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Gi
They rarely stayed in one place more than a few months. And when they moved on, they arranged things so they left behind no impression—nobody remembered them. They could have circled back through the same towns, moved back into the same houses a few years later, and would have been greeted as newcomers. But they never did.
“We don’t leave footprints,” her mother had told Gi
Then she left the house in Baltimore and called the number in the newspaper ad. Gi
Is this what you choose?
Is there a better past for you?
“Who are you?” she cried.
No answer. Foolish question. She already knew the answer—though it did not make much sense.
“What am I, then? I really don’t remember anything before I called that number—is that it? Who were my parents? I couldn’t just pop up out of nowhere, out of nothing, could I?”
A polite waiting.
“All right,” Gi
Someone laughed—behind her, around her—delighted with her presumption. Her arm suddenly ached, and with this pain, all the memories flooded back: broad fields below the stone castles, brown and purple with sweet prickle-thatch, the taste of comb-laden honey-of-Thrace in the fresh spring air; her father’s concern as the palace physician set her arm without anesthetic, wrapped it in a poultice of lard and chalice-herb, then in a temporary wax-soaked cast stiffened with clean white pine slats…
She had been named after the Virgin Queen, who once offered the hand of alliance to Thule to seek their aid in fighting off Spain. That alliance had soured in the days of James the First. Gi
memory stretching behind her, a thrashing, vibrant past filling out and coming alive, smells and colors and tastes struggling to be made and fixed in place.
It was real—not just her imagination!
“Oh, my God,” she said, and her voice echoed from the walls. “It istrue, isn’t it?” She felt a lightness and liberty she had never known before. It made her giddy. She was shifting fates, in reverse. And then a gentle remonstrance enveloped her.
Wonderful it is—a beautiful stretch—but too far from where we are now. It ca
After…
That beautiful history faded as quickly as it had come, but the taste of honey-of-Thrace lingered on her tongue like a reward for her audacity.
“You’re real, aren’t you?” she whispered. “You’re real and you’re beautiful. But you’re sick…you’re dying, because the universe is sick and dying, right?”
No answer.
“But is it true—can I have another past? A better, happier past?”
No answer needed. Gi
“I’ve been here a long time,” Daniel said to the looming silence. “Thousands of years. Millions. I don’t remember all of it, of course, but that’s what I’ve figured out. And I’m talking here just to pass the time, because this is all crap. In fact, I only remember a little bit about what happened before I took over Charles Granger. That’s the problem—the things I’ve had to do to escape the bad places, the dying places—one big leap at a time. And now there’s only one path, one escape.” He sliced the air with his hand, then jabbed. “Go straight through Terminus, come out the other side, whatever that’s like. So—who’s going through, and who’s going to get stuck here? Maybe you don’t know, because that’s not your job. But if anybody’s going through, I’m your ticket, hitch a ride.” The silence seemed to become deeper. “Are youthe Chalk Princess?”
Daniel felt acutely uncomfortable. There was something in the room—it just wasn’t responding. So sad. He just couldn’t remember something important—something essential.
“I mean, this is my audition, isn’t it? The others—they say they dream about another city. I don’t. So why were those monsters so interested in me—the Moth, Whitlow, Glaucous—whatever heis. What have I got to give them? The stone? I don’t even remember how it came to be mine. I think I killed somebody to get it. That’s how it always comes to be mine. Somebody has to die.”
He had stopped breathing for a moment, so he took a short breath, all he would allow himself, even if his
head was starting to swim.
“I’m a madness that moves from man to man. I’ve betrayed and lied and ruined and been ruined, but I’ve always escaped. What does that make me?” He closed his eyes. Suddenly, his head hurt with so much longing and need.
“We’re not going to find each other anytime soon, are we?” Daniel whispered to the stillness. Paramedics were called to the motel after Jeremy found his father sprawled on the floor of the bathroom. Something small had burst in Ryan’s head, paralyzing him and slurring his speech. Ryan never again mentioned the Bleak Warden. In the hospital room, the last thing he told Jeremy was,
“Save your mother. Always remember.” No explanation.
Jack was making his choice—stubborn, as always. He’d lovedhis parents—had wanted to be very like his father.