The Lost Girl

11

Green



I must be less than a dozen steps away from the bottom of the tower when I hear footsteps running close by. I duck into the nearest alcove, behind an old suit of armor, my heart racing. I can’t get the thought of Ophelia and that dark stain on her dress out of my head. My skin is soaked in cold sweat.

Theseus and a woman in a white coat hurry past the alcove, up the stairs. I must have heard the doctor’s footsteps. Theseus is too quiet. They don’t see me.

I wait until the footsteps have faded away before continuing down the stairs. I slow at the bottom. Warily. I look around, checking the hallways. There is no one in sight. I don’t know my way around the Loom. I don’t know how to get out. I can’t use the doors. They will be guarded. Right now all I can hope for is to find an empty room on the ground floor and get out through a window.

Without being seen.

In a minute Theseus will reach the top of the tower and will see that I’ve escaped Mina Ma. I have to be quick. They will start looking for me.

I run down the hallway and turn the corner, choosing my path blindly, letting my feet choose the way for me. They don’t falter. They keep running. Like they know where they’re going. The pillars and stone of the Loom tower above me, and a host of gargoyles leer down from the walls. I try doors as I run farther away from the tower. Most of the doors are locked, and the windows in the hallways are sealed with double-glazed glass.

There’s an archway ahead. I pass through it and the decor changes subtly, becoming woodier and paneled, slightly warmer than the stone. I reach for a doorknob but stop when I hear a sound. My heart jolts. Listen.

Someone pacing. Voices behind the door. I strain my ears, but the words are muffled. Is that . . . Matthew?

I don’t wait to hear any more. I race down the corridor until I reach a door that opens when I turn the knob. I almost weep in relief.

I rush in and close the door quietly behind me. There’s no lock. It doesn’t matter. It will have to do.

Each breath feels like a needle is being pierced through my ribs. I lean back against the door to catch my breath. I sound like an old man with a rattling in his chest. I take a moment to breathe in and out. Slower and slower until the needles are gone.

Something flutters against my cheek. I almost let out a cry, then realize it’s only a dirty gray cobweb that must have shaken loose from the door when I opened and closed it.

The room is full of cobwebs. It looks like no one has come in here in years. Not even to clean the place. I stare at the dark shadows of furniture and cobwebs dangling like nooses from the ceiling.

As my eyes adjust to the dark in the room, I see the outline of a window across the room. It’s large and deep and covered with blinds, but I can see moonlight behind them. That’s my way out. I pick my way carefully across the room but stumble into something. I stifle a yelp and grab hold of it to keep it from falling over. Someone might hear the crash. It moves in my hand. Like it’s rocking.

A crib. Or a rocking stand with something on it. I feel for it. A basket?

For a baby?

I stumble over to the wall and feel for a light switch. Eventually I find one and press down. A lamp flickers to life in the ceiling. It lights everything up: the cobwebs, the rocking basket, the clock, the thick layer of dust, the sad look of neglect. And it lights up the walls. The wallpaper is green. A pale green, faded with time.

This is a nursery. My nursery.

My head swims dizzily, and I have to hold on to the wall for support. For a moment the dust and the cobwebs are gone and the room is bright with sunlight and toys. I have yellow pajamas and the basket is being rocked. It was real. I lived here for a little while after I was made. Matthew rocked me and sang me songs about cities. Once, the bitter, drawling Weaver laughed. Did he love me? Because he made me, made me for Alisha? I don’t know. But I know he laughed. They weren’t just dreams. They really happened.

And then I was taken away to be what an echo is supposed to be. And no one’s come into this room since. Not after I left it behind.

“Oh my god,” I stammer into the silence.

If the dreams were real, it means the recording was too. Everything on the disk Erik gave me really happened. And those things, they weren’t just real: they were true.

Because if they weren’t true, if Matthew made us a promise he never intended to keep, then this room would be long gone by now. It would have caused him no pain. He would have repapered it and thrown out the furniture and used it for some other purpose. And he would have forgotten. But it’s still here, exactly the way I left it, and that means he hasn’t forgotten. If the room still exists, so does a part of the Matthew who swore he would save me.

I reel from the shock. I am swallowed by my life, by seventeen years, and suddenly I can see everything, but it has been stripped bare and the only thing that shows up is the color green. Green wallpaper. A scarf on a lady at a shop. Mina Ma’s sari. Finger paints. The grass beneath an elephant’s stamping feet. A balloon. Sean’s eyes. Green wallpaper. I began in green and may now end in green. I was given a life in a green room. And now I’ve come back, after all this time, and it’s in a green room, once again, that I must take back that life.

The clock chimes once. It’s a broken and lost sound, like there’s not much left in the clock. It makes me jump.

