The Bone Charmer Page 21

  I wrench out of the vision, breathless. Esmee’s eyes fly open and she extinguishes the flame. “That explains a lot,” she says, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.

  My fingers curl around my knees. “It explains nothing. Latham was there that day. He showed me the practice bones. I did a reading with them.” I press my palms to my cheeks. “You have to believe me.”

  Esmee’s eyes are soft. “Of course, I believe you. Your mother said you were in danger from someone who had defensive magic, and that’s the strongest protection spell I’ve ever seen.”

  My breath catches. “You saw Latham?”

  Esmee shakes her head. “No, but I saw hints of the magic he used to erase himself.”

  “To erase himself?”

  “It works a bit like cutting a strip of fabric from the middle of a cloth and then stitching the remaining two pieces back together. If you look very carefully, you’ll always be able to spot the seam. But this—it was masterfully done—almost undetectable. If I hadn’t known to look, I would have missed it.” She tilts her head and studies me. “Would you like me to show you?”

  “Yes,” I say, “please.”

  “This time pay attention to the exact moment you remember Latham entering the memory. You won’t see him, but looking for where he should be will help you spot the imperfection in his spell.”

  She relights the bones and I’m swept up in another vision. The workshop. Norah has just finished a lecture and we’re about to compete in a bone race. Frantically, I search for the exact spot where I saw Latham. I remember him finding me to say hello. Offering to give me extra lessons. But I can’t find even a hint that we ever spoke. Before I know it, Bram and I are assembling the Bradypus skeleton.

  Esmee pulls us forward in time. I see myself walking away from the dining hall, headed toward Latham’s office. And then everything slows, as if Esmee is deliberately giving me a few extra moments to look more closely. There. The vision blurs at the edges, just a little. And instead of going to Latham’s office, I turn toward my room instead.

  A knot wedges beneath my sternum. No wonder he was able to make me look like a liar. My focus wavers, and I’m about to pull away when the vision shifts again.

  Latham. He walks along a dark cobblestone street past an apothecary and then a bakery and then a toy store. He freezes. Touches his collarbone. Curses. He turns around and retraces his steps, watching the ground as he walks. A relieved sigh as he bends to pick up the bone clasp that usually holds his cloak closed. It’s shaped like a bear claw. He brings it up to his neck and slides it back into place.

  And then he disappears.

  My eyes fly open. Terror swells inside me and makes it impossible to breathe.

  “You entered your own vision,” Esmee says. “I lost you.” Her gaze roams over my face. “What is it?”

  “We have to go,” I say.

  “Saskia, calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Latham is on his way here. We have to go now.”

  Esmee’s expression floods with alarm. “You saw him?”

  “As soon as my attention wavered, I saw him walking through the streets of Grimsby.”

  She digs her fingers into her white hair and massages her scalp. “It makes sense. You’ve been intensely focused on him all evening. But maybe—”

  I tell her about the bone clasp Latham dropped. It must function the same way the necklace does. And for just a moment, both of us had them removed.

  Esmee’s face goes ashen. “I shouldn’t have let the two of you stay so long. I didn’t think … Yes, lamb, hurry.”

  I pull the necklace over my head before I race into the main room of the cottage. Bram sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “Latham is on his way here,” I say. “We have to leave.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just move.”

  He gives me an odd look, but he stands up and starts gathering his things.

  My mother’s words scroll through my mind. Each time something terrible happened, the branch point was Esmee’s cottage. I’ve been so foolish to stay here and rely on the safety of the shield. Latham must have seen Bram and me coming before I ever received my mother’s letter.

  I grab Esmee’s books. “May I bring these?” I ask as I shove them into my bag.

  “Of course,” she says, “take them.”

  Something about the phrasing makes me pause. “You’re coming too, right?”

  She gives me the tight smile of someone who is trying hard to conceal worry. “I’ll stay and stall Latham. It will buy you some time.”

  Bram’s jaw goes rigid. “Esmee, no.” There’s something in his expression I’ve never seen before—something vulnerable and young. I don’t know if the shift is real or if I’m letting the vision of him as a child obscure reality. “Come with us. Please.”

  Esmee stands on her tiptoes and cradles his face in her palms. “You need to go now. Get as far away from here as possible.” Her gaze slides to me and then back to Bram. “Protect her.”

  Bram nods once and then pulls Esmee close and rests his chin on top of her head. “It’s been too long since I’ve been here. And this wasn’t enough time.”

  “Good,” she says.

  He pulls away and studies her with amusement. “Good?”

  “When you love someone, it’s never enough time.” She smiles at him. “I love you, too. Now get out of here.”

  Bram and I leave the cottage and hike into a darkness so complete, it feels as if the night has swallowed us in a single gulp. We move in the opposite direction of Grimsby, deeper and deeper into the woods. Cold fear trickles down my spine. I startle at every snapping branch, at every rustling leaf. Latham could be anywhere. What if he saw us leaving Esmee’s cottage? What if he knows where we’ll end up before we do? I press a palm to the pendant at my throat to reassure myself that it’s still there. That my mother can somehow protect me through space and time.

