“I’m okay,” Lil said, “really.”
“Some of the others are injured. Your sister . . .” Seven’s eyes filled with tears.
“Sabrina says she’ll be all right.” Lil could hear the fragile desperation in her voice, almost as if saying it would make it true.
“I will ask the Light to mend her,” Seven said.
“Thank you,” Lil replied, and she meant it. So many strange coincidences had happened over the last few days that Lil was almost ready to believe. Besides, she would ask help from anything that might make her sister well. The image of that burning building would replay in her mind for the rest of her life. She couldn’t bear to think of what her sister must have experienced inside, or the extent of her injuries.
“Sit with us?” Seven said.
“For a bit. My aunt might be looking for me. I don’t want her to worry.”
Seven led her to the blanket and introduced her to Luster, who took Lil’s hands in hers. “Thank you for caring for our sister.”
Lil blushed. “I didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t have done.”
Luster patted the back of her hand and smiled. “You did much more. You showed her there is Light in the world, and that is a lesson we all needed to remember.” She smiled, warmth glowing in her dark eyes. Lil liked her, which was a surprise, given everything that both Mella and Seven had suffered at the Sisterhood. She guessed the rest of the women were just as much victims as Mella and Seven had been. Luster seemed just like someone’s elderly great-aunt or even grandmother.
“How is your sister?” Luster asked.
“She’s okay. I mean . . . she’s on the way to the hospital, but I hope she’s okay.”
“The Light takes care of Her own. She will be well, I am sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lil said.
Luster nodded as if it was certain fact, and Lil liked her even more.
“You are as lovely as your sister said you were,” Luster said.
Lil colored again. Even after the way she’d spoken to Mella on that last day, the way she’d let her down, Mella still loved her. She even spoke nicely of her. “I’m just glad we were able to get here in time.”
Seven shuffled unhappily. “If I’d spoken sooner, we may have prevented the sisters’ injuries. I was foolish to be so afeard of the outside. I was stupid to believe that my absconding would save you all.”
“The directing of life’s path is not in our gift, however much we may hope and fool ourselves that it is,” Luster said. She seemed so calm and so knowledgeable. Her presence was reassuring. It made Lil rethink many of her views of the Sisterhood, but it also made her understand the place even less.
“Sabrina said we did help,” Lil told Seven. “If it hadn’t been for us coming when we did, they’d never have gotten here in time to stop the fire.”
“Is that true?” Seven’s eyes widened.
Lil nodded.
Seven’s brow furrowed in thought, but she said nothing.
“It didn’t save us all,” Luster said, eyes downcast, and Lil knew she was thinking of Moon and the other woman who had died. “Perhaps Moon and Evanescence are together, which is all Evanescence ever wanted. To protect our high priestess, to guard her.” She gave a long sigh. “Forty years I have been a sister. Cloistered up inside a compound. What will happen to me now? We can’t come back here, that’s for sure.” They all turned to look at the house. The fire had torn right through it, like an enormous beast had eaten it.
Lil felt an intense sadness wash over her. What would happen to these women now? What would happen to Seven? Would she end up in care? She still knew so little of the world; she needed so much help and support. Although perhaps, and the thought was the sun breaking through heavy clouds, perhaps she would find her mum.
“What will you do? Where will you go?” Lil asked Luster.
“After the police have finished their questioning? I don’t know. There were more of us, but they escaped before the fire. Maybe we can find them. Maybe we can regroup and find a new home. A new way to venerate the Light.”
“And it doesn’t need to be secret this time,” Seven cut in, eyes shining. “You said that us being here helped to save my sisters? Brought them through the flames?”
Lil nodded.
“Do you not see? I did lead my sisters from the Darkness. I did forge a path for them through the flames and lead them into the Brightness. To here. This world. This place beyond the compound, where we can be free in the Light. This Light is everywhere, not contained within our boundaries, but all around us. Don’t you see? It was here all along, in me, in you. In here.” She patted her chest where her heart was. “That’s all it is, I think. The Light. It’s love. That’s all it’s ever been, and we can take it with us, wherever we go. We have a responsibility to do so, because it’s special and precious, and when you find it, you must cling to it and never ever let it go.”
Lil smiled; so did Luster, a gentle, indulgent smile. It was a sweet idea but . . . well, whatever made it easier for Seven was not a bad thing, and what did Lil know of the Light and the Sisterhood, anyway? Besides, it was nice to know that not everything had been lost tonight. That there was still hope. And love.
Lil heard Sabrina calling her. It was time to go. She stood up. “Will I see you again?” she asked Seven.
Seven grinned. “I hope so.”
“So do I.” They hugged, and then Lil gave Luster a squeeze too.
“I hope Sister Brilliance . . . Mella is well soon,” Seven said. “I should like to see her again.”
“You will,” Lil said.
Seven hesitated. “Do not forget what I said about the Light. It’s inside you, when you need it. Right here.” She pressed her heart again.
“Okay,” Lil said, smiling, if not really understanding.