I dig my fingernails into my palms. My eyes drift to the window, but I turn away. My heart is a bird. Fluttering against my ribs, trying to break away, but I ignore it. I sit down in an old rocking chair, among the dust and the ruin, and I wait.

Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Then I hear footsteps in the corridor. More than one pair, and none of the Guard among them. The treads are too loud and too firm.

The door opens. Adrian stalks in first, Matthew a reluctant step behind him. He doesn’t want to enter the room. But he does.

Adrian’s eyes burn with the coldest hate I’ve ever seen. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. For a brief moment he looks uncertain. They expected to burst in here and find me in a panic, trying to break out of the window. Or to find me already gone. But I’m here and I’m just sitting in this chair, watching them. It makes them wary.

Matthew narrows his eyes. Adrian glances at him and back at me and his voice is icy. “Would you care to explain what the devil she’s doing, Matthew?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning . . .” Adrian takes a threatening step in my direction. I can almost see his fingers itch to close around my throat. “She was waiting for us. Why would she do that?”

Before anyone can say anything more, there’s a clatter of footsteps down the hallway, and then a woman sweeps into the room. She’s not alone; Erik and Mina Ma are with her. I feel a rush of warmth at seeing them. Erik’s eyes widen and he makes a jerky move, as though to grab me and hug me and conceal me from Adrian, but he stops himself. Mina Ma seems furious. For a minute it looks like she is going to demand to know why I’m still here and expose the part she played in my escape.

“You’re Elsa,” I say to the other woman. “Elsa Connelly.” Her hair is still golden and her face is calm and unlined, but there’s a hint of steel in the line of her mouth. Her eyes reveal her to be older than she looks: they’re sad and weary.

I’ve dreamed of her, too. She stood in my dreams with sad eyes and asked me what my heart desired.

“Yes,” she replies, almost kindly, “and you are Eva. Is that correct?”

I nod.

“That is not her name,” snaps Adrian. A chill skitters down my spine as his eyes burn gold into me. He didn’t look at me with so much hate before. Now it couldn’t be clearer that he wants few things more than to kill me and be done with it.

“Eva,” says Erik, looking pained, “you understand that you will go to trial, don’t you?”

I start to reply, but Adrian cuts in. “I think we can dispense with the formalities and get it done here. Now. We have an array of charges to choose from. Any one of them is enough to allow us to be rid of her.” He gives a bitter laugh. “Taking her own name, running away, consorting with a guardian, causing the death of a guardian—”

“What?” I stand up and stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

Adrian takes a step closer. I brace myself, but he makes no move to touch me. “Are you telling me you’ve already forgotten about Ophelia? My daughter has been cold less than an hour and you’ve already forgotten what you did?”

“Cold?” I repeat stupidly. Horror grips me so tightly I can’t breathe. “Dead, you mean? But she’s not! She wasn’t hurt that badly, she was okay—”

I catch Mina Ma’s eye and the words die on my lips. She doesn’t even look guilty. And I know from the look on her face that Ophelia was hurt that badly. She was never going to heal. A pain builds in the back of my throat, a silent scream itching to come out. She smiled at me and she closed her eyes and she never opened them again.

For half a second I am so angry with Mina Ma I am almost sure I will never forgive her. But it’s gone as quickly as it comes, because I realize it’s no different from what I did to Sean. She lied so that I would run. She lied to save me. How can I hate her for that?

“Adrian, that was a tragic accident,” Elsa interjects. She looks terribly sorry for him, but she is firm. “Theseus told us what happened. This child is no more responsible for Ophelia’s choices than you are.”

His expression doesn’t change. He knows it would never have happened if I hadn’t threatened her with that knife. That’s all that matters to him.

My legs can hardly hold me. I felt so strong a minute ago, and now I want to crumple and fade away. I can’t make Ophelia and death fit together. A fresh spasm of pain rocks me. Am I going to hurt everyone I love in this desperate bid to survive?

I could step back and let them have their trial and end everything. The fight has almost all gone out of me. Almost. And then I remember the way Sean kissed me as he left. How alive I felt. And I think of Sasha in her little pajamas with her too-big yawns. And I glance at Matthew, who has been silent so far, and there is a hard, mocking, waiting look on his face that makes me straighten my spine once again.

“You made a promise once.”

My voice echoes into the dusty silence. Matthew’s eyes flicker. Adrian looks at me in disbelief. And then his eyes turn, hard and accusing, to Erik.

“He didn’t tell me anything.” I speak carefully so that I need only tell as few lies as possible. I rub my eyes, rub away the tears. “He didn’t say anything. I was there too. Remember?”

Adrian gives a sharp laugh. “This is outrageous. Matthew?”