  I stumble over a fallen tree limb and a yelp escapes from me before I can help it. I nearly go down, but at the last moment, Bram grabs my elbow and steadies me.

  I think of that first day in Ivory Hall. Of how he kept me from falling. But also, how abruptly he let go of me, as if he hadn’t meant to help me at all.

  But he doesn’t pull away so quickly this time. His fingers still graze my elbow. They brush down the length of my arm. He slides his hand into mine.

  My breath catches and I’m suddenly grateful for the privacy of darkness, glad I don’t have to think about my expression, about what it might reveal.

  Bram’s skin is rough against mine, but his hand is strong, and it makes me walk with more confidence.

  A loud noise splits the night. Both Bram and I freeze.

  “What was that?” I whisper.

  Before he can answer, a flash of light illuminates his face. We both turn. Esmee’s cottage is engulfed in flames. It’s so far in the distance that it looks no bigger than a flickering torch. Bram makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat.

  “We’re never going to be able to run fast enough,” I tell him. “We have to find a place to hide.”

  He doesn’t answer. His face is a frozen portrait of horror.

  I shake him. “Bram? We have to go now.” Nothing.

  I step in front of him and take his face in my palms. Force him to look at me. “Esmee wasn’t in there,” I tell him. “She got away.” His eyes begin to focus. “Bram, she got away.”

  He must realize that, without bones to read, I have no way of knowing whether Esmee is actually safe. But he needs this lie right now if he’s going to survive. We both do.

  Bram swallows. He gives me a single nod. And then we run.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  My mother is livid.

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous this was?” The bone needle trembles in her fingers. The vein at her temple pulses.

  “Not as danger
ous as it would have been if you’d attempted it,” I say.

  “Saskia!” Her face is pale, but for two bright splotches of red on each cheek. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult? For once in your life can you just cooperate?”

  “I’m assuming by cooperate you mean obey, right? You don’t want me to think for myself?”

  She sighs and sinks into a chair. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

  I think of all the times my father used to sit on the edge of my bed and console me after I’d fought with my mother. “That’s not what she meant, bluebird,” he said once, after she’d called me “pigheaded.” The word had sliced through me—an insult that seemed to attack both my looks and my character in one convenient package.

  “It’s what she said.”

  “Well, sometimes people don’t say exactly what they mean. Sometimes they say something else because they’re too afraid to say the truth.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I told him. “You’re just trying to protect her.”

  He patted my ankle. “It doesn’t make sense now, but someday it will. And I’m trying to protect both of you.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “So you’re saying ‘pigheaded’ is code for something else? She really meant to say that she finds me intelligent and charming?”

  He laughed, a full-bellied sound that pulled up the corners of my mouth in spite of myself.

  “I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘charming,’” he said, his eyes twinkling, “at least not tonight. But maybe it’s code for the fact that the two of you are a lot alike. And imagine how frustrating it would be to have an argument with yourself. You’d always lose.”

  By the end, I had grown soft around the edges, like ice that’s just beginning to melt. That was how my father communicated: He framed each person in their best possible light, judged them by their intentions and not their mistakes. When he died, my mother and I didn’t just lose the relationships we had with him but also the glue that held us together.

  I sit down next to her. The bone needle is still squeezed tightly in her fist. “What’s the real reason you’re angry?” I ask gently.

  Her gaze meets mine and her expression softens. Maybe she’s thinking of my father, too.

  “You scared me,” she says. “I didn’t know where you were. I assumed the worst.”

  I lay my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was scared, too. I thought I had a better chance getting the blood from Declan than you would have.”

  “How did you get it from him?”

  My cheeks flood with heat and my mother’s eyes widen as if my expression has just revealed more than she cared to know.

  She curls her hand around mine and squeezes. “Maybe some things don’t need a discussion.”

  At least on that we can agree.

  Declan’s blood changes everything.

  It’s as if, until now, I’ve been trying to find my way through a maze blindfolded, and so when I can finally see clearly, bone reading feels effortless. Familiar. As if I’d already mastered it long ago and I only needed to be reminded. It’s as easy as slipping into a warm bath.

  But as the day wears on, watching Declan quickly goes from exciting to tedious.

  “I can’t believe you matched me to him,” I tell my mother. I’ve just pulled out of a vision of Declan eating a bowl of soup with less grace than a still-toddling child. Liquid dripped down his chin and onto his chest and he didn’t even bother trying to wipe it away. Still, it was preferable to watching him scratch his hindquarters last night. “He’s a buffoon.”

  My mother ignores my complaints. “Why did you stop watching?”

  “He’s not doing anything,” I tell her. “He hasn’t moved in hours.”

  “Saskia, we need to—” Her expression changes. She grabs my elbow and pulls me closer, examining my upper arm.

  “Ouch,” I say, “what are you doing?”

  She lets go of me. Her hand covers her mouth.

  I lift my arm toward my face. A faint tattoo has blossomed on my skin—a network of interlacing almond shapes with a circle threaded through the center. The result is an intricate knot design with three corners.

