Vivian nods sympathetically and her eyes dim. “You want to be more careful than ever out there, love. Those beasts wreaked hell in the Faroe Islands last week.” She shakes her head.
I grimace. “I saw that. It was a horrific attack.”
A shadow passes over Vivian’s face. “I simply don’t understand how they dare get so close to our communities.” She shudders and wraps her arms around herself. “Sometimes it seems as if there’s just no hope for us. We were never made for this world. We were created for day and night. Not a perennial darkness. Is it any wonder”—she lowers her voice—“so many suffer from the seasickness. Such hopelessness . . . There’s no cure for that. Meanwhile those horrors are multiplying, breeding like sunfish.”
I tuck my curtain of hair back from my face so I can ensure Tabby is out of earshot. “Viv, please. What if Tabs heard? She’s still recovering. . . .”
Vivian bites her lip and throws a hesitant glance in the direction of the lounging area.
“We might survive that evil,” I continue. “There’s more to living down here than the Anthropoids. We’ve endured a massive change in the planet. And well, I know it’s obviously nothing like living up there, but . . . we’re still alive. I really think that should be the main thing, Viv—the fact that we still are, not where we are.”
Vivian looks at me, uncertainty in her gaze. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re young and so naive to still carry hope in the face of such dispiriting facts. But you mustn’t worry about Tabitha—Theo and I are committed to keeping her spirits up. Don’t take up that burden on top of your own, love. I would never reveal my worries in front of her.” She lets out a long sigh and her shoulders droop. “I’m well aware the seasickness could return any moment and reduce her once again to some shadow of what—”
“Come on, Leyla!” Tabby shouts, beckoning me from the open living space ahead.
Vivian and I turn to see Tabby and Müller dancing together rather suggestively.
“Tabitha!” Vivian admonishes and dismisses the Housekeeper, and we both let out a much-needed laugh.
“Oh, before I forget! Here you go, love.” The twins’ mother produces a tiny vial from her pocket. She leans over, opens the bottle, and pushes the tip to my nose. “Oh, just smell that. Real Old World earth! Not that replica rot they try and fob you off with down at the markets. Happy Christmas, sweetheart.”
I give Vivian her gift. I found a turn-of-the-century garden gnome at the markets several months back. The millennium baroque is her favorite Old World period—she was even recently awarded honorary member of the Millennium Baroque Committee. Despite all its cracks and glued parts, the gnome still cost a small fortune; thankfully I was allowed to pay in installments. I knew she’d love it.
“You know, just sometimes”—her eyes grow wistful and bright as she hugs the gnome—“when I’m able to ignore the waters, it kind of feels as if I’m part of the Old World, you know?” Her Bracelet flashes. “We’ll continue this later, love. It’s wonderful to have you around.” She kisses my forehead and moves to take the call.
I join the twins in the lounge. The Campbells’ home is a sleek and glossy space. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the open-plan living area that alone is larger than our entire boxy flat. Each mansion in the affluent neighborhood is uniquely designed. The pearly smooth sphere of a Maid-bot passes by me and gets to work polishing a cabinet displaying a host of Tabby’s martial arts trophies and awards. My heart flutters; Tabby’s placed her gift from me right in the center of the shelf. The detailed origami model is of a twelve-year-old Tabby dancing with her dad, capturing her most favorite moment with him.
A breath hitches in my throat every time I remember the twins will never see their dad again. I can’t even imagine how that must feel. An unbearable thought.
Theo’s face suddenly lights up. “Your present! I haven’t given it to you yet!”
“Another one? But we’ve already exchanged gifts and you spent hours creating the holographic scene for me.”
He frowns. “Fat lot of good the family scene did. Rotten luck that, the power cutting off when it did.”
I squeeze his arm. “I don’t need to have watched it all to know I loved it. Best present ever!”
Theo dashes off and returns in seconds. “Ta-da!” He holds up a long thin gift.
I unwrap it carefully, not wanting to ruin the lush paper; it would make a perfect origami model. “A brolly! Oh my gosh, thank you, it’s stunning!” The umbrella’s frame is bronze-colored and the fabric purple. “I’ve held one once before, all rusty and broken, when the Royal Preservation Society held an open day. But this is just beautiful.”
“Okay, it’s not a real brolly,” Theo says and winks at me. “It’s—”
“Only a flipping weapon!” Tabby announces, her face gleaming.
My mouth falls open. I’ve never carried a weapon before; I stare at it, shifting around in my seat. A secret weapon. Designed to look like an innocent umbrella. I’m kind of thrilled.
“You can’t be living on your own and not have some sort of self-
defense, Leyla,” Theo says. “I saw Miss Petrov come out of the Tax Office in Civic House twirling a parasol, and it came to me—I could design you a weapon disguised as an accessory! And I know you love the idea of rain. Oh, and that see-through tip is a brilliant light.” He puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s very safe when not activated, so don’t worry. But it’s either this or you move in with us. All right, let’s get you familiar with it.”
Within minutes the brolly is adapted to my unique handprint, and I know how to use it. It has an immobilizing spray that I can top up with the thinnest canisters I’ve ever seen, and a tase function that I’m sure I’ll never use. Tiny indented buttons along its length control the different parts. The brolly’s fantastic. Scary, but fantastic. I grin and Theo mirrors it.
I leap into an embrace. “I love it. You’re amazing, Theo. Thank you so much!”
He smiles and waves my words away.
“Marathon Draw!” Tabby shouts just as the screen switches to Elvis, and the corners of my mouth lift instantly.
We all cheer. He’s Papa’s favorite presenter, too. His attempts at the American accent alone are always hilarious. The Black impersonator is at the BBC Studios, wearing a white satin jumpsuit open down to the navel, where it’s cinched with a rhinestone-studded belt. Thick gold-rimmed glasses cover his eyes. He straightens his glittering collar, runs a hand over his glorious pompadour wig, and points at the camera with a brilliant smile.
“Well, hello there, y’all lovely people of Great Britain. Merry Christmas! Of course I’m Elvis, and I’ll be back hosting the 2099 London Submersible Marathon in just two days’ time. Tonight, I present the live draw. So let’s do this, folks. Only three minutes to go. You can watch the upcoming Today’s Terrors of the Deep”—he grimaces at the idea—“or nip to that loo, and grab those drinks and snacks!” He curls his lip to say, “Thank you very much,” and laughs heartily.
Today’s terrors flash on-screen: a cunning current near Ireland that will drag you halfway across the world where blind critters feast for days on your corpse, and a creature that looks like a cross between a mammoth eel and a demon. I shudder and jump up. Not today, thanks.