find the answer to that,” Ickbee said, closing the shutters. “You and your missing brother.”
“Truman and me?” Camille looked at Ickbee—was she serious? “What about my dad?”
“Ah, well, he requires the telling of a tale. Eat and then I’ll speak.”
Camille looked at the lump of mysterious bean loaf and thought of her bag lunch in her backpack. Ickbee handed her a fork. Camille wasn’t usually squeamish about food, but this didn’t look right. Trying to be polite, she speared a pieceand put it in her mouth. She didn’t recognize a single taste—not one. It was all foreign to her—strange and rich and dark.
“I sent word to your father through Swelda when the Ever Breath was stolen. He and I hatched a plan at this very table. That plan has sent him to very dangerous corners of this world, and I haven’t heard from him in weeks. I knew that he would need you two to replace the Ever Breath, one on one side of the passage, one on the other side—the balance of twins. But now I’m thinking he may have hit a snag. He may be relying on you more than we first thought.” She lifted her chin. “I have faith in him—and you!”
Camille’s next bite was lighter, sweeter, like hitting a sweet swirl in cinnamon bread.
“He made the right decision all those years ago,” Ickbee went on. “I know that now. Your father is a forever child. He grew up with his mother and with me, splitting his time between two worlds. I half-raised him, you know. That part of his life has likely been erased.” She looked at Camille.
Camille would have liked to tell her that it
hadn’t
been erased … but it had. In fact, Camille knew almost nothing about his childhood, and certainly no one had ever told her about the existence of another world. The bean loaf now moved from sweetness to a dense sadness—that was the only way Camille could explain it. She tasted grief.
Ickbee nodded and went on. “But then he fell in love with your mother in the Fixed World. He asked me for an enchantment so that he could live a normal life there with her. And although I knew that it meant giving him up, I gave him the enchantment.” She shook her head. “It was the rightthing, but it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Her voice rasped in her throat. “But the enchantment only works in the Fixed World. When he crawled up from the passageway three months ago after I sent word to my sister that the Ever Breath was gone, he was just as I remembered him. He stood in this room with bits of dirt in his hair and was my little boy again.” Her marble eye glistened in the lamplight. “And even though he was standing there in front of me for the first time in ages, I missed him more than ever.”
The bean loaf reached a high pitch of taste in Camille’s mouth—and then suddenly it evaporated. The forkful she’d just put in her mouth melted away to nothingness.
Camille felt a sting of tears in her eyes. She’d never been able to utter a word about missing her father. She’d buried herself in disasters and survival stories, but there was something about Ickbee’s story, her confession of missing her long-lost boy, that made Camille whisper, “I miss him too.”
It felt good to say it, like handing over a secret that had started to take on the weight of a rock.
Just then, a mewler leapt onto her lap. Camille stroked its shiny fur. And though her eyes were filled with tears, she didn’t feel like crying. Then her nose itched, and she sneezed—three times in a row.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Death Warning
Edwell’s Hops and Chops House was packed. With Praddle perched on one shoulder and the globe hugged to his chest, Truman followed Artwhip, who was being led by the host—a man with bear paws—through the maze of seats. Truman was wide-eyed.
There were horns and hoofs and, on a few well-dressed couples, muzzles. A winged woman talked with great gestures, flapping her wings so hard that the candle on her table blew
“Truman and me?” Camille looked at Ickbee—was she serious? “What about my dad?”
“Ah, well, he requires the telling of a tale. Eat and then I’ll speak.”
Camille looked at the lump of mysterious bean loaf and thought of her bag lunch in her backpack. Ickbee handed her a fork. Camille wasn’t usually squeamish about food, but this didn’t look right. Trying to be polite, she speared a pieceand put it in her mouth. She didn’t recognize a single taste—not one. It was all foreign to her—strange and rich and dark.
“I sent word to your father through Swelda when the Ever Breath was stolen. He and I hatched a plan at this very table. That plan has sent him to very dangerous corners of this world, and I haven’t heard from him in weeks. I knew that he would need you two to replace the Ever Breath, one on one side of the passage, one on the other side—the balance of twins. But now I’m thinking he may have hit a snag. He may be relying on you more than we first thought.” She lifted her chin. “I have faith in him—and you!”
Camille’s next bite was lighter, sweeter, like hitting a sweet swirl in cinnamon bread.
“He made the right decision all those years ago,” Ickbee went on. “I know that now. Your father is a forever child. He grew up with his mother and with me, splitting his time between two worlds. I half-raised him, you know. That part of his life has likely been erased.” She looked at Camille.
Camille would have liked to tell her that it
hadn’t
been erased … but it had. In fact, Camille knew almost nothing about his childhood, and certainly no one had ever told her about the existence of another world. The bean loaf now moved from sweetness to a dense sadness—that was the only way Camille could explain it. She tasted grief.
Ickbee nodded and went on. “But then he fell in love with your mother in the Fixed World. He asked me for an enchantment so that he could live a normal life there with her. And although I knew that it meant giving him up, I gave him the enchantment.” She shook her head. “It was the rightthing, but it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Her voice rasped in her throat. “But the enchantment only works in the Fixed World. When he crawled up from the passageway three months ago after I sent word to my sister that the Ever Breath was gone, he was just as I remembered him. He stood in this room with bits of dirt in his hair and was my little boy again.” Her marble eye glistened in the lamplight. “And even though he was standing there in front of me for the first time in ages, I missed him more than ever.”
The bean loaf reached a high pitch of taste in Camille’s mouth—and then suddenly it evaporated. The forkful she’d just put in her mouth melted away to nothingness.
Camille felt a sting of tears in her eyes. She’d never been able to utter a word about missing her father. She’d buried herself in disasters and survival stories, but there was something about Ickbee’s story, her confession of missing her long-lost boy, that made Camille whisper, “I miss him too.”
It felt good to say it, like handing over a secret that had started to take on the weight of a rock.
Just then, a mewler leapt onto her lap. Camille stroked its shiny fur. And though her eyes were filled with tears, she didn’t feel like crying. Then her nose itched, and she sneezed—three times in a row.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Death Warning
Edwell’s Hops and Chops House was packed. With Praddle perched on one shoulder and the globe hugged to his chest, Truman followed Artwhip, who was being led by the host—a man with bear paws—through the maze of seats. Truman was wide-eyed.
There were horns and hoofs and, on a few well-dressed couples, muzzles. A winged woman talked with great gestures, flapping her wings so hard that the candle on her table blew
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