by Margs Murray
“My son?” The king’s voice was heavy from this crushing news.
“He wants glory for France. He was easy to convince.”
“My people will find out,” Lothaire said.
“Your jet is crashing as we speak. All souls lost, nothing left but bits of metal.”
Tears were flowing from the king’s eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“Ah, yes. I recall all those years ago, you wanted to see Helena use her powers. Now, mine are different but an accomplishment nonetheless.”
The king forced his eyes closed again.
“Open your eyes before I use a fruit fly from the kitchen.”
When Lothaire refused, Bollard pulled his face up. “And now you can see what happens to those who go against us, against the house of Merric.”
My face burned from the unbearable heat. Bollard placed his finger on Lothaire’s temple. The king’s eyes opened.
The light dimmed. A large shadow sprung from the king, spilling from his eyes and into the air. As the bird circled above, the shadow loomed closer. The bird saw the shadow and dove to escape it, but there was no getting away. The shadow attacked the bird, pouring into his eyes, beak, ears. The shadow disappeared. Lothaire’s body crumpled forward, his breathing shallow and slow. His eyes were open, but the life disappeared from them, from his whole body. The bird flew with an ugly clumsiness before it righted itself and swooped for Bollard.
Bollard caught the bird before it attacked him, his hands securely squeezing the neck. “I’d love nothing more than to break your neck, old friend, but a promise is a promise. Take him.”
Rudolf came back into the room and took the bird. The bird struggled to bite him.
Bollard left the room.
When I was sure it was safe, I left my hiding space. Lothaire’s body slumped. Grandma’s prince. His breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent. His eyes were open and still. He was dead, but not. In a coma, but not. His body lived, but the man was gone all because he had tried to tell me something. I should have stood up. I should have stopped Bollard. Tears welled in my eyes. Grandma’s prince. I’d failed Grandma. I’d failed her prince. I couldn’t help it. I was so sorry. I hugged Lothaire and when I did, I knocked open his coat. Creeping up from inside his front pocket was a picture of him and Grandma. I took it and as I did, a necklace fell to the floor.
I picked it up and gasped. It was Grandma’s necklace! The necklace.
“I am so sorry!”
I stumbled back to my room in a daze. What had I seen? I felt sick to my stomach, and more than once I had to force myself to keep moving and not dissolve right in the middle of the hallway. Doc had left before I returned. Alone, I crumpled to the bed. What had I witnessed?
My thoughts were so awful, I dissolved into them. And I cried. I cried for everything that had happened that day. The fire, the attack. I cried for Lothaire, for my doctor, for my parents, Manon, Sasha, but mostly, I cried for me and for what I’d be forced to do. I didn’t remember falling asleep—I barely remembered slipping into my bed—but the next thing I knew, someone was shaking me. A man dressed head to toe in black stood over me.
“We’ve got to run.”
Chapter 20
A Shot in the Dark
This moment was out of a dream… or was this a nightmare? My mind was in such a sleepy fog, I couldn’t decide if it was real until he repeated, “If you want to escape, we need to run.”
My body jolted awake. Escape, run, yes.
“Grab your stuff.”
In my moment of joy, it didn’t matter that I had no clue who was behind the mask, if they were the Galvantry or not. All that mattered was escaping and saving myself from what I had just witnessed. I jumped from my bed and ran to my closet. I doubted I needed a dress, so I had limited options and no time to think. I had to move fast. I sucked at this kind of pressure; it was the SATs all over again. What could I not live without? The underwear drawer. I grabbed as many pairs as I could and stuffed them in an empty purse.
All my shoes were dressy and uncomfortable, so I put on my slippers.
It might be cool; I didn’t have much so I put on my white robe. My ring was on my finger, the necklace clasped around my neck.
The man came in, judging my choices. “Do you have any other shoes?”
“It’s these or heels.” I pointed to the rows and rows of glittering pristine shoes.
“We’ve got to run,” he said, and I followed the man out of my room and into the hallway. Five new guards lay on the ground. They were all asleep. One snored. I sincerely hoped this guy knocked out the whole place because at any second Bollard could jump out and attack us.
