The Forgotten Locket (32 page)

But Zo had timed his attack perfectly.

Dante hadn’t seen me. The loop hadn’t been closed.

And now Dante was dying and the river was spiraling into chaos.

• • •

It wasn’t until I felt Domenico’s hand on my arm that I found my voice and my strength. Adrenaline shot through me like lightning, waking me up from my numbness.

“Let me go!” I shouted, struggling to break free from the blanket wrapped around me. “You don’t understand. I have to go.”

Domenico hovered nearby. “Be calm, my lady. You will be all right.”

“No!” I managed to free my hand and I shoved hard at the guard holding me. “Let me go! He needs my help!”

The guard grunted but didn’t budge.

“Who?” Domenico asked. “Who needs your help?”

I reached for the door, my fingers brushing the wood. “Dante,” I cried. “He’s been hurt. We have to help him. Please! Promise me you’ll help him.”

Domenico made a sharp gesture to the guard, who set me down and loosened his hold on me. “Tell me what happened.”

I didn’t answer him. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I bolted toward the door.

Crashing through, I headed straight for the third cell on the end. Dante’s cell.

The guards followed behind me; I could hear them shouting at me to stop, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The prisoners in the other cells paced like wild animals, shouting and calling out. Hands reached out through the bars toward me, grasping, clutching.

I hit the bars of his cell hard. I wrapped my fists around the steel and shook, even though I knew they wouldn’t bend or break. Dante’s body lay in a lump on the cold floor. The silver hilt of the knife gleamed dully in the flickering torchlight. I tried not to look at where metal met flesh.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Domenico trotting along behind the guards. “Open this!” I shouted. “Please!”

“Do as she says,” Domenico ordered, motioning for the guards to step aside.

The head guard hesitated, his hand hovering by the ring of keys at his waist.

“Or will I need to report your disobedience to Angelo?” Domenico demanded, standing tall despite his small stature.

At the sound of Angelo’s name, the guard jumped to action, shuffling through the keys until he found the one that opened Dante’s cell.

The hinges squealed in protest as I yanked the door open almost before the guard had withdrawn the key.

The smell of blood had been masked by the other odors filling the dungeon, but now, so close to Dante’s body, the coppery tang made my nose itch. A bright red stain spread over his chest; fat drops of blood made a puddle on the floor.

I knelt by Dante’s head, trying not to think about another night when another Dante lay dying in my lap. My tears splashed on his closed eyes and trickled down his pale cheek.

I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not like this.

Domenico stopped short just inside the cell, surprise and horror mixing on his face at the sight of the knife and the blood. He turned back to the guard. “Fetch the physician. Now.”

The head guard darted away. The other guards worked to quiet the other prisoners, checking the locks on the other cells, asking questions about who might have done this, and how.

“My lady?” Domenico took a half step forward. “Take heart, my lady. The physician is on the way.”

“There’s no time,” I murmured. “It’s too late. I was too late. Everlastingly too late.”

The river creaked, bending around this unexpected rock that Zo had dropped in the flow. The pressure on me increased, a slow compression of my lungs, my bones, my heart. I grimaced and pushed the pressure back. I couldn’t let it overwhelm me. I had work I needed to do.

Domenico knelt on the floor next to me. He peered closely at Dante’s face, then up at me. “I met this man this morning,” he said, astonished. “How is it possible that he is here, now?”

“It’s not the same man,” I said truthfully. This Dante hadn’t had the experiences yet that would shape him into the man he would become—the man with whom I had walked in the Casellas’ garden just this morning. In time, they would become one and the same, but for right now, they were two different people. And right now, I knew they both needed my help.

Dante had said that he could sense his other self, a distant echo that he couldn’t ignore. I wondered if he had heard—or felt—the impact of Zo’s blade. I wondered if, for a moment, that echo had sounded like a shout. Or a scream. I wondered if he was worried about the silence.

I made myself look at the knife and the blood that dripped from the wound. I had patched a hole in Dante’s heart once already. I could do it again. I would. I had to.

“I don’t understand—” Domenico started.

“I don’t expect you to,” I interrupted. I caught his gaze with mine and held it tight. “The world is full of impossibilities—some beautiful, some terrible—but sometimes, when you least expect it, they can become possible. Please, trust me, and don’t interfere.”

I couldn’t go to the bank, not with Domenico watching my every move. I wasn’t sure I even dared go halfway there as I had when I’d summoned the shell of time to trap Zo.

Maybe I didn’t need to. Maybe, this time, the music could come to me.

I closed my eyes, striving to find my balance despite feeling like the world was unraveling around me. I breathed. I counted.

Blocking out the noise of the dungeon—the cries and moans—blocking out the smell—sweat, fear, blood—I focused on filling the emptiness inside me with stillness, with music.

I thought about the river, how it looked and how it felt to stand beside it, but most of all, I thought about how it sounded. The rushing of the past to the future, the music of possibility, the language of time.

Faint chimes rang deep in my inner ear. My heart sped up in anticipation. I coaxed the music closer, listening for the melody I needed that could heal Dante. I heard the chord that would connect me to Dante, that would channel the healing power of the river to his heart.

Protect. Save. Heal.

I could almost see the words taking shape: the tall, straight lines, the bent and curved lines, the links that connected letter to letter and word to word, but unlike last time, when a bright star of healing had answered my call, this time there was only a glimmer, a spark. A deep shadow flowed behind the music, turning the words to darkness.

