The Lost Girl (28 page)

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Matthew’s voice sound sincere. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him
ask
for anything. It’s a shock.

I look at Sean, and it’s obvious he’s thinking the same thing: Erik was having this conversation on purpose. He must have hidden a recorder in his pocket. But why?

“I’m assuming this
is
the echo of Neil and Alisha’s first child?” Erik asks. “Amarra? That’s her name?”

I tense, listening so hard my ears twitch.

“You know it is.”

“Matthew.” Erik’s voice is very careful. “I understand why this one is different. I understand that this isn’t easy for you. But you have whims. You change your mind in the blink of an eye. You wish for her to be guarded today, but as soon as she bores you, you won’t care what happens to her.”

“That is an outrageous slur on my character—”

“Shut up for a minute. You’ve changed. And I’m not entirely sure I can trust you. What good is
my
keeping her safe if she isn’t safe from you? If she is in trouble, how much do you truly think
I
could do to save her? Only a Weaver can save her.”

Matthew lets out an exasperated breath. “What do you want? My word that if she is ever in trouble, I will do my utmost to save her?”

“It might make me change my mind.”

A long, tense pause.

“What exactly are you trying to do, Erik?”

“If you want me to move north for this child, risk my heart, I want a promise in return. You will protect her if she needs you.”

Another pause. I realize I’m holding my breath. My ears are ringing. None of this makes any sense to me. It seems like a dream, intangible voices and echoes from long ago that are no longer real or solid or true.

“I have one condition.”

Erik sighs. “Here we go.”

“I will do what I can for her.
If
she proves herself worthy of it.”

“For heaven’s sake, Matthew—”

“That’s my condition, Erik. I know what I’m asking of you, and so I will give you my word. But I’m not about to risk life and limb for some mewling shrimp of a thing who won’t even
try
to save her own skin.”

“You
care
for that mewling shrimp of a thing—”

“Only because she’s a living, breathing piece of a lost dream.” There’s scorn in his words, like he’s mocking himself. “It’s sentimental rubbish and I daresay I’ll get over it. The other, the real baby, that girl belongs to Neil and Alisha. But
she
belongs to me. I lost Alisha, but this—”

Silence. All we can hear is the scratching of the recording and the muffled sounds of the baby in the background.

“All right,” says Erik, after an eternity. “Keep your condition. But making me a promise isn’t enough. You’ve made declarations before, and you have a rather unscrupulous tendency to weasel your way out of them. This time I want you to give
her
your word.”

Matthew’s tone changes. He’s addressing someone else. “I promise.”

His only reply is a delighted baby laugh.

“Thank you,” says Erik.

A creak, footsteps, the sound of the door opening again. And then Matthew’s voice: “You were always going to change your mind. No matter what I promised.”

“I suppose we will never know, will we?”

“
I
know,” says Matthew. “Haven’t I ever told you? I know everything.”

The door closes and the recording goes quiet.

8
Drowning

S
ean presses stop and takes the disk out. He wipes fingerprint smudges off the shiny surface but doesn’t speak. He seems as at a loss as I am.

“Why didn’t Erik just tell me about this?” I eventually say. “If he made this recording all those years ago because he thought I might need it, why didn’t he
tell
me?”

Sean shakes his head. “Matthew was his friend. Still
is
his friend. He wouldn’t have wanted to tell you something that would betray Matthew’s confidence. So he put it on a disk and put the disk in a safe-deposit box. He knew you’d never touch the box unless you really needed it.”

I stare silently at the disk and rub my arms to keep warm. I don’t know how to feel about what we’ve just heard. I can’t help thinking about a pale green nursery and a laughing Matthew. I bite my lip angrily. They were just
dreams
, and the recording might make them feel more concrete, but it would be silly to fall into the trap of expecting anything from Matthew now.

“Did you know?” Sean asks. “That Matthew may have once loved Alisha?”

I shrug. “They acted weird around each other. And I overheard Neil and Alisha once. They said things that made me wonder if there used to be something between her and Matthew. Not that it matters,” I add. “Whatever it was is long over now. Erik only wanted to help me. But if Matthew ever did care about Alisha or me, and I don’t believe he did, he doesn’t any longer.”

“He’s different now,” says Sean. “Bitter. Maybe he can’t love anyone anymore. Maybe he and Adrian are no longer loyal to anything but each other, who knows? I just can’t help wondering why he bothered to find you here, only to let you go. Are you really so sure it wasn’t because he
wants
to keep you safe?”