Bollard… the thought of my uncle prowling towards us was enough to get me out of there.
I ran past the man. He caught up.
As we got to the end of the animal hallway, more guards lay across the floor. I didn’t recognize any of them, and I realized they must have been added to protect me. It hadn’t worked. We made our way through the hall and down the stairs.
The man swung open the giant doors of the ballroom. Had it only been two weeks since my fake ball? Back before all the bad had happened. Now look at me. In the mirror reflection, I was bright pink in every way imaginable. My face was red from running. The only not pink thing about me was my white housecoat and slippers. The man in black was an ominous figure dragging me away from the ballroom.
Outside, a mist floated from the ceiling, mimicking a morning fog. My side stitched, and I needed to slow down to get my breath, but the man was pulling me so fast, I didn’t have a moment.
As we passed the fountain, I caught the silhouette of two people lying on the ground in an embrace. I saw their shoes; he was a guard, but the woman wore a dress and sandal strap heals. My stomach flipped as I recognized those shoes. I wormed my hand free from this stranger and went straight to the couple. Rudolf and Manon had been in the garden together. They’d be killed for sure if Bollard found them here.
I crouched down and took Rudolf’s arms. I yanked on him using my whole-body weight, but he didn’t budge.
“Get up,” the stranger commanded. “There isn’t time.”
I switched to Manon. This time I pulled her away a few inches but fell on my butt. I reached for her hands again. “We have to save them.”
The man took my arm, pulling me to my feet, all while saying, “They don’t need saving.”
I strained to stand my ground, but the grass was wet, and my feet slid forward. “No one’s safe here.”
“Come on.”
“No—” I turned around to face him.
The stranger was having none of this. He swung around and picked me up by my waist like a parent removing an irate child having a hissy fit in a toy store. I kicked the man, but he did not let go.
I had to make this stranger understand.
“He’ll kill them!” I said, and I shivered because I remembered that with Bollard, there was something worse than death. He’d hurt them and Doc… Doc! I kicked at the man even harder because the thought of seeing Doc empty on the floor was too much. I had to save Doc. I kicked and kicked. I was a gnat knocking into a mountain. The man rushed us through the garden as if my kicks were taps from a foam bat.
“Let me go! I’ve got to save everyone.” I’d made a mistake. Bollard would hurt all of them. “Help!” I cried, but everyone was asleep. It was the afternoon in Boston all over again, and this guy was probably there to kill me. “Help!”
I kept calling for help until we reached the far end of the garden, where the man finally stopped and released me. When I bolted back toward the house, he grabbed me again. “Stop fighting me and listen.”
“No, help!”
“Listen, listen. They can leave anytime they want. This is your only chance at getting out of here.”
“No, Doc can’t. Hincho, Naugle can’t. Wilbur. None of them can. They’re in danger.”
While the man dragged me back to the rocky wall, he reasoned with me. “T
hey can, but they won’t ever let you leave. You’re the one in danger. Come on.”
“But Bollard—”
“Will wake up and what then?” Over the man’s head, I swore I saw the faint shadow of a bird. Last night still fresh in my mind, I stopped fighting. He was right. I had to get out of there.
The man carried me along the cliff until we came to a small tunnel.
“Are you going to run back?”
“No, you can let me go.”
He finally released me and said, “Follow me.”
The tunnel was so low he had to crawl. My knees hit the hard rock, and I entered the tunnel. The foundation only went in a few feet before the ground was thick, pasty mud which clung to my slippers, housecoat, and pjs. Water dripped from lighted drains overhead.
“What is this place?” I asked and mentally begged, Please don’t say sewer. Please don’t say sewer.
“Drainage pipes from under the city.”
That wasn’t much better.
My crawl was slow. My knees scraped along random twigs. My fingers dug into the wet leaves and discarded paper cups. My toes clung to my drenched, mud-covered slippers.
The stranger, unfazed by it all, dashed down the tunnels, often waiting for me to catch up. I crawled carefully and deliberately through the muck, dodging broken bottles, random rebar, and abandoned umbrellas.
