Lily says nothing, her breaths coming too fast, and my heart breaks for her once again. But I keep talking, because that is all I can do. I know that there are not enough of us in this world taking care of one another, and I cannot let Lily go while she carries hate in her heart for the only person who loved her brother as much as she did.
We can fight together or we can die alone.
“Jane ended your brother because she loved him. And he asked her to do it because he knew that she loved him enough to carry it through. Watching someone turn, keeping them company in those last, final moments in the world . . . that is not easy, either. That is hell. Jane went through hell for your brother, because he asked her to, and she would do it again if she had to.”
I release Lily and take a step back. She does not move, and I gently take her hands, squeezing them tightly. Her eyes are closed, tears leaking from beneath the lashes.
“She didn’t even cry,” she finally says, ripping her hands out of my grip and slamming her fists against her thighs. “She just came back, handed me his belongings, and started barking out orders. If she hurt so bad, why didn’t she cry?”
“Because she knew in that moment that saving the rest of us was more important,” I say. “Losing Jackson broke Jane, but the thing about Jane is she is never going to let anyone see the cracks. She is going to do her healing in private. Because she knows she has a job to do, which is making sure the rest of us are as safe as we can be.
“But we have a job, too. Letting them lynch Jane, letting her die—that is wrong. Jane fought to save us all in Summerland, and you cannot turn your back on her no matter how angry you are right now. Not just because it is the last thing Jackson would want, but because if there is anyone in this world who understands your broken heart, it is Jane McKeene.”
Lily sniffs once, then twice, and then throws herself back into my arms, her small body wracked with sobs. I hold her until the storm subsides, rubbing her back. Once she has calmed, she pulls away, still crying softly.
“I’m still cross with Jane,” she says.
I nod. “I would recommend you get used to it. I spend much of my time the same way. But she is a good person, and good people are so hard to find. Now: you have a decision to make. Do you want to travel with the soiled doves and Thomas, or do you want to stay with Jane and me?” Jane is in no position to travel anywhere or make any kind of offer to the girl, but I know that if I were to let Lily run off with the Madam and her girls Jane would string me up herself. I still plan on convincing the Madam to stay until a more opportune time for leaving, maybe with the patrols once we have rescued Jane, but one step at a time.
Lily shrugs in answer to my question about her future. “I don’t rightly know.”
“Well, no one is going anywhere tonight, so you have some time to consider. But just know that there are few people I have had cause to admire as much as Jane McKeene, and she feels more affection for you than she lets on.”
She nods. “I’m going for a walk,” she says. I watch her leave through the door I just entered not long ago before taking a deep breath and letting it out.
A bath and a change of clothing is in order. And after that?
I need to see Jane. Because if Lily is in this kind of state, how can Jane be holding up? She needs someone by her side. Despite her bravado I know that Jane is scared. And what she needs right now, as much as an escape plan, is to know that someone is on her side no matter what.
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
—Shakespeare, Macbeth
—JANE—
Chapter 13
In Which I Get a Visit from the Dead
Through the night, the rail gun keeps up its maddening rhythm—whoomp whoomp whoomp—firing for about a minute before going silent. It fires every hour on the hour, and it is the world’s worst timepiece. I can’t see what it’s doing, but I can hear it, and it’s enough to make a body go insane.
Of course, so is being trapped in a tiny cell.
By the time the sky begins to brighten outside of my prison and no one has come to liberate me or string me up, I start to get antsy. Miss Duncan comes by to feed me breakfast—a cold biscuit and some kind of greasy meat—and to empty the bucket. But other than that I am left to my own devices. No Katherine, no Sue, no Sheriff Redfern. And no Gideon, though that last one is a relief.
I take a peek out the window of the cell to see what I might be missing, but the streets are empty, the day near burning hot even as the sun is not near its highest point in the sky. Autumn is near, and beyond that a winter I’ve heard to be harsher than what we’re used to back east, but you wouldn’t know it from the current temperature. I wonder if the heat is what’s got the streets so empty, with not a soul out and about seeing to their business. The only sound in all of Nicodemus is that rail gun and its clockwork firing.
But I am not without entertainment. And when my racing thoughts get to be too much, and when I’ve cried whatever tears I have to give at any given time about Jackson’s loss, I read my letters. The one from my momma, and the one I took from Jackson.
At first, I feel guilty reading the purloined letter. There’s a whole lot of waffling before I pull it out and open it. This remorse is a new thing, because in the past I have never let a bit of thievery put me off my game. But now, every time I do something questionable, I hear Katherine’s voice in the back of my head—Jane, what an awful thing to do and Jane, you are better than this in that way she has—and I get all twisted up.
But at the same time, I can’t not read the letter. I have to know why Jackson married this girl. I keep thinking about him and this mystery girl, limbs entangled, and it sets off a whole new spell of crying.
And sometime around the dozenth or so firing of the rail gun I realize that my chances of leaving Nicodemus alive are dwindling by the second. See, I’ve been in the cell a day and a night. And that rail gun has been firing most of that time. How many rounds has that infernal device sent hurtling toward the dead? And how many are still left? It ain’t like bullets are easy to come by, even if Gideon got his own workshop set up here in Nicodemus. The fact that it keeps firing means nothing good. Even if I survive the coming trial, there ain’t no way any of us are surviving that horde if we’re not gone soon.
So, figuring that my immortal soul is already beyond all redemption, I open the letter and begin to read it.
And immediately wish I hadn’t.
Jackson,
You will not read this. You cannot read this. But it isn’t right to send someone off into the world without a love note, no matter what you might say. Protest all you want, this is mine.
I know you hate hearing this, but I am entirely devoted to you. Every morning waking up next to you has been the best day of my life, and when our child is born I know it will be even better. You’ve felt the way he kicks! I have no doubt that he will be just as mischievous as his papa.
Never doubt I am sworn to you because you saved my life in all the best ways, and that’s not something I can ever repay.
Be safe, Jackson. Find your sister and bring her home. And if you do find someone to read this to you, know that every word I’m saying here is true, as well as quite a few I’ve left unsaid so as not to appear wanton.