Seven hugged her again. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for everything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sabrina pulled up in front of the hospital and took Lil’s arm to steady her as she climbed out. As they entered the double doors of the brightly lit emergency room, a tall boy stood up.
Kiran.
Wonderful, brilliant Kiran.
Here he was, waiting for her in the hospital. Without thinking, Lil threw her arms around him. She tried to put everything she felt about him into that hug. How amazing he was. How funny and kind and gorgeous. How she loved him. It was a lot to ask of one hug, but she could sense in the way Kiran’s hands tightened around her that she’d managed to convey at least a little of it.
They held each other for a long time. When she did pull back, it was only so that she could press her lips to his. She didn’t say anything. Sometimes there was nothing to say; sometimes words just got in the way.
Lil kissed Kiran with everything she’d wanted to say for months, if she’d only let herself realize it. She didn’t care that her aunt was right there, with half the constabulary and the emergency room staff looking on. Kiran kissed her back, his hands circling her. Her hands were in his hair, and his lips were so soft, and he tasted like lemonade and sherbet and sunshine and all the very best things in the world. As they kissed, a warm, tingling feeling spread out from her heart and down through her veins, to her hands, her fingers.
When she drew away, she was smiling and so was Kiran—wide, happy-crazy smiles—and Lil wanted to kiss him again and again and again. She never wanted to stop kissing him, but right now she had to go because her sister was waiting. Sadness pinged her chest, and she wondered how sadness could come so quickly on the back of all that happiness, but then as clearly as anything, she realized that was just how life was.
“I . . . I . . . had to . . . do that,” she stammered. “Sorry, I should have asked permission or something.”
Kiran waggled an eyebrow. “You know what? You never have to ask permission to do that.” He paused. “So long as it’s just with me.”
Lil smiled her shiny happy smile again: the one that seemed to
suck all the light in the room, in the world, inside her. “I have to see Mella now, but . . . will you . . . will you wait for me?” Was it too much to ask? Lil hoped not.
Kiran grinned. “Are you going to kiss me again?”
“Maybe.”
The tips of Kiran’s ears glowed. “Then I’ll wait.”
• • •
Mum met Lil at the nurses’ station in the ICU. She looked tired, but she gave a warm smile and pulled Lil into a hug. “They’ll only let us in one at a time,” her mum said. “She’s pretty weak. There’s a room down the hall. I’ll wait there. They’ll come and get me if you need me, all right?”
Lil squeezed her mum’s hand. “How . . . is she?”
“She’s okay.” Her mum clasped Lil’s hand suddenly. “She’s home! Lil, she’s home!” A small portion of the bleak weariness fell away, and Lil saw a glimpse of how her mum had looked before this all started. It reminded Lil of the X-ray Mella had shown her of a painting by van Gogh that revealed hidden details of a previous painting buried under layers of paint. This experience had irrevocably changed them all, but who they were still lurked underneath. Maybe what was created on top was better, stronger, more lasting.
Lil needed to wash her hands and put on a gown before she was allowed in to see Mella. She scrubbed her hands thoroughly in the metal sink by the door to her ward, squelching the soap in between her fingers and right under her nails. She let the tap run for a long time, making sure the water was scalding hot. She wanted to make sure her hands were clean. She didn’t want to risk giving her sister an infection. She was also nervous about seeing Mella. What would she say?
Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer, and, heart thudding, she slid into Mella’s room. It was darker than Lil expected. They’d closed the blinds, and a soft gray hung over everything. There were various machines around the bed, making whirring, clicking noises. Mella looked tiny beside them—even smaller than Lil remembered. The oxygen mask over her nose and mouth almost covered her whole face. Her eyes were closed and Lil felt a moment’s relief. She didn’t want to disturb Mella; she’d come back later. Then Mella’s eyes flickered, opened, and focused on Lil. She struggled to pull the mask off and sit up, so Lil darted forward.
As she helped her sister to sit up, she accidentally bashed her elbow into Mella’s ribs. Lil drew back. “Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, sorry.” For a second she thought Mella was crying, and then she realized that Mella’s wheezing sound was laughter.
With her mouth free of the oxygen mask, Mella said in a husky whisper, “Always so clumsy, Mouse.”
Lil rolled her eyes. The incident Mella was referring to had been ten years ago! When she was about six, Lil managed to knock an ornament off a shelf in a shop, and as she turned around to apologize, she knocked two more off. Ever since, her family had called her clumsy.
Mella wheeze-laughed again, and Lil did too. For a second it was like before, like nothing had ever happened. Then Mella began to cough and the sensation was gone. The laughter died in Lil’s throat. What should she say? Mella was silent too. She pulled the oxygen mask down again and was breathing steadily through it. Lil’s own lungs burned in sympathy. “Want me to get a nurse?” she asked.
Mella shook her head and continued to breathe calmly. After a minute or two she lifted the mask again and said, “Stay?” After a beat she said, “Missed you. So . . . much.”