All was well— as well as a drainage pipe crawl could go—until the tunnel shifted left suddenly and a tree root jutted from the metal side and snagged my bag.
“Come on,” the man said. “Not much further.”
Stuck, I had to slop off my bag. I shimmied the strap from my shoulder, and the entire contents spilled into the mud. I scrambled to get my underwear.
“Come on!” he yelled again, but underwear overflowed from my hands, and I had no pockets to shove them in. Out of options, I slipped my mud-covered unmentionables onto my wrists a la bracelet style. The man checked back. “You okay?”
“Yes.” My voice echoed in the tunnel. From up ahead came the scrape of metal moving over metal. Although I couldn’t see, it had to be a door. We were almost out. I was close to being out of there. I had to keep crawling on.
The tunnel ended unexpectedly, and I tumbled into water. I didn’t dare open my eyes, but I couldn’t find up or down, and I struggled in my search for either ground or air. Finally, a hand grabbed my housecoat and forced me to the surface.
Water sputtered from my mouth. I was close to vomiting. My nose drained down my face. I used the back of my hand to clear my eyes, then my nose. Finally, I could see. I was in waist-deep water. In the distance, the lights of the city sparkled against the predawn sky.
The man left me where I stood. From behind a fallen tree, he dragged a green canoe to the water. Exhausted, I moved in slow motion toward it. I lifted my leg over the side and nearly toppled it. I attempted once more before the frustrated man picked me up and dropped me on the back seat.
He took the front and handed me a paddle. Seconds later, he was paddling up river. Of course, we had to go against the current. I was so tired, but I had to help. The man grunted as his paddle made waves against the water. My paddling created little ripples.
Tired and wet, I pulled the paddle through the water. Not one white spot remained on my slippers. They were all mud. I wanted to throw them away, but this was what I had. The edges of the tunnel had ripped open the knees of my pajamas, and they stuck to my chest, stomach, and legs. My wet house coat felt like fifty cold pounds of weight sitting on my body. Even with the summer heat and after endless rowing, cold goosebumps covered my skin. My sides stitched in pain and my heart pounded in my chest. The agony of rowing was blinding as my arms spasmed. To my credit, even in pain, I continued paddling.
Time went in a blink. I couldn’t tell how far we traveled; I only hoped it was far enough. When the sun rose over the trees, I guessed the palace had to be awake. The Merrics would be angry, terrifying. The small river had quadrupled in size, so it looked more like a lake than a river. My mind flashed to images of Claudette facing us from the shore. Exposed in the water, we needed to find a safe place.
“We have to get off the river.”
The stranger’s hand shot up to tell me to be quiet, and his face turned to the sky.
“Do you hear that?” he asked. Over the lapping of the water was the whomp-whomp of a helicopter in the distance.
The helicopter sounded funny, remote. “It sounds like it’s moving away.”
“That’s how it’s made.” He heaved his paddle into the boat and snatched mine. The man stood up, and I held the sides as the boat wobbled. “They are almost overhead. Can you swim?” Before I said yes, he picked me up and dragged me into the river.
Shocked by the water rushing over me, I fought to break the surface. With the silhouette of the helicopter overhead, his hands moved to my waist, and he drew me under the dark shadow of the canoe. Lungs tightening, we sank to the bottom. In my robe and hot pink pjs, they were sure to see us. It didn’t matter at that moment. My lungs burned. My need for air was so great, the urge so strong, I had to plug my nose and cover my mouth before I stupidly breathed in the water. If we didn’t surface for air, I’d drown.
Seconds later, the man let go. I flapped my arms, expecting to rise to the surface, only to sink deeper. My feet touched the bottom. I had to get to the air. My feet kicked off, pumping with everything they had, but the stupid robe weighed me down, and I only rose a bit before I sank back. I’d have to choose between losing the robe or drowning in the river. No brainer. I twisted my arms free and rushed to the surface.
I gasped in the air. A few feet away, my rescuer treaded water. He rolled up his mask enough to draw a deep breath. It was the first time I saw his skin, tanned with dark stubble.
