FOUR
NEXT TO ME, ALE GRABS THE RAILING AND PULLS HIMSELF to his feet. There’s blood on his mouth and splattered on the front of his shirt. He looks down at the street. He looks back up at me. His face is blank and uncomprehending.
“Well,” I say. “That’s what she gets.”
That’s the only thought in my head.
“Is…” Ale’s voice is a thin whisper. “Is… is she… she’s not…?”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something else.
“Oh, and you’re welcome,” I add. “For saving your life.”
I get the sense those weren’t the words he expected, but they make perfect sense to me. His eyes dart around the balcony, then back to the street. The watercrea’s gown is still lying there, abandoned.
She’s really gone. She disappeared, exactly the same way anyone else would. Her bones cracked and her omens spread and she looked so fragile.
I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t that.
My eyes catch on a nearby shadow, and all at once, I realize that Ale and I have drawn a crowd. The nobles are peering out of their windows and poking their heads out of their doors. Guards in red coats are scattered around the front of the Morandi manor. Everyone is still and deathly quiet, and everyone is staring at the spot that used to be the watercrea.
The shuffle of boots breaks the silence as down below, one of the guards creeps over to the red gown and kneels next to it. He stares at the tiny puddle of her blood, like he’s trying to will her back into existence.
“She can’t be dead,” another guard ventures. His voice sounds faint from all the way up here. “She… she wouldn’t… she’s not like us.”
“She’s not like us,” the first guard repeats, like a desperate prayer.
They both look up at me, and their faces are expectant.
“What?” I demand.
Everybody on the street is looking at me. I think about all these same people, crouched down in the pews of the cathedral as the watercrea’s guard searched me for omens. I imagine them peering out into the aisle, watching as my naked body was dragged off.
“You saw what she did.” I gesture back at the shattered glass door. “She should have known better than to come after us. After me.”
Ale grabs my wrist. His fingers are cold.
“Emanuela,” he whispers.
“The watercrea told so many people when they got to live and when they got to die,” I say. “But she didn’t get to tell me. She’ll never tell anyone again.”
“Emanuela,” Ale says.
Nobody down below is reacting. Their silent stares are burning into my skin.
If they had seen the inside of the tower, they wouldn’t be looking at me like this. They would understand.
“You don’t—” I say.
I’m trying to explain. I have to explain. But I feel the watercrea’s needle in my neck, and I hear the shuddering breaths of the person in the cell next to me, and the words won’t come out.
“You all thought she was so important.” That’s what I hear myself saying instead. “You really thought she was some sort of all-powerful, untouchable being, didn’t you?”
I look at the watercrea’s crumpled gown once more. I feel like I have to keep checking to make sure she really isn’t coming back.
She isn’t.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, sudden and uncontrollable.
“Well, look at her now,” I say. “Look at her now, and then tell me—who’s really untouchable?”
“Emanuela,” Ale says. “The guards—”
He tugs me backward, and I whirl around just as three men in red coats burst through the bedroom doorway.
They don’t scare me. I just pushed the watercrea off a balcony. Nothing scares me anymore.
“No! No, wait!”
Ale’s mamma runs in behind the guards.
“Don’t take him, please—” she’s saying. “It wasn’t him—it was all her—she did this. I saw her—she did this—”
But the guards are already lunging at us. Ale is frozen in terror, but I’m more awake than ever. I yank him to the side, scrambling up onto his bed. I toss the sheets onto the guards, who are already being bombarded by Ale’s screaming mamma, and in the chaos, we just manage to dive through the door and slip into the hall. We careen down the nearest stairs. A guard on the next floor spots us and runs, but Ale belongs to the elaborate halls of the Morandi manor. He takes over, yanking me into a nearby study that somehow leads all the way down to the kitchens. And then we’re bursting out of the servants’ entrance, and then he’s leading me down a back street. Around the next corner, he lets go of my hand and stops short.
“What—” he gasps out. “What do we do?”
It’s obvious to me. I’m free. I can go back to the being the girl I’m supposed to be.
“Wait!” Ale grabs me again as I start walking. “Where are you going?”
“My family’s house,” I say.
“You can’t,” he says.
“Of course I can,” I say. “My papá will help us.”
We have a lot to do. We have to get all those people out of the watercrea’s prison. We have to—
“Emanuela.” Ale’s grip on my wrist is too tight. “You can’t. The guards will catch you. They’ll put you back in the tower.”
“And how are they going to keep me there?” I say. “Who’s going to stop me with their magic? Who’s going to steal my blood?”
I’m laughing again.
I can’t believe it was this easy. I’ve spent every day since I was seven terrified of the watercrea and her tower, but with one little shove, I made it all disappear.
I wonder if she was just as surprised as I was. I wonder if she even had time to be surprised before her neck snapped.
All at once, my vision goes black around the edges. A loud ringing noise fills my ears, and my knees wobble. The next thing I know, I’m in Ale’s arms.
“You’re starved,” he’s saying. “You’re starved, and you’re not in your right mind—that’s why you—”
“I found them! They’re over here!”
The voice comes from the end of the street. It’s a guard. I catch a glimpse of his red coat, and then Ale is sprinting. Everything turns into a dark, disorienting blur. All I can hear is the pounding of Ale’s feet, and abruptly, we’re racing down a set of stairs. I cling to his shirt, feeling very precarious and jostled. He skids to a stop at the bottom and sets me on the cold ground. Then he turns and runs back up the steps.
“Wait—Ale—” I crawl after him and immediately find dust on my hands and in my mouth. “Where are you going? Where are we?”
His whispery footsteps are already returning. There’s a decorative lantern in his grip that looks like it was stolen from somebody’s window. I try to get to my feet, but everything starts spinning again.
“Stop, Emanuela,” he says. “Don’t try to stand up. Hold this.”