The river was sick as well, wounded and wavering. The music trembled, the notes struggling to stay together.

The spark wouldn’t be enough. Not for a wound like this. But I didn’t have the strength to demand what I wanted right now. I would take what I could get. I would do the best I could with what I had. I let go of the chord I wanted and focused instead on a single note, a single word.

Hold.

The note slipped free like a sigh. I opened my eyes a slit, squinting as the light I had summoned wreathed my hand. I had wanted a fierce golden blaze, a fire that could cauterize Dante’s wound from the inside out, but all I held was a pale white flicker, no brighter than a wish.

Fear touched Domenico’s eyes as he looked from me to my hand to Dante’s chest.

I touched the cross-shaped hilt with my outstretched finger, and the light moved from me to the knife, making the blade glow an even brighter silver. The light pooled at the point of contact, capping the wound and holding it in place.

The flow of blood slowed to a stream, a trickle, a drip—a stop.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. It would hold.

Dante was still unconscious, his eyes closed, his face pale. I was glad he hadn’t woken up while I was in his cell. Yes, he needed to see me, but I didn’t want it to be like this. Not under these circumstances.

I stood up, brushing away the dark smudges from my skirt. A coldness settled into the pit of my stomach, spreading out to encase me in a hard shell, like armor. “Don’t move him,” I ordered Domenico. “Don’t touch him. Don’t let
anyone
touch him but me.”

“Where are you going?” Domenico asked, looking at me like I was part angel of mercy and part demon of destruction.

“Hunting.”

• • •

As I ran across the plaza back toward the cemetery, I heard the echo of Dante’s last words to me:
I’ll be here when you get back.

I hoped that was still true. I wanted to see him standing at the edge of the cemetery, waiting and watching for me to return.

But Zo had somehow made it to the dungeon, and I feared he had only been able to do that because something bad had happened to Dante.

I bit back a bitter laugh. Something bad
had
happened to Dante—to both of them.

The world stuttered and jumped as the colors began bleeding into each other. The gray walls of the buildings around me brightened to a silvery sheen; the brown cobblestones under my feet darkened to a burnt orange. The blue sky overhead slid into a light shade of lavender.

The river twisted with a grinding sound like falling rocks.

The Cathedral of the Angels rose up before me. I dashed through the crowds of people in the plaza, none of whom seemed to notice that the world was falling apart. I knew they wouldn’t, not unless the river fragmented beyond all hope of healing. If that happened, then for those people, it would be as if the world suddenly stopped. Cut off into nothing. It would be as though all of reality suddenly fell off a cliff into everlasting darkness.

I heard someone call my name and I looked around in confusion, shading my eyes from the light that suddenly felt as sharp as a blade.

Valerie ran toward me with Orlando close behind her.

Even at a distance, I could see the black smudges around her eyes, the pallor of her cheeks.

I stumbled to a stop.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as Valerie crashed into my arms.

“What are
you
doing here?” she replied, her voice frantic and shrill. “You’re supposed to be with him. Who is with him if you’re with us?”

I looked over Valerie’s head at Orlando, who shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. “We were at Father’s shop. Then she just turned and ran out the door.” He frowned. “What
are
you doing here? Did something happen at home? Where’s Dante?”

“Waiting for me by the cathedral—I hope.” I kept walking toward the cemetery. There was no time to waste. Valerie clung to my arm; Orlando matched my stride. I quickly told them about my unexpected trip to the cemetery followed by my sudden trip to the dungeon and the violent appearance of Zo. When I explained how I had healed Dante in his cell—or at least held off his death—Orlando’s face tightened and the lines around his mouth deepened.

“He’ll be okay,” I said, praying that I was telling the truth.

I rounded the corner of the cathedral and saw the iron gates of the cemetery rising up, black and tall. Orlando rushed through first, looking around quickly, but I slowed my steps, dragging my feet. I knew the truth. I had seen it the moment I looked through the gate.

The high clouds had vanished as though a strong breeze had blown them away. The air was still and heavy around us.

There was no sign of Zo.

There was no sign of Dante.

The cemetery was empty except for us—and the dead.

Chapter 25

No, no, no! The story isn’t supposed to go this way.” Valerie grabbed my arm. “The story is too dark. And the darkness is hungry.”

“Abby?” Orlando asked, returning to where I stood in shock.

I couldn’t speak. My whole being was consumed with a single thought: He wasn’t here. Dante wasn’t here.

Our surroundings continued to dissolve into smears of colors. The buildings lost their outlines, and the ground, which looked level, suddenly felt slanted.

Valerie whimpered. “The Pirate King was here. He stole the River Policeman and now they are gone.” She pointed to the bone-white statues. “These are his people—his crew—but they won’t tell us anything. The darkness has taken all their stories.”

A low rumble ran through the ground beneath my feet. The world blurred, rocking on its axis before settling back onto its foundation. But when it did, everything looked a little flatter, the edges more sharply defined. My head hurt trying to assimilate this new two-dimensional reality into my three-dimensional expectations. My heart hurt trying to assimilate the fact that one version of Dante was dying in prison and the other Dante had vanished.

Cracks appeared in the foundation of the cathedral, spreading upward like the thin veins in a feather or a leaf. Another shock wave rumbled deep underground, the stones groaning as they rubbed against each other.

“It’s not safe here,” Valerie said, tugging on my arm. “We should go.”