spent time in a body? The possibilities were mind-boggling!
“Mr. Prospero told me this, too.” Mab shrugged. “But I don’t feel any different, so I’ve been figuring it didn’t work. What will happen if I don’t have a soul? Can I still hold the star?”
Malagigi shook his head sadly. “It will either burn you or fall through your hand.”
“Best not to tempt fate,” Gregor said hoarsely. “We cannot risk either wounding you or losing the star.”
Mab nodded glumly and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Nonsense.” Malagigi went to wave his hand through Mab’s arm and was surprised to find it somewhat substantial to him. He patted Mab’s shoulder, his hand sinking into Mab’s coat. “When else will you get such a chance? And besides, if you don’t have a soul, you needn’t lose hope, it could still come! Here, take it. I’ll snatch it away again, instantly, if you start to burn.”
Malagigi knelt upon the seat of the gondola and pulled Mab’s hand from the pocket of the trench coat. The Frenchman dropped the star just above Mab’s palm, while cupping his other hand under Mab’s, ready to catch the star, should it fall through Mab.
As we sat hunched within our tent and watched the twinkle of silver fall, time seemed to stand still. Gregor, still seated, leaned against his black staff, watching intently. Erasmus had turned off his staff and sat up. Now, he squatted beside Mab, eager for a better view. Mab himself stood rooted in place, his face screwed up. I wondered if he was saying a prayer.
My heart hammered oddly, as if playing a melody against my ribs. Even though there was no reason for my reaction, I felt certain that a great deal rode upon this test. Father had told different stories to various of his children, none of which I knew for certain to be true. If Father’s theory about Aerie Ones receiving souls by inhabiting bodies and interacting with men was true, then maybe other things Father had claimed might be true as well.
Maybe, despite all the evidence otherwise, I was not the child of the witch Sycorax. Maybe Father’s great love for my mother was not a lie. Maybe Father had never enchanted me, or used me cruelly.
Were the star to burn Mab or fall through his hand, it would be the death knell of all my hopes—as if I would then know for certain that Father was a liar, I a slave, and my entire long life a fraud.
The little star reached Mab’s hand. He cried out, gasping, and flinched backward.
My eyes filled with tears. I turned my head away.
“Look!” Malagigi leapt up and danced. He pointed with great excitement. “It’s staying!”
I snapped my head up. It was true! The tiny silver star rested upon Mab’s palm: it did not burn his flesh.
“Feels … sort of weird,” Mab voiced hesitantly. Then, slowly, a smile crept across his stony features until it became a wide, jubilant grin. He held his hand up high. The little star shone upon it. Its silvery light flooded the entire hideout, illuminating the cardinal robes above, the gondola below, and the rim of the huge skull.
Erasmus laughed. Malagigi clapped his hands, and even Gregor allowed himself a slight smile. As for me, I cried tears of joy.
Of course, as there was no evidence to support my intuition—no Lady who could have sent it—Mab’s catching the star was not really proof of anything.
Yet, my heart sang.
* * *
“IT’S definitely getting smaller in here.” Erasmus’s shout jarred me from the waking dream into which I had slipped. He knelt on the edge of the skull with his head sticking back inside our tent. “The ribs have been pushed together, for one thing, with the vertebra all sort of knocked together in a pile. We’d be squished in the mix, too, if it weren’t for this skull. We should begin preparing for the next step.”
I stretched my stiff limbs and tried not to gag as the stench of digestion assailed me anew. The roaring and grinding were nearly deafening now, and the
“Mr. Prospero told me this, too.” Mab shrugged. “But I don’t feel any different, so I’ve been figuring it didn’t work. What will happen if I don’t have a soul? Can I still hold the star?”
Malagigi shook his head sadly. “It will either burn you or fall through your hand.”
“Best not to tempt fate,” Gregor said hoarsely. “We cannot risk either wounding you or losing the star.”
Mab nodded glumly and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Nonsense.” Malagigi went to wave his hand through Mab’s arm and was surprised to find it somewhat substantial to him. He patted Mab’s shoulder, his hand sinking into Mab’s coat. “When else will you get such a chance? And besides, if you don’t have a soul, you needn’t lose hope, it could still come! Here, take it. I’ll snatch it away again, instantly, if you start to burn.”
Malagigi knelt upon the seat of the gondola and pulled Mab’s hand from the pocket of the trench coat. The Frenchman dropped the star just above Mab’s palm, while cupping his other hand under Mab’s, ready to catch the star, should it fall through Mab.
As we sat hunched within our tent and watched the twinkle of silver fall, time seemed to stand still. Gregor, still seated, leaned against his black staff, watching intently. Erasmus had turned off his staff and sat up. Now, he squatted beside Mab, eager for a better view. Mab himself stood rooted in place, his face screwed up. I wondered if he was saying a prayer.
My heart hammered oddly, as if playing a melody against my ribs. Even though there was no reason for my reaction, I felt certain that a great deal rode upon this test. Father had told different stories to various of his children, none of which I knew for certain to be true. If Father’s theory about Aerie Ones receiving souls by inhabiting bodies and interacting with men was true, then maybe other things Father had claimed might be true as well.
Maybe, despite all the evidence otherwise, I was not the child of the witch Sycorax. Maybe Father’s great love for my mother was not a lie. Maybe Father had never enchanted me, or used me cruelly.
Were the star to burn Mab or fall through his hand, it would be the death knell of all my hopes—as if I would then know for certain that Father was a liar, I a slave, and my entire long life a fraud.
The little star reached Mab’s hand. He cried out, gasping, and flinched backward.
My eyes filled with tears. I turned my head away.
“Look!” Malagigi leapt up and danced. He pointed with great excitement. “It’s staying!”
I snapped my head up. It was true! The tiny silver star rested upon Mab’s palm: it did not burn his flesh.
“Feels … sort of weird,” Mab voiced hesitantly. Then, slowly, a smile crept across his stony features until it became a wide, jubilant grin. He held his hand up high. The little star shone upon it. Its silvery light flooded the entire hideout, illuminating the cardinal robes above, the gondola below, and the rim of the huge skull.
Erasmus laughed. Malagigi clapped his hands, and even Gregor allowed himself a slight smile. As for me, I cried tears of joy.
Of course, as there was no evidence to support my intuition—no Lady who could have sent it—Mab’s catching the star was not really proof of anything.
Yet, my heart sang.
* * *
“IT’S definitely getting smaller in here.” Erasmus’s shout jarred me from the waking dream into which I had slipped. He knelt on the edge of the skull with his head sticking back inside our tent. “The ribs have been pushed together, for one thing, with the vertebra all sort of knocked together in a pile. We’d be squished in the mix, too, if it weren’t for this skull. We should begin preparing for the next step.”
I stretched my stiff limbs and tried not to gag as the stench of digestion assailed me anew. The roaring and grinding were nearly deafening now, and the
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