If I Fall (7 page)

I sigh, knowing this time I am only lying to myself.

8
DREAMING

“Shall we play a game?” Dela chirps. She sits on the floor with her legs crossed, feasting on a slice of cranberry bread.

“That all depends. Which one do you wish to play?” I say.

Her brow furrows as she flips through the list of games in her head. “Hmm … Well, I suppose we cannot play Hide and Seek with all of these boxes, and Red Rover is out of the question. Why do we not make up a game?”

“Very well.” We sit in silence. I stare at the ceiling again, pretending to think of ideas as I imagine the starry night just beyond the wooden planks. How beautiful it must be atop the ship, especially with summer just around the corner. Oh, how I do love spring! Just when you are sure winter has sucked the life out of all things, that first flower blooms, a tiny breath of green in a land of ice.

“Oh, I know!” Dela exclaims, jarring me out of my dreams. “We will play Truths!”

“Truths? What in the world is Truths?”

She glares at me impatiently. “I made it up, remember? We must ask each other questions, and we cannot lie when we answer. When you are asked a question you do not wish to answer, you can pass, but then you lose.”

“That’s not a game,” I argue.

“It is now!” she says. “Here, I’ll go first.” She looks at me with those piercing blues and I already feel myself forming a lie. A devilish grin plays across her lips. “Who is Mr. Laurence?”

My face grows heated, a blush warming my cheeks and dotting my neck with red splotches. That conniving little … She was listening when I told that man to take me to Mr. Laurence! Are you allowed to pass on the very first question?

“You had this planned all along,” I say, “from the moment you said, ‘Let’s play a game!’”

She smiles. “I have added a new rule. You cannot pass on the first question.”

“Of course you have,” I mumble, before relinquishing. With a sigh, I say, “Mr. Laurence is a gentleman I met when I went on deck.” Reluctantly, I add, “He knows I am a girl.”

“El! How could you?”

“It was an accident!” I yell in my defense. “My hat fell off!”

Her jaw sets firmly and her eyes narrow. Shame fills my very being and I am utterly embarrassed by my actions. “You didn’t tell him anything else, did you?”

“Of course not!”

Disapproval still holds her brows cocked far above her eyes, but she manages a terse “Good.” I am forgiven this time.

We stare at one another, our secrets forming a bond even stronger than our sisterhood. Accident or not, I have made a dire mistake; I know it and Dela knows it. If Mr. Laurence is to learn any more of the truth, I will be betraying my sister along with myself.

“This game is stupid. I’m going to bed and you should do the same,” I say.

“But you have not asked me a question!”

“You got what you wanted out of the game, now go to sleep,” I say through gritted teeth.

“But—”

“Go to sleep, Dela!”

I turn away. Lying down, I curl into a ball and rest my head on my arms. I hear Dela sigh and shuffle back over to her corner. An inkling of guilt seeps under my skin at the thought of my harsh words.

“Goodnight, El,” she whispers.

The few bubbles of anger that still sputter around my conscience slowly begin to dissipate. It was a stupid fight, as are most of our arguments, and it is forgotten within minutes. Such is the way with sisters, I suppose. “Sweet dreams, Dela.”

A few moments later I hear her call my name. “El?”

“Yes?”

“I miss Mother.”

Me too, Dela. Me too.

I sit up and crawl over to where she lies. Tears flow down her face in smooth rivers of sorrow. “Do not cry, Dela. We will see them again soon, you’ll see.” She nods, though I know she believes me about as much as I do. Is lying still a bad thing if you do it for the right reasons? Is it wrong to lie to protect the ones you love?

I ask her another question to occupy her mind. “What did Mother do when you could not sleep?”

She shrugs. “When I was younger, she would give me a glass of warm milk and sing, but I am too old for that now, El.”

I do not listen; I have already begun to sing a lullaby Mother used to sing to me.

“Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover,

Crooning so drowsily, crying so low.”

Her eyes flutter shut. Her arm wraps around my waist and I drape an arm over her, as well.

“Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover,

Down into wonderland…”

My voice fills the cargo room though it is little more than a whisper. Dela’s breathing becomes drawn out and heavy; she is asleep. At ease, I close my eyes, allowing the song to fill my mind and carry me down into wonderland, too …

It begins with fire.

Red hot flames of terror, their blue cores pulsing as quickly as my heart.

I am alone, surrounded by Radicals.

“Elvira!”

Dela?
The scene shifts and I see her soot-covered face as she stands between my parents in front of the field of grass. I try to run. Can’t. Men grab from all sides, bringing me down, choking, tearing, laughing …

Another scene change: the men become molten fire on top of me. My skin burns and I scream, a primal scream that cannot possibly be coming from me. I see violet, pulsating and glowing on my wrist, but the Mark cannot save me. No one can save me! I am lost to the fire.

Dela appears, floating over me like a ghost. Reaching out a hand, I wait for her to pull me out of the fiery depths. Her mouth opens, unleashing a startling mix between a snarl and a cackle.

“Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover,

Down into wonderland…”
she sings.

She circles above me, laughing and giggling. “Down and down and down, El! Down you go!” she sing-songs. “Ashes to ashes! Down into wonderland …”

Her face contorts, skin bubbling and melting into a new form, a new face; it is Scar-face.