“There is a teeny, tiny, infinitesimal possibility,” says Matthew, idly studying his fingernails, “that Eva may be correct.”

A terrible silence. When Adrian speaks, his tone is dangerous. “And what, precisely, did this promise involve?”

“Matthew swore to save Eva if she was ever in danger from the Loom,” says Erik.

Matthew clears his throat. “I seem to recall the promise was contingent on her proving herself worthy.”

“I am worthy.” I look him in the eye. “You want me to run? I’ve done that. Fight my way out? I’ve done that too. I’m here, aren’t I? You told me to find a way out of the noose and I did. I ran away. I would still be running if you hadn’t gotten lucky. Your seekers found us because they were told where to look.” I can’t make myself say Ophelia’s name. It hurts too much. I point to the window. “It wouldn’t have been hard to climb out of there and escape. You wouldn’t have found me here if I hadn’t chosen to wait. Amarra tried to take my life from me, and I cut out my tracker because I had no other choice. But now there’s another way. I’ve done everything in my power to save myself. Now I need you to honor your promise.”

My hands are shaking, but I knit them tightly together. In the silence all I can hear is the sound of my heart. It sounds so alive.

“You can’t be considering this,” says Adrian at last. His eyes are on Matthew. He sounds like winter. The icy winds that cut your skin like knives. “You can’t sidestep a trial and a Sleep Order because of a promise you once made behind our backs.”

“You would have done it,” says Matthew. “You sidestepped everything only hours ago, when you made her your offer. That was somewhat behind our backs too.”

Adrian’s lips become a hard, flat line. “My offer would have kept her under our watch. It would have kept her under control, which is something you have all failed abysmally to do.”

“That I can’t deny,” Matthew admits.

Adrian glances bitterly at him. “And I suppose you will insist on taking her side.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

Adrian smiles faintly. Almost ruefully. “How did she cause so much trouble?”

“Good question.” Matthew studies my face. “She looks so small, so fragile. How did you turn the Loom upside down, Eva?”

“I just wanted my life back,” I answer.

“Oh?” Adrian’s eyes glitter. “And so you fought for it. Whatever the cost. Matthew, would you truly ask me to let her go now? My daughter is dead.”

“Do you imagine Eva will ever forget what winning her life back cost?” Erik demands. “Do you really not believe Ophelia’s life is a steep enough price to pay? You weren’t the only one who cared for your daughter. Eva did too.”

“Funny,” says Adrian, “she didn’t act like it. Threatened her with a steak knife, didn’t she? Or was that supposed to be a loving gesture?”

“Adrian—”

“That’s enough.” Adrian’s voice is quiet, but it echoes like thunder through the auditorium. It silences everybody. Only Matthew looks at ease. He even looks like he’s conferring a great honor on Adrian by deigning to remain quiet. “We will put her on trial and she will be punished.”

“You can’t ignore everything Eva has said,” Elsa cuts in. “You can’t just pretend Matthew never swore he would—”

“And yet you can see I am ignoring it rather successfully, Elsa. People sometimes keep their promises,” he acknowl-edges. “People like Erik, for example. For all your faults, Erik, you do have an irritatingly moral streak. But not Matthew. When has Matthew ever been honorable?”

“People always expect the worst of me.” Matthew sounds mournful. “But I will grant I am not exactly trustworthy, and alas, I have proven duplicitous in the past, so there is an outside chance I may have deserved that.”

Erik’s jaw tightens. “What you swore that day, in this room, that was different.”

“It makes no difference to me.” Adrian puts a hand out and seizes me by the back of my neck. “There is nothing stopping me from destroying her now. This very moment.” I try to wriggle free, but his fingers are steel biting into my skin. It feels like he could rip me apart with just that one hand. His eyes are not on me. They’re on Matthew. Waiting. “Well? Will you stop me?”

Matthew seems particularly interested in his fingernails today. “Go on, then.”

“No!” Mina Ma shouts.

I struggle wildly, but the grip on my neck only tightens. Erik takes a step forward, and Matthew puts up a hand to stop him. Rage radiates off Mina Ma like ocean waves during a storm.

“He won’t do it.” Matthew smiles at Adrian. “You would no more stick a knife into me than I would into you.”

Does that mean he still cares about me? Otherwise I have no idea how destroying me could correlate in any way to Adrian sticking a knife into Matthew. It seems to make sense to Adrian, because he lets me go. I look between him and Matthew, and for some reason I think of an elastic band tying them together: a band made up of friendship and loyalty and secrets and the dark obsessions of the Loom. When they make conflicting choices the band is stretched and pulled, but it is elastic, so it doesn’t break. Instead, the two ends snap together again. And I understand that I’m a force pulling at one end and no matter how far I pull, the ends will always snap back together. No matter what Matthew chooses to do about his promise, he will always be on Adrian’s side. There is not much left of the man who sang lullabies in a pale green nursery.

