would keep sleep at arm’s length.
He didn’t enjoy these things he had to do. But someone had to do them.
There won’t be a next Inversion.
Cora and Simon will never set foot outside that tower again.
Cora was fading in and out of consciousness. Again. Again, and again, and again. Each time she came around, the first thing she was aware of was the pain. She touched the jagged piece of metal that ran up through her torso.
There was a pool of dried and fresh blood around where it jutted up out of her body, collecting in the hollow of her stomach that was made by the unnatural angle of her body on the statue. Her shoulders and her knees were higher than her hips. It meant that if she turned her head just right, she could see all the shades of blood in its stages of drying and aging.
Bright red. Rich crimson. Brown. Black where it was thick and congealed.
She let her head fall back. She wished she had something to rest it on. It hurt to have it dangling in open air. But there was nothing she could do. The metal that ran up through the base of her throat between her collarbones stung the worst. She could almost forget the ones that went through the rest of her. The one in her throat kept tearing at her nerves and tendons, no matter how she tried to place her head.
At least she wasn’t alone.
Not really.
Lazarus was there beside her every time she came back from the darkness. He would smile at her tenderly, kiss her cheek, stroke her hair, and apologize that there was nothing else he could do. Nothing except tell her stories.
At least he knew how to tell good stories.
She figured a creature that was as old as the dawn of time had a few fun ones to tell. She couldn’t remember all of them that he had spouted off in the past…
How long had she been here?
She didn’t know. Things were kind of fuzzy and strange. She couldn’t focus on the passing of time or on everything he said.
He told stories of Egypt. Russia. France. England. But it was his stories of the Family that stuck out in her mind. Stories of his time as Harrow Faire.
Lazarus was sitting on a smooth part of the metal statue, leaning up against another jagged piece that stabbed up toward the tower overhead. She became aware of him talking halfway through a sentence “—and there was a goat. Just…a goat, right there, in the middle of the fairgrounds.” He chuckled. “I have no idea how it got there, or where it came from. Just a random goat. You’d think I’d be aware of a freaking goat wandering in, but I didn’t even notice until Bertha and Rudy began fighting over what to do with it.”
The more she focused, the more she hurt. So she just tried not to swallow too much blood and breathe as best she could. She couldn’t talk, but at least he could hear her thoughts. Fighting over it? Why?
“Rudy wanted to eat it. Bertha wanted to keep it as a pet. Oh, they screamed and shouted at each other. Rudy snapping and snarling at the little screaming goat. But Bertha was having none of it. She hits hard. Smacked Zookeeper right upside the head, and I think the poor dog saw stars. He finally relented. Bertha kept that goat as a pet for years. Named him Sam. That goat loved her and followed her everywhere. All the while, Rudy kept trying to eat the little thing. Right up until the day Sam died of old age.”
“She buried the goat by the line of the forest close to the lake.” Laz sighed. “I’ve never seen anyone so broken up as Bertha was over Sam. She sat out in front of her boxcar and wept. Then, the darndest thing happened. Rudy, as a wolf, padded right up to her and laid his head in her lap. She needed an animal to console her, and he somehow knew it. She cried into his fur for an hour. Just held him and cried. They’ve been the best of friends ever since. Now and then, he’ll bring her a pet from his collection when he thinks she needs the company.”
“Funny thing, pets.” He chuckled and swiped a hand over his bald head. “She loved that goat more than I think she’s ever loved anyone before or since. I’ve always found it