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They’d nearly made it across the warehouse when he heard a carriage approaching.
Harte looked around the warehouse for some other exit or somewhere to hide, but the open space offered no cover. “If that’s Jack—”
There wasn’t any other exit. All they could do was run for it and hope it wasn’t Jack, but Harte’s hopes were dashed when he eased his head out and saw Jack Grew’s familiar figure alighting from the carriage. He was giving some kind of order to his driver, who looked more than a little tired of taking them, and Harte and Jianyu took the distraction as an opportunity to slip out of the warehouse and ease around the corner.
Once they were out of sight, they started to run.
STRENGTH
Uptown
Viola didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious. Pain made time unsteady, and at some point she’d lost track of the hours and minutes. When she finally woke, it was to the sound of weeping. She wasn’t the one crying, though she probably had every right to be, considering the pain she was currently feeling. She opened her eyes but didn’t have the strength to turn her head and find the source of the sniffling sobs. Still, even with only the wall in front of her, she recognized where she was. She’d stared at this wall often enough in the last few weeks.
But how? She remembered the Strega, remembered the flash of temper and grief that had spread through her, and then remembered hearing an explosion. Werner. Nibsy. The Medusa’s kiss. They were all mixed up in her memory. Who had come for her? How had they saved her when Nibsy had been so determined to destroy her?
She shuddered a little at the memory of what that had been like—to be captured and helpless. To be unmade by Leena’s magic.
The pain had been terrible, but more unbearable was the knowledge that she’d done it to herself. She’d known what Nibsy was capable of and what power he had at his disposal, and she’d gone anyway.
Perhaps she had died.
But no, hell would not be so soft as the bed beneath her, and heaven certainly wouldn’t hurt so much. She wasn’t dead, as much as she might have preferred it right then.
Gathering her strength, she tried to turn her head, and suddenly the sniffling sobs stopped.
“Viola?”
It took everything she had to push through the pain of moving, but when she turned, there was Ruby Reynolds, sitting in the lamplight. Her eyes were red and her nose swollen and pink from tears, but she was not looking at Viola with hatred.
“No,” Ruby said, rushing over to her. “You shouldn’t move. You’ll tear the stitches.”
Viola realized then that her back was covered with some kind of cloth that had been wrapped around her torso. A bandage of some sort.
“I need to sit,” Viola told her. “I’ve been in this position so long, my neck feels like it’ll never be straight again.” But Ruby didn’t owe her anything. Not after all that had happened—not after Theo. “Is Cela here? She can maybe help me up.”
“Let me,” Ruby said softly.
Viola wanted to say yes. She wanted to accept Ruby’s help, to feel Ruby’s hands upon her skin. But yes seemed a dangerous word. It was too much to believe that Ruby was real and whole and here. Too much to hope that Ruby would want to help her, to touch her.
“Please?” Ruby asked, mistaking Viola’s silence for some other emotion.
Viola nodded, trying to keep the tears from welling over.
Gently, Ruby took her by the arm and helped to ease her upright. She understood then what Ruby had meant by tearing the stitches—every movement brought fresh bursts of pain to the skin on her back. It felt tight and hot with the aching.
“Water?” Ruby asked, offering a tin cup to Viola.
She shook her head. “Why are you here? Why are you helping me?” She could not stop herself from asking. “After all I did to you, to Theo…”
“You didn’t do anything to Theo,” Ruby said with a soft sob. “You tried to save him.”
“But I didn’t,” Viola said, closing her eyes against the memory of Theo’s broken body falling from the monster’s grasp. “I couldn’t,” she whispered. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
“No, Viola.” Ruby took her hand. Her skin was soft and warm, but Viola could feel her trembling. “I never should have said those things to you. I never should have blamed you. I was so sad, so angry at myself.”
“You did nothing,” Viola said, not understanding.
“What happened to Theo was my fault, Viola. It wasn’t yours.”