I missed you, too, Lil thought, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead she said, “You didn’t call. Or text. Or anything.”
“Couldn’t . . .”
“The Sisterhood wouldn’t let you?”
Mella nodded and then shook her head. “Not just them. Once you’re gone . . . it’s hard to . . . come back.”
You should have tried, Lil thought, but deep down she understood what Mella was saying. Pride, guilt, embarrassment, doubt that they wanted her home: all those feelings would have clouded Mella’s decision, until ultimately it was easier not to face them, easier to stay gone. Lil wasn’t ready to admit that, though, not out loud. The last four months had been too painful.
“We looked everywhere for you,” she said. “I thought I’d go crazy. I thought we’d never see you again.” Lil hadn’t meant to say all these things, but they just came pouring out, and once she’d started talking, she found she couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. I didn’t realize things were so bad.”
Mella had tears in her own eyes. She put her hand out to Lil, fingers clasping hers tight. Eyes intense, she said in a breathy whisper, “Not your fault, Mouse. Not . . . your fault.”
“I missed you,” Lil said.
Mella squeezed her hand like she was never going to let go; Lil wouldn’t want her to. “I’m so sorry.”
Lil shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “It’s okay.”
“Does . . . matter,” Mella said.
And it did and it didn’t, because everything was different now, but also everything was the same, because Mella was back, and while Lil could hold her and talk to her and laugh with her, the anger and pain of when she was gone didn’t feel so important. But, like an undertow, it was there, silent and invisible and threatening to rip them apart again at any moment. There was so much they didn’t know and would need to talk about. Not just her time at the Sisterhood, but also before. Both were an indelible part of Mella, forever shaping her identity, and Lil wanted to understand her sister better. She wanted to be there for her in a way she hadn’t before, but for now she just wanted to enjoy Mella being back.
Still holding Mella’s hand, she sat down on the bed. Mella looked exhausted. Her eyes kept flicking closed. Lil didn’t say anything else, just stroked her sister’s wrist. Mella’s breathing steadied and settled. She was asleep.
There was a long gash down the side of Mella’s head. It had been sewn together with butterfly stitches, but it would probably scar, another sign that her experiences at the Sisterhood would never leave her.
Mella gasped and her eyes flew open.
“Are you all right?” Lil said, panicked. “What’s happened?”
Mella’s eyes settled on Lil’s face and she smiled. “You’re . . . still here.”
“Yeah,” Lil said.
“Then . . . I’m . . . all right,” Mella said, and closed her eyes again.
After a while Lil stood up and drew open the blind just a little bit, so that the last of the day’s sun could creep across the bed as Mella slept, her breathing steady and even. Then Lil sat back down next to her sister. She counted each one of Mella’s breaths until she got to a hundred, and then she started again. It was wonderful. She had thought she’d never hear Mella breathe again.
The weak sun crept up the bed slowly, carefully, to Mella’s face. As it caught Mella in its beam, Lil thought Mella looked . . . happy . . . peaceful in a way Lil never remembered seeing her before. A warmth spread over Lil that came not from the gentle sun, but from somewhere inside, and Lil realized what it was. Love.
“It’s special and precious,” Seven had said, “and when you find it, you must cling to it and never ever let it go.”
Lil leaned over and took her sister’s hand. The warmth—the Light—spread between them. Whether it was her imagination or not, Lil didn’t know or care, because as she watched, a glow rose up over their joined hands, dancing and flickering like a flame.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my agents, Jane Finigan and Juliet Mahony, at Lutyens & Rubinstein for championing this book from the very beginning. Thank you also to my wonderful editors, past and present: Christian Trimmer, Krista Vitola, and Catherine Laudone in the States; and in the UK, Rachel Mann and Lucy Rogers. (You know it’s taken a while to write a book when you’ve gone through three editors!) Biggest thanks must go to Lucy, for her endless patience and incredibly astute comments. The Sisterhood section is what I always wanted it to be, and that is mostly down to her wonderful insight. I’m
very grateful to the rest of the teams at Simon & Schuster UK and US for their support too, including Krista Vossen, for the gorgeous US cover. It’s hauntingly beautiful, and I love it.
Thank you also to Jon Arrenberg for so kindly looking over the fire scene for me, and for not laughing too audibly at how outlandish it was. His feedback was invaluable, and any mistakes are very much my own!
A huge thank-you to my family and friends, especially my mum.
And the biggest thanks of all, of course, go to my own mini family: my husband, Adam, and my wonderfully funny, smart, and loving daughter.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A. J. GRAINGER lives in London, where she works as a children’s books editor. She loves writing and editing because it means she gets to talk about books all day. Her debut, captive, was published by Simon & Schuster in 2014. Find out more about Annalie on Twitter (@_AJGrainger) or by visiting her website, ajgrainger.com.
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ALSO BY A. J. GRAINGER
Captive
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by A. J. Grainger
Jacket photograph copyright © 2019 by WIN-Initiative
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Simon & Schuster UK, Ltd.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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