She poked about, looking at every crack and crevice. He expected questions, but she asked none. Not in that first chamber, nor in the next, nor the next.
She studied every detail of the maps, she flipped through the encoded papers tacked up here and there. She stared too long at the defaced poster of Lincoln. If anything, she became quieter as they went, until at last, when she gazed at the president’s faded, smeared face, he had to strain to hear her breathing.
He touched a hand to her arm. “That’s all there is to see, Yetta. We might as well go back up so you can read it in comfort.”
Marietta made no reply.
“Yetta?” Sliding his fingers around her arm, he gave it a gentle squeeze to get her attention.
Lately, any casual touch would earn him a smile. Or at least she’d lean in to him a little. Now she didn’t flinch a muscle.
Her stillness felt wrong. He set the lantern on a rickety end table so that he could see her face. “Yetta.”
She didn’t look at him. Wasn’t, so far as he could tell, looking at anything. Her eyes were opened but unfocused, occasionally flicking back and forth, but obviously unseeing. As though she were dreaming.
Claws dug at the pit of his stomach. He clasped her hands, both of them between his. Squeezed, rubbed. Still nothing. “Come on, kitten. Shake this off. Come back to me.”
Shouldn’t she have grinned at him for being scared over nothing? Brushed him off like a fly? Done something?
His mind screamed a prayer, though he didn’t know what words to use. A plea for help, for inspiration in what to do, for the Lord to touch her and make whatever this was stop. It couldn’t be good. Couldn’t be healthy, could it, to disappear like this?
He gripped her shoulders and tried a light shake, the type that would rouse a sleeper. Maybe this was some kind of…of trance. Like that hypnosis mumbo-jumbo one of his old gambling pals had told him about. Maybe he just had to wake her up. “Marietta. Talk to me.”
Whatever was holding her erect seemed to snap. She slumped and listed to the right. Slade caught her with a hiss and gathered her close. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
So far as he could tell as he hooked the lantern handle on one finger, she couldn’t even hear him. But she had to come out of it soon, didn’t she? Please, Lord. Please. “We’ll just get you back upstairs and you’ll be fine. You just need to get away from all this.”
He’d known this was a bad idea. Why had he brought her here? The answers weren’t worth hurting her. Nothing mattered so much that he should have risked her like this. Even if he couldn’t have known that this would happen, he’d known it was too much.
“All right. Okay. Almost there.” He kicked the room’s door shut and hurried along the corridor and then up the stairs. Pushing the lantern back into place, he blew it out even as he stepped into the ballroom.
The muted light still felt bright after the tunnel, that was why he blinked so much. And the dust, that’s what made his nostrils flare. He put her back on her feet, his arms clamped firmly around her. Maybe sunlight, however diffused, would bring her around. Maybe being out of the castle would be enough. Maybe…
“Ah, Yetta.” He ventured one hand onto her cheek. Her eyes were still doing that strange, blurred half flicker, and now her lips twitched, as though she whispered to herself.
“Yetta. Yetta, I’m sorry.” He pressed his lips to hers, quick and panicked. “I’m so sorry.” It felt right to kiss her. Maybe because it stilled the silent muttering, maybe just because. He kissed her again. “I shouldn’t have taken you there.” Another kiss, soft and pleading. “Come back to me, kitten. Please. I’m so sorry I put you through this.”
She drew in a quick breath, the kind one might make when waking. Her hands, resting against his chest, curled in. When she blinked, her lashes fluttered against his cheek. “Stop.”
Thank You, Jesus. He pulled his head away.
Her eyes still looked clouded, but they were clearing. Even shone a bit—though too dimly—when the corners of her mouth turned up. She shook her head. “Apologizing. Stop apologizing. Don’t stop kissing me.”
He breathed a laugh that felt like hope and shook his head too. There she was—shaken, but back. He did the only thing he could possibly do. He leaned down and kissed her.
Marietta closed her eyes against the race of images and focused on Slade. She pushed aside the quick snap and flutter of the pounding parade within her head and didn’t let herself ask how she had arrived back at the ballroom when her last memory was of stopping before the ruined election poster.