four hundred and sixty-two multiplied by sixty-nine?”
“Thirty-one thousand, eight hundred and seventy-eight.”
He gives me a feral smile. I don’t know the answer myself. I grit my teeth. Several questions later, my Weaver has not gotten a single question wrong nor even appeared to have taxed himself at any stage.
“Tell me about Frankenstein ,” I say, goaded, “if you know so much.”
He is disdainful. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because I want to know and you want to show off.”
“It’s against the law,” he says deceptively softly. “Is that really what you want to do?”
I fall silent.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
I stare at him in astonishment. “Like you care.”
“But I do,” says Matthew. “I am very interested to know what my creation has grown up to be. Did I go wrong? Did I create perfection? Of course I must know! Not that one would call you grown up , per se, but—”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“No matter,” he says, smiling maliciously. “I know everything about you already.”
An ice-cold finger trails up my spine, spreading fear through my skin. There’s something about his voice that makes me believe him.
“If I had done something wrong,” I say, “would you have destroyed me?”
“Naturally.”
“That doesn’t sound like somebody who cares.”
“You can’t be powerful without being ruthless,” says Sir Matthew. “If we weren’t powerful, we would crumple like a house of cards. The world is divided. We must remain powerful, and ruthless, and in favor with our supporters. Or our detractors would tear us down. So yes. If we have to destroy any of you, we will, without hesitation.”
I stare at him for a long time. “Would it hurt?” I ask. “If you destroyed me?”
He considers me. “It wouldn’t be . . . nice,” he acknowledges with a kind of ghoulish humor. “You do realize you have to be unstitched, don’t you? Unmade. It is akin to watching somebody come apart.”
My stomach flops.
“You were lucky to avoid that fate, you know,” he says, as though I should be on my knees thanking him for it. “I gather Amarra didn’t care for you. You were lucky she had her accident before she could find a way to get rid of you.”
“Others can’t pass the Sleep Order. Only familiars and Weavers can have an echo destroyed.”
He smiles slowly. “And who told you that?”
I turn away.
The train pulls into Lancaster. I glance out at the familiar station rolling in, then at the bracelet of seashells on my wrist.
Sean.
There’s a sharp tap on the other side of the thick window glass. I look up, startled. My eyes fly wide open. I blink, certain for an instant that he’s an hallucination, that I conjured him up.
Sean steps back from the window, watching me. He looks out of breath, like he’s run all the way here to catch us.
My heart stutters against my ribs. I leap to my feet and am about to run to the compartment door when a hand closes over my wrist. It’s too tight, too strong.
“Do you want to die?” Matthew demands, his voice dark and disbelieving. I shudder at the sound of it. “Sit down.” Gone is the drawl, the boredom. He is a Weaver. My Weaver. His eyes are blue and dangerous. His warning is clear. But I don’t care.
I stare back at him. “Let me go.”
He narrows his eyes. Abruptly the pressure on my wrist is gone. I don’t stay to question it. I run for the door. I might only have seconds before the doors close and the train leaves. I race through the compartment, jump onto the platform, and run to Sean. He crushes me to him. I grip my arms tight around his neck. My eyes feel raw with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he says in my ear, “I’m sorry, I thought it’d be easier if I didn’t see you, but I had to—”
I look up at him. His green eyes. Like marbles. Vivid and brilliant. “I can’t never see you again,” I say to him desperately. “I can’t do that, I won’t. I’ll
“Thirty-one thousand, eight hundred and seventy-eight.”
He gives me a feral smile. I don’t know the answer myself. I grit my teeth. Several questions later, my Weaver has not gotten a single question wrong nor even appeared to have taxed himself at any stage.
“Tell me about Frankenstein ,” I say, goaded, “if you know so much.”
He is disdainful. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because I want to know and you want to show off.”
“It’s against the law,” he says deceptively softly. “Is that really what you want to do?”
I fall silent.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
I stare at him in astonishment. “Like you care.”
“But I do,” says Matthew. “I am very interested to know what my creation has grown up to be. Did I go wrong? Did I create perfection? Of course I must know! Not that one would call you grown up , per se, but—”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“No matter,” he says, smiling maliciously. “I know everything about you already.”
An ice-cold finger trails up my spine, spreading fear through my skin. There’s something about his voice that makes me believe him.
“If I had done something wrong,” I say, “would you have destroyed me?”
“Naturally.”
“That doesn’t sound like somebody who cares.”
“You can’t be powerful without being ruthless,” says Sir Matthew. “If we weren’t powerful, we would crumple like a house of cards. The world is divided. We must remain powerful, and ruthless, and in favor with our supporters. Or our detractors would tear us down. So yes. If we have to destroy any of you, we will, without hesitation.”
I stare at him for a long time. “Would it hurt?” I ask. “If you destroyed me?”
He considers me. “It wouldn’t be . . . nice,” he acknowledges with a kind of ghoulish humor. “You do realize you have to be unstitched, don’t you? Unmade. It is akin to watching somebody come apart.”
My stomach flops.
“You were lucky to avoid that fate, you know,” he says, as though I should be on my knees thanking him for it. “I gather Amarra didn’t care for you. You were lucky she had her accident before she could find a way to get rid of you.”
“Others can’t pass the Sleep Order. Only familiars and Weavers can have an echo destroyed.”
He smiles slowly. “And who told you that?”
I turn away.
The train pulls into Lancaster. I glance out at the familiar station rolling in, then at the bracelet of seashells on my wrist.
Sean.
There’s a sharp tap on the other side of the thick window glass. I look up, startled. My eyes fly wide open. I blink, certain for an instant that he’s an hallucination, that I conjured him up.
Sean steps back from the window, watching me. He looks out of breath, like he’s run all the way here to catch us.
My heart stutters against my ribs. I leap to my feet and am about to run to the compartment door when a hand closes over my wrist. It’s too tight, too strong.
“Do you want to die?” Matthew demands, his voice dark and disbelieving. I shudder at the sound of it. “Sit down.” Gone is the drawl, the boredom. He is a Weaver. My Weaver. His eyes are blue and dangerous. His warning is clear. But I don’t care.
I stare back at him. “Let me go.”
He narrows his eyes. Abruptly the pressure on my wrist is gone. I don’t stay to question it. I run for the door. I might only have seconds before the doors close and the train leaves. I race through the compartment, jump onto the platform, and run to Sean. He crushes me to him. I grip my arms tight around his neck. My eyes feel raw with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he says in my ear, “I’m sorry, I thought it’d be easier if I didn’t see you, but I had to—”
I look up at him. His green eyes. Like marbles. Vivid and brilliant. “I can’t never see you again,” I say to him desperately. “I can’t do that, I won’t. I’ll
Similar Books