  “What is it?”

  “I think …” She looks unsteady, as if she’s just been knocked off balance. “I think it’s a mastery tattoo.”

  I laugh. “That’s not possible. I only just started learning.”

  Her gaze drifts to Gran’s bone. “The two halves of the bone are knitting together.”

  My amusement evaporates. “But my two paths can’t affect each other. Can they?”

  “I didn’t think so. But I don’t know how else to explain this.”

  My shirt is damp. It clings to me. I rub a thumb along the paint at my wrist. I think of the grim satisfaction of the last few weeks, of finding a purpose despite all the pain, of feeling like myself for the first time since my father’s death. But this life is as much a lie as this tattoo.

  It’s a life destined to disappear.

  My voice, when I find it, is shaky. “Does this mean I’m a good Bone Charmer in my other life?”

  The thought of another version of myself—a happier one—existing once I’m gone is the only thing I have. It’s a flicker of hope that I hold close to me, like a flame behind a cupped palm.

  My mother’s eyes lift to mine. The raw pain there makes me flinch. “I don’t know, Saskia,” she says. “I don’t know what any of it means.”

  Smoke burns my eyes, curls up my nose. Sticks to me like sand on wet toes. I place the lid over the basin to extinguish the flame, and then spill the bones onto the cloth in front of me. The magic pulls me into a vision, and I smile. The air is clean here. Fresh.

  Declan stands on the deck of a ship, surrounded by a small group of people. A bright spark of shock travels down my spine as I take in the man beside him. He’s dressed in a red cloak. A Bone Charmer. The man is much older than Declan, probably close to my mother’s age. His hair is long and dark, with a hint of gray at the temples. He wears it pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck with a leather cord.

  “Everything is in place,” Declan says. “We’ll have Rakel’s bones in our possession by the end of the day.” He playfully nudges a girl beside him. “And then, with Bette’s help, we can take out the next council member.” The name slices through my memory. Bette. Rakel’s journeyman. That must be how Declan avoided the truth serum: Bette filled his keras with something harmless. She would have had unfettered access to Rakel, too—helpful when planning a murder. The girl giggles and Declan plants a kiss on her neck. Nausea pushes up my throat and I have to force myself to stay in the vision.

  “Excellent,” the Bone Charmer says. “And how is our other project coming along?”

  “It couldn’t be going better,” Declan says. “Saskia is exactly where I want her.”

  “She suspects nothing?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “No. She’s clay in my hands. She’ll be ready in time, I promise.”

  The Bone Charmer narrows his eyes and Declan’s smile falters, then dies. “You’re quite arrogant for someone with so much to lose. Do you know what I do to people who disappoint me?” He nods to a man standing beside him, and suddenly Declan yelps and clutches his shoulder. The Bone Charmer leans in close. “I break them.”

  Declan gasps. “Did you …?” His face is a mask of pain.

  “Did I have Lars here break your shoulder? No, he just tweaked it a little as a warning.” Sweat beads on Declan’s forehead. He looks like he might be sick. The Bone Charmer puts a hand on Declan’s uninjured shoulder. “Make sure that girl falls in love with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The word comes out as a whisper.

  “And make sure we have Rakel’s bones by sunset. I’ll take what I need to make more intensifiers, and you can keep the profits from the sale of the rest.”

  “Intensifiers”? The unfamiliar word rolls around my mind. Is that what my fath
er’s bones were intended for? But that can’t be right. I was able to recover the full set, so obviously this man didn’t use any. Why bother to steal them only to let Declan sell them on the shadow market?

  The Bone Charmer turns and stalks away. The others follow him—all but Declan and Bette. The two of them disembark from the ship. Declan’s expression is still pinched with pain.

  “Are you all right?” she asks once they’re back on land.

  “Do I look all right?” he snaps.

  Bette flinches. Her mouth turns to a pout.

  Declan sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just in pain. It’s not your fault.”

  She rubs his back with the heel of her hand. “That man is horrible,” she says. “I don’t know why you put up with him.”

  “Because he’s going to make me rich,” Declan says. Then he sees her expression and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Us rich,” he amends.

  “When I apprenticed at Ivory Hall last year, I never guessed that one of the Masters was into trading on the shadow market. Or having people murdered. I wonder what his story is.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Declan says. “As long as he keeps his side of the bargain.”

  “But it doesn’t really make sense—”

  Declan slides a palm behind her neck and lowers his lips to hers. Whatever argument she was about to make fades away.

  I suck in a sharp breath as I come out of the vision. My heart hammers in my chest.

  “We have to get to the bone house to warn Master Oskar and Ami,” I say. “Declan is planning to steal Rakel’s bones tonight.”

  “Wait,” my mother says, “slow down. Tell me what you saw.”

  “Get your cloak. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Thick clouds race across the sky. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my cloak.

  “We’ll be lucky if we make it to the bone house before the rain starts falling.” Inwardly, I cringe at how wrong my voice sounds. How false. But I want to fill the silence with something other than the truth.

  Dread worms inside me.