness couldn’t change that.

September held out her arms to her shadow.

“Surely, we can think of some other way.”

Halloween hung back.

“Surely we are clever enough, the two of us,” September whispered. “There are two of us, after all.”

And the shadow-girl, with her need and her love and her terrible Want all held before her, flowed into September’s arms. They held each other. After a while, Saturday and Ell touched the girls’ shoulders, and hugged them, too, Ell’s tail snaking around them. At last, Aubergine nestled down beside them. September was completely covered in shadows.