The Inkridden Tribune’s headline broke the morning in two. Into a before and an after. Blissful ignorance and terrible realization.
Iris stood at the Attwoods’ front window and watched as Dacre’s ultimatum spun up a fury in the street. People were leaving their homes, carrying valises and precious belongings, anxious expressions on their faces. Some were heading north; others were rushing southward, toward, Iris hoped, a safe building.
She watched the panicked exodus, her stomach roiling.
She hated how familiar this felt. She hated how she saw Avalon Bluff every time she closed her eyes.
Tobias had left at first light, to drive the roadster home and pick up his parents. Attie had given him the address of the McNeils’, their prearranged meetup and shelter for the rest of the day. And he was right to leave before the newsboys flung papers onto door stoops, because after eight o’clock, the streets were so clogged and chaotic that Iris didn’t think a vehicle would be able to pass through.
“I need to go get Sarah,” Forest said as he came to stand beside Iris at the window. “Do you think she’s at the Gazette, or should I run to her father’s first?”
“I bet she’s already in the office. She was always one of the first to arrive at work.” Iris wondered what was currently unfolding at the Gazette. How Zeb would be bewildered and envious that the Inkridden Tribune had stirred up a frenzy, and then furious to see his front page had been altered.
Although Iris wouldn’t believe it until she saw the paper with her own eyes.
She followed Forest to the street, taking hold of his sleeve. His face looked bruised this morning, and a bit swollen around his right eye, but his gaze was clear and focused. Iris could tell he was already kilometers away in his mind, imagining which route he would take to reach Sarah.
“Bring her to 2928 Thornberry Circle,” Iris said. “The McNeils’ house. We’ll be waiting there for you.”
Forest nodded. “We might be late, if she’s at the Gazette and we need to go back for her father.”
Iris bit her lip, wanting to protest. But then a breeze sighed through the street, and a newspaper fluttered against the curb. Just from the headline font, Iris knew it was the Gazette. She reached down and picked it up, smoothing the front page.
She couldn’t explain the feeling that bloomed in her chest to see her sneaky article right there, front and center, on the first page. To an unsuspecting reader, the block of text would seem to only be a strange list of addresses, with continued on page three at the bottom. She thumbed to the third page, Forest frowning as he leaned closer to see what she was doing. And there, another block of addresses. Another, and another, with an explanation of what they were.
THESE ADDRESSES ARE KNOWN OR SUSPECTED TO BE ROOTED ON MAGICAL LEY LINES, AND CAN PROVIDE SHELTER DURING THE BOMBING.
“If you and Sarah and Mr. Prindle can’t reach the McNeils’ in time,” Iris began, setting the Gazette in Forest’s hands, “go to one of the addresses listed here, or a building you know has magical tendencies. It should keep you safe.”
Forest finally understood. A light sparked in his eyes as he threaded his fingers through Iris’s hair and kissed her brow.
“Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?” he said.
“Yes, but I’ll never grow tired of hearing it,” Iris wryly countered.
“And also … I like your new haircut. It suits you.”
“Did you just now notice it, Forest?”
He only smiled as he stepped into the street. Newspaper tucked beneath his arm, he turned and melted into the crowd.
Iris stood there awhile longer, trying to tame her worries. Worries about Forest and Sarah, Tobias and his parents. Marisol and Lucy and Keegan, still on the city outskirts. About Roman, and what he would think when Iris and Attie failed to show at their appointed meet-up.
She traced the iron key, hidden in her trouser pocket.
“Are you about ready to go?”
Iris glanced behind to see Attie walking down the front steps to join her at the curb.
“I think so.”
“There’s porridge and eggs on the table if you want any. Papa insisted on everyone eating a good meal before we set off.”
“I’m not sure I can eat at the moment.”
“Same.” Attie grew quiet, shielding her eyes against the morning rays. “It’s strange to say this out loud, but I didn’t know what I would think.”
“About what?”
“About how many of our neighbors packed all their valuables in a valise and went north.”
Iris was quiet, watching people pass by. Families arriving from the northern side of the river, families fleeing from the south side. Some people who were simply spinning in circles, confused and weeping. Some people who acted like everything was normal, attempting to carry out their daily routines.
She had overheard a few panicked individuals say all southern gates and waypoints out of the city had also been barricaded and blocked by Dacre’s army. No one could leave Oath; they could only choose which side of the river to shelter on.
“I thought more people I knew would refuse to kneel to Dacre, but I suppose I was wrong.” Attie shrugged, but Iris could tell how hurt and sad she was.
“Sometimes,” Iris began, “I don’t think we know what we’re made of until the worst moment possible happens. Then we must decide who we truly are and what is most important to us. I think we’re often surprised by what we become.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder for a while longer, silently lost to thought.
Attie finally broke the quiet. “Here. This is for you.” She pressed a smooth and sticky ball into Iris’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Wax for your ears,” Attie explained. “As much as I want you to hear me play, it’ll be best if you don’t. I don’t want you falling asleep on me.”
Iris hadn’t even thought of that, but she shivered in relief. Of course she also would be vulnerable to the spell of Attie’s music if she heard it below, and she tucked the wax away into her pocket for later.
“Will you play ‘Alzane’s Lullaby’ for me when this is over?” Iris asked. “Aboveground, that is.”
Attie smiled. “I promise.”
* * *
A ten-minute walk took nearly half an hour.
Iris held Ainsley’s hand as they followed the path Mr. Attwood forged for them through the teeming streets. He carried a small caddy with Lilac, who emitted a steady stream of plaintive meows, inside. Attie was close behind, her youngest brother perched on her back, her violin case strapped to her chest. Mrs. Attwood’s fingers were woven with those of both twins, one on each side. But it was still a difficult feat to stay together as they jostled shoulders with strangers and tripped over abandoned items in the streets. As they went with the flow as well as fought against it.
Iris’s knees felt like water, her clothes damp with perspiration, when they finally reached the McNeils’ front door.
Mrs. Attwood rang the bell, but Attie was already shaking her head.
“It doesn’t look like they’re here, Mum.”
“Let me knock, then. I don’t think they would go north…”