Part of me wants to give up and just tell Ryland what I know. I should hand over the Key and the other papers from the messenger bag and be done with it. But he lied to me. He used my information to do something horrible to someone he knew, to someone I care about. I don't want to keep things from him--it feels wrong and selfish--but the thought of Patrick down in that room stops me from saying anything.
I'm not sure how long I sit on the roof before Dham finds me. The wind is cold up here. I've tucked my knees up under my coat and raised the collar up to shield my face, but I am still shivering. I feel as though I will never be warm again. My mother's rosary is wrapped around my hand, my fingers mindlessly rubbing the silver filigree beads over and over again. The tears I shed have dried, the wind drying the tracks they made.
I feel hollowed out, like a canoe. And also like I want to vomit if I even think about the things Trick told me. I don't want to do this, to cast the spell. I want to unknow everything he said. But I can't if I want to free Patrick.
I don't look over when Dham sits beside me. He sprawls his legs out, unbothered by the cold wind, even though he's only wearing a hoodie. "I thought I might find you up here."
"Congratulations." My voice sounds strained and choked, not really like my voice at all. My throat hurts from the screams I've been keeping inside.
I see him glance at my hands. "What's that you've got there?"
I unwind the rosary from around my stiff fingers and let it dangle in between us. He leans in closer for a better look. "Blessed by the Pope himself." I sound half-dead, all emotion leeched from me.
"Wow." He lightly touches the beads, draping the chain so that the crucifix rests against his palm. "It's amazing. They're so rare these days."
"It was my mother's." That's the reason I'm allowed to carry it outside of the Underground. It's not just a holy relic, it's a family heirloom. It's my mother's legacy.
"Is she…" he trails off, like he doesn't know how to ask his question. I just shake my head in response, letting my hair fall across my face. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want to talk about it."
It has been a long time since I've spoken to anyone about my mother's death, either the circumstances surrounding it or my feelings about it. I don't want to start now. I have too much else to think about. Everything Trick said roils about in my head. Ryland, the ritual, betrayals--both his and mine--all of it. I'm not sure what is the best path to take anymore.
"Hey, you in there?" Dham waves his hand in front of my face.
"Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."
"Anything I can help with?"
I sigh. I'd love it if he could. But this has to be my decision and I need time to suss it out on my own. "I need to think." I hate what I'm about to say. "And you're kind of distracting." I smile to lessen the dismissal.
"I can take a hint." He drops his hand to my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "If I can help, just come and find me." And with that he leaves me to my solitary thoughts.
The Iron Bells Page 20