But there might be just enough.

“We could go to trial and satisfy your thirst for blood, Adrian,” says Matthew. “But it would be such a waste of time, and I am due to have tea with a very important person in the morning. Let the girl go. Revoke the Sleep Order. We can’t have her running around, doing what she likes, so send her back to her familiars. I think you’ll find they are willing to keep her.” Suddenly he looks tired and bitter. “I’m done talking about this.”

“I agree,” says Elsa. There’s a funny look in her eye, like she’s watching the world she knows collapse and that pleases her. “If we did go to trial, Adrian, you would be outvoted.”

I don’t dare feel relieved. Not yet. Winning my life back, having it in my own two hands again, it doesn’t seem real yet.

Adrian doesn’t speak for a long time. His silence is far more chilling than any open rage. Then he smiles and I shiver. Beneath the smile is fury, and grief, and hate. He will never forget how Ophelia died. He will never forget that he wanted to punish me and I got away.

“I see I am outvoted,” he says, “this time. Very well. You may leave.” He goes to the door and stops beside it. “I have no doubt you will return. You don’t seem to be very good at obeying my laws. I will be here when you come back. And somehow I don’t think there will be many promises to rely on when you do.”

No one says anything for a long, long time.

“Erik, could you be so kind as to put her on a flight back to Bangalore at the end of the week?” Matthew asks, breaking the spell. “And do keep an eye on her until then.”

He glances at me and there is a brief, bitter, faraway look in his eyes. Then he turns around and walks away.

Adrian pauses before following. He shakes his head. “It need never have come to this. If you had done as you agreed to and stayed to help me with my work, none of this would have happened.” Ophelia. Unspoken but there, hanging above us like an ax. She would still be alive if I had only made a different choice.

“I couldn’t have stayed,” I say. “I will never stop being sorry about Ophelia, but I couldn’t have helped you. Not like that. I won’t be your monster.”

“You’ve always been our monster,” says Adrian. “Don’t ever forget that.”

I watch him go. Elsa is the last to leave, and she sweeps away, with a cool, calm dignity I envy, after giving me a long and searching look. I don’t know what she’s looking for.

When they’re gone, my knees give way. I sit down on the floor, on the ragged, dusty rug, and swallow a hard, dry lump in my throat. Mina Ma holds me tight and I feel her love and her relief, every bit as tangible as her arms.

“Thank you,” I say. She hears me and so does Erik, but he doesn’t turn around right away. He is staring at the open doorway.

Mina Ma frowns up at him. “Erik?”

“The Loom is coming undone at the edges,” he says, turning back to us. “Adrian and Matthew have both shown that they will bend their laws for their own ends. Adrian can no longer see beyond his obsessions, and with Ophelia gone”—his voice cracks—“that will only grow worse. For so long it has been iron and steel, and now the edges are fraying and the Loom is beginning to unravel. If it is hit in the right place, it may even fall.”

“Does that frighten you?” I ask him.

“I don’t know. I know I was frightened for you until a moment ago.” He crouches on the rug, looking me in the eye, and he gives me one of his faint twinkly-eyed smiles. “Don’t look so sad. Most echoes only leave the Loom once. When they are first stitched. Few leave it twice. That is something. Today you won.”

Everything has changed. I have changed. I have to keep changing. Growing up. Learning to be careful while the Loom watches me closer than ever, while Adrian waits for me to slip. But that, there, that hasn’t changed. When I was little, the Weavers were the dark, frightening monsters under my bed. They still are. Watching. Waiting.

I won. And I have paid dearly for it. I have earned Adrian’s hatred. We’ve unmasked the Loom for what it is: whims and obsessions and cruelty and all of it, unraveling. I sent Sean away and he will never forgive me for that. And then there is Ophelia. I will never be able to forget that. Things will not just magically go on the way they did before I began fighting for my life. Before Bangalore and before Amarra and the Sleep Order and before the Loom.

I wonder if the police will investigate Ophelia’s death or if they will turn a blind eye, unwilling to come too close to the Loom and to the strange, eerie games it plays with life and death. I wonder if Adrian will let me go to her funeral. Not that that matters. To me, Ophelia can’t be a body in a coffin in the earth. She’s laughing and smoking cigarettes in the garden of a cottage by a lake, sniffling over birthday cakes and frantically searching a dictionary for the meaning of a big word. The cottage by the lake is now over the hill and far away, and Jonathan and Ophelia and the other little ducks are there, and if I dream hard enough maybe, like the song, I will go after them and find them and one day all the little ducks will come back.