Sasha would know what to do.
She always knew what to do.
They’d both get out of this alive.Somehow.Because that’s how storiesworked.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sasha found herself—quite literally—sitting at a dressing room mirror, removing the elaborate and decorative glass earrings that were part of her costume. She had the recollection of performing on stage for the grand Saturday night performance of Mozart’sThe Magic Flute.She had been starring in the leading soprano role of Pamina, of course—well, the younger leading lady.
She had memories of a fond relationship with the older woman, Marguerite, who played the Queen of the Night. But she knew none of the interactions she recalled had actuallyhappened.She couldn’t sing for shit. She wasn’t an opera singer. She hadn’t ever met Marguerite.
But there she was, in her dressing room, wearing a Victorian-style wrap dress that was something a bit more casual and done down than her evening wear while she cleaned off the stage makeup and brushed out her hair.
She wondered why she was here, doing this. No one else was in the room with her. The last thing she’d remembered was sitting at the dinner table with Moriarty—Vile—readying herself to explain to him what the “Trolley Problem” entailed, seeing as they were about eighty to a hundred years too early for its existence, give or take.
So…why was she suddenly aware of herself again?
A knock on the door answered her question. “Madam Adler? Someone is here to see you—a gentleman. I—he says it isn’t—I know this is terribly improper.” The young woman on the other side of the door seemed horridly flustered.
Sasha knew it was one of the costume assistants from France, Ruby. But she couldn’t help but laugh, because this was about to be a horrible crossover fiction withPhantom of the Operaif they weren’t careful. “Who is it, Ruby?”
“A—a gentleman by the name of Doctor Watson. Said you would know him by?—”
Her heart leapt into her throat.Sidney!She had to cough to keep her voice from cracking when she spoke. “Let him in. It’s quite all right. He’s neither a caller nor a suitor. He works for a private detective.”
Ruby, rightly knowing not to ask any more questions than that, opened the door. The little mousy young girl had burning curiosity in her big brown eyes, though—there’d be rumors flying forweeksif she wasn’t quick about?—
Wait.
No.
What did she care aboutrumors?She wasn’t really Irene Adler. This wasn’t her story. That person wasn’treal.And the person who limped into the room, leaning heavily on a cane, wasn’t an older British man, but her damn twin.
She shut the door behind Sidney and waited for a beat before she threw her arms around her twin and hugged her tight. “Holyshit, Sid?—”
“I know—” Her twin clutched her back, the cane clattering to the floor, forgotten in her exuberance.
“I don’t know what to—how to explain—” Tears stung her eyes. Christ. She was going to start sobbing again if she wasn’t careful. Finally letting go of her sister, she shook her head and leaned down to pick up her cane. “It looks like you actually need this.”
“Yeah. I fuckinghatethis story.” Sidney took the cane from her and limped over to her settee before half-collapsing onto it with a grunt. She reached down, picked up her ankle by the trouser, and hefted her clearly bad right leg up onto the settee. “Virtue is lurking outside in an alleyway in a shitty disguise like I don’t know it’s him.” She paused. “And I don’t even know how I know that because Ishouldn’t.”
“I know. A lot of weird shit is happening.” Sasha walked over to a bottle of white wine that was sitting by the wall in a bucket of ice. Glancing down at a card placed on the silver tray it was seated on, it was clear that it was from some…important somebody. She didn’t care. Pouring out two glasses, she walked back and handed one of them to her sister. “This is a lot more intense than they let on.”
“You’re not kidding.” Sidney downed half the glass and put her head in her hand, resting her elbow on her knee. “Tell me you have a way to get us out of this.”
“I don’t know. I have a plan, but I don’t know if it’ll work.” She paused. “And it’s kind of a…dangerous plan. And I’m sorry in advance.”
The look that Sidney gave her could have withered plants. “What did you do?” It wasn’t even really a question. It was a statement of fact. The accusation was one that Sidney had levied at her many times in the past, though for far less serious things—like that time Sasha had borrowed Sidney’s car and wound up putting a huge dent in the bumper. Even though Sasha was the far more boring and home-bound sister, that didn’t mean she wasentirelyinnocent, either.
“I had to do something.” She spun her wine glass in her hand before taking a sip of it. Victorian wine tasted different. Not bad. Justdifferent.“If I didn’t come up with a plot for this thing, Vile would. And whatever he came up with would be horrible for us both, so I did the best I could, and?—”
“Just spit it out.” Sidney finished the glass of wine in a second gulp and poured herself another glass. “What nonsense have you gotten me into?”
“Well, I figured…So, okay. Before I explain what we’re going to do, let me explain what I’ve figured out. As far as I can figure, these versions of the characters—Moriarty and Sherlock—aren’t the originals, they’reourinterpretations of them. Like the Hook that was in our Neverland wasn’t the Hook in the actual Peter Pan story, I think we can change how these versions exist on the page. Right?”
“Sure.” Sidney looked like she was either going to scream or she had the biggest headache in the world. She rubbed her right knee.
“Well. So.” She wasn’t going to let her sister get too far ahead in the wine, so she downed her glass and poured herself another before continuing. “Sherlock has always been aboutright versus wrong,yeah? Catching criminals, but—also about morality.”