“Yes!” I say, and to my horror, my eyes fill with tears. I blink them sharply away and hold on to the anger instead. “I
am
sure. I don’t even believe he was telling the truth in that recording! I think he wanted something from Erik so he said exactly what Erik needed to hear. Everything Matthew does is tricks and games and lies.”

Sean stares at me, and there’s a mixture of doubt and pity in his face. “That doesn’t mean we ought to just forget about it.”

“I wasn’t planning to. Maybe that disk
can
help us. I don’t know.” I stand up. “We’ll have time later on to think about the disk and find a way to use it. When we’re safe, settled somewhere, we can work it out. But right now we need to leave.”

“Yeah, we do. And soon.”

“Any ideas?”

We both think about it. I latch on to the problem gratefully, glad to push the disk into a boxed-up corner of my mind, and eventually Sean perks up.

“Cromer. It’s not a long-term solution, but it should do us fine for the next few days until we’re sure where we want to go next. It’s on the coast. We can get there on the train and then a bus, I think, but we can look that up. I have a great-aunt who lives there. She likes me. Hates my mother. Hated my father. She’s never visited our house, and my dad would never have mentioned her, so the Weavers will have no reason to know she exists. They might get to her eventually, but we should still be safe there for a little while.”

“I don’t like that you always have good ideas,” I say, my annoyance halfhearted at best.

He smiles. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t know how to avoid getting caught on our way out of London. Even if I had my car, it wouldn’t be very smart to use it, and the seekers will be keeping an eye on public transport.”

I consider that. It’s all too easy to come up with elaborate, outlandish possibilities, but when I was little, Erik taught me that the simplest solutions are usually the best. An image of Ophelia swims to the front of my thoughts. What could be simpler than repeating a mistake that has already gotten us in trouble?

I brighten. “I think I may have a way.”

We pack up and make sure to leave the loft exactly as we found it yesterday. As I stuff a few empty wrappers into my bag, I dislodge a photograph. It’s one I took only a couple of months ago: Nik and Lekha and Sasha. Nik is standing by the window and Lekha is crouched on the floor next to Sasha, helping her with some wooden blocks. I made them look up and smile when I took the photograph. I’m going to find a way to call them soon. Find out how they are. Let them know we’re safe.

A hollow ache swamps my chest. I have only been gone a couple of days, and yet it feels like I left them behind years ago. Them and Mina Ma and Erik and Ray and everything. All of it far behind me and I am drowning in my future and only Amarra still has hold of me.

I put away the photograph and pull out a pack of cards instead. Sean and I play until we sense the theater has gone quiet. Then we pack the cards, take our things, and leave.

We slip out into the square, past the wishing fountain, and onto the street. Sean is clearly on edge and I can’t relax either. We both look back, this way, that way, making sure nobody is likely to surprise us. But somehow we manage to talk, too. Almost like a normal boy and girl walking down the street. We talk about music and books and funny things we remember from our lives before I went to Bangalore and where we’d most like to live while we’re running.

A long walk later, we stop at a red telephone box and dial a number. My heart quickens, but I take a deep breath.

“Hello?”

The sound of her voice tears holes in my carefully rehearsed speech. I want to scream and cry and wrap my soul around her voice and hug it tightly. My hands curl into fists.

“I want to know why.”

Ophelia gasps. “Eva?”

“Don’t bother tracing this, I’m not going to stay on the line long.” I don’t even have to pretend to sound upset or angry. My voice splinters. “I thought—I thought you
loved
us.”

“I do!” Her voice is so clear, so sincere, it almost does me in. “I told him
because
I do! I never wanted to hurt you, but you’re not safe there, Eva, don’t you see that? A hunter almost killed you and if they find you again—”

“And you thought I was better off with Adrian?” I wipe my eyes. “You thought the Loom was a safer place for me?”

“But they won’t—”

“No! That’s not good enough. I’m going to go now. Tell him what you want. We’re flying out of the city tonight. And I will never call you again.”

I hang up. My hands are shaking. Sean pulls me closer and I bury my face in his shoulder. He tightens his arm around me.

“Think it’ll work?” I say thickly.

His heart beats under my ear. I listen to the rhythm, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. He shrugs. “The phone call was reckless and emotional. It’ll fit what they know of you. If we’re lucky, they’ll believe every word you said and they’ll concentrate all their attention on the airports.” I step back and look up and he smiles crookedly. “It was a neat trick, Eva.”

“Only if it works.”

