GEMMA DREAMED SHE WAS RIDING on the back of a giant bat, cupped in the soft leather of its wings. She dreamed that a veil had been placed over her face, to keep her from looking down and getting afraid, to keep her from crying out and startling out of the sky. But she couldn’t breathe. The cloth was wet from her breathing, and it flowed into her open mouth. It tasted like smoke.
Briefly she woke up to the sound of voices and lights—hands everywhere, leathery hands, unfamiliar, and faces she didn’t know—but she hovered there, on the edge of consciousness, for only a few seconds before the bat enfolded her in its wings and once again swept her up, this time loosing itself from the trees and hurtling across the clean, cool night air.
She could breathe again. The veil had come loose. Her sister had unhooked it, because she didn’t like how it looked.
That’s better, her sister, Emma, said. Except that Emma had Lyra’s face, and Gemma knew, in her dream, that all along Lyra-who-was-Emma had simply disguised herself to give Gemma time to adjust to having a sister.
The bat had turned to a trundling donkey, and Gemma rocked back and forth, back and forth, while Lyra, who was her sister Emma, walked beside her. The sky above them was the color of milk. Was she dreaming or not? She was bound up in white sheets, as if prepared for burial, but she didn’t feel afraid, not with her sister Lyra standing next to her and whispering to her, over and over, Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay now.
Turn the page to continue reading Gemma’s story. Click here to read Chapter 27 of Lyra’s story.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“IS IT TRUE? DID YOU really lose a finger?” April didn’t wait for Gemma to answer. “That’s so awesome. You got your finger blown off. Is it your middle finger?”
“Pinkie,” Gemma said.
“Oh, well, thank God,” April said. “How else would you flick off Chloe DeWitt and the pack wolves? Seriously, that is the most badass thing I’ve ever heard. You’re going to be Instagram famous, like, immediately.”
“Sure,” Gemma said. “Maybe I’ll even become a hand model.”
“Uh-huh.” April fed a Twizzler into her mouth, then offered one to Gemma. “Maybe I’ll get my finger blown off too. You know, so we can be twins.”
Gemma rolled her eyes. “You’re certifiably insane. You know that? You should be locked up.” But the knot in her chest had loosened. April had that effect: like a warm bath after you’d almost frozen to death.
Since Gemma had woken up—nearly eighteen hours since she’d first been admitted, time enough for April and her mothers to catch a flight to Philadelphia and then make the drive to Lancaster General—April had barely paused for breath.
She told Gemma how her mom Diana had helped her crack into Jake’s computer after April admitted the story they’d cooked up about finding it in the library was in fact a fabrication.
“I should have known,” Diana said. “When’s the last time you two were at the library?”
“It took her, like, two seconds,” April said, deliberately ignoring the question. “Meanwhile she can’t use Snapchat to save her life.”
April had been hoping that there might be information on Jake’s computer that would help them locate Gemma. Instead, she had found passwords to HavenFiles.com, lists of bloggers and journalists who’d expressed interest in what was really happening at Haven, hundreds of names and connections, data that Jake, out of precaution, out of fear, had kept secret.
But April, God love her, had never kept a secret in her whole life: she had flooded HavenFiles.com with new uploads, had emailed every single whistle-blower she could find online, had started a Truth Apocalypse, as she put it. Her mom Angela had even contacted the New York Times.
“Some detective talked to me,” she said. “He wanted to know all about the Haven Files. All about Jake Witz, too.”
“Is April bugging you, Gem?” Diana asked, ruffling her daughter’s hair.
“Yeah,” Gemma said. “For about the past ten years.”
She was kidding, of course, though in truth, she didn’t want to think about Jake Witz, or detectives, or the replicas escaped from the airport, and what would happen when the truth about them began to break. That would come later. For now, though, she liked to hear April’s voice, and see Angela and Diana bickering over whose turn it was to run down to the canteen for coffee, and sit in the sun with her mother, clear-eyed, sitting next to her.
“Har-dee-har.” April made a face through a mouthful of Twizzler. “All I’m saying is, when the shitstorm hits the—” But she didn’t finish, because just then the door opened behind her, and Lyra and Caelum edged shyly into the room.
Gemma’s heart leapt. They were both wearing hospital gowns, and Lyra was painfully pale, and still far, far too thin. But she was smiling, and alive.
“Looks like you have some more visitors,” Kristina said, reaching out a hand and smoothing Gemma’s hair back.
“You’re awake,” Gemma blurted. She had been asking since she had woken up that morning.
April treated Lyra and Caelum’s arrival like she treated everything: as if it was exactly what she had expected all along. “You’re heroes,” April said, and then held out her bag of Twizzlers. “Twizzler?”
Lyra shook her head. Caelum, however, took one, and Gemma couldn’t help but smile.
“Come on.” Angela put a hand on April’s shoulder. “Let’s leave them alone for a bit, okay?”
Gemma’s mom stood up. “I could use a cup of coffee, actually.”
April made a face. Leaving Gemma alone was not a concept April had ever been particularly good at. It was one of the things Gemma loved most about her.
“Yeah, sure,” she grumbled. “But we’ll come back, right? You can’t get rid of me that easily.” She pointed a Twizzler at Gemma.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gemma said. Lyra and Caelum exchanged a look. She thought she saw a smile pass between them.
Kristina bent down to kiss Gemma’s forehead. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and Gemma nodded to show it was okay for her to go.
“How are you?” Gemma asked, as soon as everyone else had left. She was worried about how pale Lyra looked. “How are you feeling?”
But Lyra answered immediately.
“We’re fine,” she said. Caelum took Lyra’s hand, and Gemma felt a surge of love for them both. She struggled to find the words to express how she felt—how grateful she was.
“April was right,” she said at last. “You’re both heroes. I can’t believe you found me.”
Slowly, Lyra smiled. It was the funniest thing. Her smile was like something that snuck up on her, like the kind of sun that begins by planting an elbow through the clouds and then begins to push, and push, until the whole sky is exposed.
“That’s what friends do,” Lyra said. “They find each other.”
Gemma knew, then, that Lyra understood. That the terrible things that had happened to her hadn’t, after all, been more important than the love she had found.