“No escapin’ me precious!” he sneers.

With a gasp, my eyes snap open and I escape, for now. The images of my nightmare flash before my eyes, more vivid and clear than reality. The room’s blue shadows replace the fire and Radicals. Dela’s soft snoring replaces her terrifying song.

Only a dream. A terrifying, horrific dream, but a dream all the same.

My skin is slick with cold sweat. My hair tangled around my head. I stand, wide awake and too afraid to fall back asleep. I pace.

What I would not do to escape this room! I stare at the door, the ceiling, the walls, picturing what lies just beyond. A black sky filled with millions of shimmering diamonds. Tempting, yes, but also risky. Very risky.

“Don’t do it, El,” I tell myself. “Don’t do it.”

I do not listen, my need for air and rebellion greatly overpowering logic and reason. Dela is asleep, the entire ship is asleep. No one will ever know about the girl with the Mark who sat on the deck gazing at stars.

9
WISHING

A close call with a couple in steerage has me on edge, but I make it to the top deck without any other such occurrences. I find a spot behind a lifeboat where I can see without being seen and nestle down. Leaning my head back, my eyes finally connect with what they have longed for these past two days. The smell of salt overwhelms the sweet memories of my flowers, but at least I have the sky.

An unexpected twang in my chest accompanies the image of my father, lying beside me, pointing at the stars. The memories of Mother scolding him for filling my head with dreams make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I miss them, though I’ll never allude as to how much.

I cling to hope with shaking hands.
They are alive
, I tell myself.
How
can they possibly be dead? Then again,
I think,
how can they not?

Last time I saw Father he was clutched in the grasp of a Radical, barely holding onto life, and Mother was saying her goodbyes. Was there a forever behind those words? Did she think it was goodbye forever? Surely not.

Looking to the stars, I inhale deeply, cleansing my mind of horrid memories. I concentrate on the stars and the stars alone. Such stories Father used to tell about these stars. These same stars on this same sky, no different than the sky back home. My only connection to my life before. Before the Radicals. Before the war.

Anger boils in my blood. How naïve I had been back then, believing the war would never affect me. How could it? My family had done nothing terrible, right? Wrong. My family
lived.
I was too ignorant to see that I was not hated for something I had done but for something I was, something I am. The Mark on my wrist makes me different, and no one likes different. It frightens them. People like a world that makes sense, a world where everyone is the same, but nothing about us makes sense.

We have Marks, strange unusual Marks that blessed—or cursed—us with powers. Dela receives visits from spirits. A Mediator. I often see her laughing by herself in a corner or staring at invisible things just over my shoulder. But since this is the RMS
Celtic’s
maiden voyage, there is very little spiritual activity upon its decks; at least, that is what Dela tells me.

Mother and Father are Kinetics, able to move things without touching them. They can stop a cup of tea from toppling over onto the new rug, and Mother has always been fond of holding chocolates in the air before we finish our Latin lessons. Household chores, minor punishments, and conversing with ghosts: that is all they ever use their gifts for. But does any of it matter to the Radicals? Does it make any difference to them that I have no powers despite my Mark? No. If you are Marked, you are the enemy. If you are Marked, you are hated.

Hatred.

I did not believe such hatred and violence was capable before the war, but I see the truth now. We are vermin beneath their shoes, not human. We had always been shunned and disliked, but when one Marked killed a man with his powers, it was all the public needed to start a war. And now that war has been officially declared, there is nothing stopping them from squashing us like bugs beneath their soles.

Still, even as the war raged on, I was sure I was safe, safe in my little village, safe in my garden, safe under the canopy of stars. Such foolish certainty! No one is safe. I see that now. I see everything now.

Fuming with anger, I tear my gaze away from the sky. My eyes fall upon a new object of interest. A man sits on the bench across from where I rest, staring at me. I go rigid, terror making me immobile. It takes me a moment to fully process what I am seeing. It is so dark, but I can tell he is young with dark hair and … is he?—he is!—he is smirking at me! I gasp, realization crashing into me like a runaway carriage. How did I not hear him coming? How did I not see him?

Apparently, I see everything except him!

“Hello, Vi.” His voice, so unexpected and loud against the still night, startles me. I fly into a standing position, backing against the rail of the ship. My hat topples off and I make to grab for it, but it is too late. It falls into the darkness and is consumed by the ocean.

“Damn it!” I exclaim, much louder than anticipated. Involuntarily, I put a hand to my mouth.
Proper ladies do not swear under any circumstances
: Mother’s words so clear in my mind.

I still face the ocean, but I hear his soft chuckle. “Who would have thought you’d have such a foul mouth,” he laughs. “Though don’t worry about me. I love a lady with a bit of an edge.” I grimace. God, I can just picture him winking!

I take only a moment to mourn the loss of my hat before returning to more important matters. I turn around, back against the rail, hands gripping it for support. Black curls envelop my face. They thrash around in the breeze, free at last. I feel my violet eyes burning with questions, but I say nothing. Simply stare, mouth agape.

“Sorry about your hat. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mr. Laurence smiles and bites his lip as he walks forward. “Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I
did
mean to startle you.” He chuckles. “I just failed to realize how well it would work!”

Annoyance replaces my shock. I find my voice. “What are you doing out here?”