“We’ve got to go. We’re almost there,” he said.
I barely had the energy to swim to shore and drag myself up from the water. The man sprinted off ahead. My pajamas clung uncomfortably close to my body, and I pulled them away from my chest repeatedly. Embarrassed by my underwear bracelets, I tucked them under my sleeves. My slippers sklooshed with each step as I stumbled behind him.
The man recovered his face, and he came back and said, “Take off your shoes. You’re making too much noise.”
I tucked them under my arms and made my way to him over the rocky shoreline, wincing with pain the whole way.
“Come here,” he said, and he hoisted me to his back. He smelled like river water and mint as he carried me into town.
Lights were on in the brick houses, and smoke curled from the chimneys. The man took us to some grass and let go of my legs. I didn’t slide right off his back; my face, chest, and thighs stuck to the man in the most embarrassing ways possible. I whispered an apology before he sprinted to the wall of the first building and down a side yard. He moved with the stealth of a cat about to attack. I followed like a donkey roller skating, slipping on the dew, tripping over roots. When we were between two buildings, the man suddenly forced me up against a wall with the back of his body. From under his arm, I saw two Libratiers running towards the water. We had to get somewhere fast. The man led me to a string of backyards separated by hedgerows of bushes.
We crawled past a closed window with its curtains drawn. His body was so close, I felt him tense before I knew what was happening. The back door opened, and a young mother stepped out with a basket of wet clothes and a child at her leg. She shook out the sheet and hung it on the line.
He rushed us through her yard and to the next. In the center of that yard was a small mound. I saw from where we were that there was a door. The man pointed to it. “Go there.” Finding all the energy I had left in my body, I sprinted, but the man beat me to it and opened the door. Before I could react, I was being lifted off the ground and tossed inside.
Chapter 21
Epps, Peps, Pebbles
I landed on my butt in a canning cellar. Shelves of jars lined the walls, and a ladder led up to the door. Ladder.
That would have been nice. I stood and rubbed my tailbone.
The man leapt down and landed on his feet with the skill of a trained gymnast, the door slamming shut behind him. Who was this guy? He was tall and needed a shave, but with his mask and gloved hands that was all I knew. Forget a name; I didn’t even have a face.
The light filtered through the slats in the door above. We listened to the surrounding noises. A woman hummed; children played. Nearby a bird chirped, and I had an involuntary shudder.
Confident we were okay at least for the moment, the man gave a sigh and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. I crumbled to the floor a few feet away from him.
I stared straight forward at the jars, going into a blank trance for a moment. He faced the shelves too. Some movement awakened my attention, and I saw him take off his mask. His hair fell over his eyes, and he pushed it back.
I didn’t know what I expected to see when he took off his mask, but he wasn’t what I thought he would be. He was young, early twenties, and kind of good-looking. He was familiar in a way, but I’d never seen him before; I would have remembered this guy if I had.
And then the funniest thing happened. I felt okay. Not good, per se, but better. I shouldn’t have felt better though; it was unusual. This had happened before. At the opera. I had to ask, “Did we meet somewhere?”
“No.” He glanced at the ceiling and then whispered, “We have to be quiet. The town will be overrun with Libratiers. We must get you out of town. They’ll check this hole and every hole and house in Medford before they believe you’re not here.”
Of course, he was right. Bollard had his plans for me, and he would hunt me down. No place was safe.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. He was still facing the shelves.
“I didn’t mention it?”
I grunted a no.
He took a moment to answer, like he had to think about it. “Greer.”
“You sure?” I smiled and held out my hand for him to shake. “I’m Waverly.” As his hand reached for mine, he turned and for the first time I saw his face. Forget kind of good-looking. He was very handsome with tan skin, shaggy brown hair, and stubble. I looked into his honey brown eyes, and he looked into mine. I instantly felt warm, like being covered up with a heavy blanket. Better than that, actually. Because the minute he peered into my eyes, I felt safe. I felt like I was home-for-the-first-time-in-weeks better, like Christmas-breakfast-in-my-favorite-sweatshirt better.