We take a taxi to Victoria Coach Station. I study the bus schedule while Sean keeps watch. We figure out a complicated route, taking a series of buses across East Anglia until we eventually end up in Cromer, and get in the queue to buy tickets. It’s not yet quite dark outside, but the colors have gone dimmer, the sunlight glowing orangey-gold across the street.

We’re third in the queue when a small child in front of us says, in a loud stage whisper, “Mum, look at that man! He doesn’t have an ear!”

I stiffen.

“Hush, Terry, don’t be rude! And you mustn’t point—”

I’m not listening anymore. My heart is pounding too loudly. Next to me Sean is so still he could be made of stone. Then he turns his head and looks over the top of mine.

“Is it them?” I whisper.

He nods. His face is dark and set. “The same two.”

I risk a peek and spot them. There are two young men standing patiently by the exit. There is nothing terrible or sinister about them, nothing except the quiet, watchful manner they possess, just like Sean described. One is blue-eyed with short reddish hair and scars across the left half of his face. The other is blond with sweet eyes and a missing ear. They are unmistakably echoes from the Loom’s Guard. And they’ve seen us.

Sean’s hand tightens on mine. “Run.”

He didn’t have to tell me. I am already running, pulling him with me. We run in the opposite direction of the exit, past little old ladies and happy families, down a flight of stairs and out into the underground bus depot. I hear footsteps behind us. Close behind us. I think of the rifles and dogs I saw at Dubai airport during our layover before our flight to Manchester. I remember how the hounds would growl and snap if you got too close. The seekers are the hounds. Persistent and strong and sure. If we don’t outrun them, they will chase us down and drag us under, to the dark of the Loom.

They’re on the stairs. I look around in panic and dart sideways into the small space between two parked buses.

“Here, quick!”

Sean follows. We kneel on the ground, trying to keep out of sight, our breath coming in short, sharp bursts. It’s a hot summer day and the depot feels like an oven. I could be sick from the smells of sweat and grease.

“They found us too fast!” I whisper. “How could they have known we were here? They should have been watching the airports!”

A pained look flickers across Sean’s face. “They must have known we were at the theater.” He closes his eyes. “They must have followed me back earlier. All that taxi hopping and hanging around Starbucks didn’t shake them off as well as I’d hoped.”

I squeeze his hand tightly. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. We came all the way
here
without having the faintest idea they were watching us. They’re very good. This is what they do. It’s
not
your fault—”

He clamps a hand over my mouth. “Shh,” he says in my ear. In spite of the heat, I feel my body turn cold and prickly. “They’re behind the next bus.”

I peer around him, looking under the bus, and catch sight of two pairs of legs about thirty feet away. Sean releases me and straightens cautiously. He looks the other way, his brow creased and his eyes searching the depot.

“We’re going to have to run before they find us.” He points to the yawning entrance at the front of the depot where the buses drive in and out. Beyond it I can see glimmers of dusky sunlight. “It looks like that’s our only way out. Are you ready?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

We burst out from between the buses and run for the opening. It’s so far away. I run faster, as fast as I can. The sunlight grows brighter. I can only just hear the seekers behind us. I don’t dare stop to look. They’re so precise. They don’t call after us or make threats. They simply follow us. Sean’s hand feels like the only solid thing in the world.

We’re going too fast, and out in the street we stumble into traffic. Sean rips his hand away, his momentum taking him forward, and I fall back. Tires squeal. I run around the car and find Sean on the ground.

“Sean!”

I rush to him, but he’s already on his feet. The driver of the car swears at us, but nobody stops to listen. Sean grabs my wrist and we run ahead again, but the seekers have now closed most of the distance between us. There’s a cramp in my side, and I feel like I’m being torn in two.

We reach the opening of a tube station. I start down the stairs, but a little boy gets in my way. I stumble to avoid running right into him, and I fall past him down the stairs. The world spins upside down. I crash to the bottom. My head hits the railing.

Pain. Black spots dance in front of my eyes.

A young man takes my hand to help me up. I stare past the dancing spots and see that he has blue eyes. There’s no malice there, no spite. He just looks tired.

“This won’t hurt,” he says.

But it does. In my hand. Only a little bit, like the prick of a safety pin. He puts a needle back in his pocket. I blink at him. And then I can’t blink properly. My hand goes numb, and then my arm, and it spreads all the way into the rest of me. The pain in my skull vanishes. I try to speak, but I can’t feel my way around my own mouth. My knees give way and the blue-eyed man catches me as I drop.

My eyes are open, but I can’t struggle. He carries me away. I can’t stop him. I can’t feel a thing.