Page 21 of Ink Blood Sister Scribe

It had been ten years since he had woken in that hospital bed in San Francisco, face thickly covered in bandages. Ten years since his uncle had crouched at his bedside, tears streaming down his cheeks, gripping Nicholas’s limp hand, and saying, “I promise I will never let anything happen to you ever again.” Ten years since Nicholas had believed him.

Richard had been right. Safety was its own kind of freedom and Nicholas had been kept safe for so long he’d taken that freedom for granted. He leaned forward with his head between his legs and let himself be driven, as he was always driven, never behind the wheel, always buckled into the back seat of his own life.

“And here I thought nothing could be worse than the canapés at that fucking party,” Nicholas said to his knees.

And Collins, probably because he, too, was in shock, seemed to forget his personal vow never to laugh at anything Nicholas said, and did.

6

It was no small decision, no small feat, to fly out from the South Pole—planes did not come or go at all in the winter, and leaving during the summer involved getting a seat on a tiny aircraft prescheduled for a supply drop, a plane whose weight was often calibrated down to the ounce; Esther would be lucky if they found room for 130 pounds of agitated electrician.

Not that she was going to leave.

Was she?

Another breakfast in the galley, another bowl of oatmeal she didn’t taste. Pearl sat across from her, chatting to Trev the carpenter but casting Esther enough side glances that it was clear she could tell something was wrong. A bit of light research had told her the note that had come through the mirror was correct—a cargo plane was scheduled to come and depart with just enough time for her to make the flight listed on the tickets in her fake name. But using those tickets, that passport... it would be madness. Obviously, the whole thing was a trap.

Pearl was speaking to her, she realized, and she dragged her gaze up from her bowl. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, do you want to go for a ski tomorrow? It’s supposed to be nice.”

Tomorrow. A ski. Esther couldn’t focus. “Maybe.”

“Well, let me know and I’ll reserve a couple pairs.” Pearl peered at her. “You okay?”

“Might be coming down with something,” Esther said, finally giving up on the idea of work that day. “I think I’m going to go lie down.”

To her dismay, Pearl stood and followed her into the hallway, where she reached to grip her wrist. “You’re not sick,” she said, searchingEsther’s face, though Esther made sure she would find nothing there except neutral interest. “Something’s bothering you.”

Esther shook herself gently free of Pearl’s touch, tried not to notice the look of hurt that flashed in Pearl’s eyes. “Right,” she said, “my stomach.”

Undeterred, Pearl crowded her against a wall, bracketed her body with her long arms so Esther was forced to look up at her. It was a power move, but when Pearl spoke, she sounded anything but powerful. “Did I do something?” she said.

“What? No, not at all.”

“Your energy’s been different since the party,” Pearl said. “Weird. Distant. Like you’re pulling away.”

Even though they were technically in public, the hallway was empty and there were no nearby mirrors through which spying eyes might see them, so Esther let herself reach up and put a thumb on Pearl’s lower lip, which was trembling slightly. “Whatever energy you’re feeling from me, it’s not about you,” she said. “I promise.”

“What is it about, then?”

Someone was walking down the hall and Esther dropped her hand. “Maybe I’m just coming to terms with the fact that we signed ourselves up for another six months without trees.”

“You’re not... you don’t regret it, do you?”

“No,” Esther said, infusing her voice and her face with a conviction she did not feel. But the worried line between Pearl’s brows smoothed out at her tone. “And I really don’t feel well,” Esther added. “So it’s that, too. Please don’t worry.”

Pearl looked at her, concern still clear in her lovely face, and for a wild second Esther imagined telling her everything, about books and magic and mirrors and her mother’s murder and her father’s rules—but a door slammed shut somewhere down the hall, and the fantasy burst. From the first sentence that explanation would be laughable. She felt a surge of anger flare through her unexpectedly: anger at her father for failing to find a way to protect her, anger at the person in the mirror who was yet anothervoice telling her torun,and even anger at her poor murdered mother, who’d died for the books instead of living for her daughter. With an effort, she smothered the flame of rage, cut off all its oxygen until she was calm again. Feelings wouldn’t help her decide what she should do.

“Will you let me know if you need anything, at least?” Pearl said.

“Yes,” Esther said. “I promise.”

She sent notice to her supervisor that she was sick and then crawled back into bed to think. The mirror had told her not to speak to it again, but the mirror probably didn’t have her best interests in mind.

Should she find another one of the marked mirrors, stand before it, and again demand answers?

I am not the only one watching.

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