Gossamer Line station is closed,’ she said belligerently.
Squall closed his eyes, a line creasing the space between them, and shook his head as if she had said something ridiculous. ‘One day, Miss Crow, you may begin to understand how much of Nevermoor lies dormant or dead, waiting patiently for you to nudge it back to life. One day, you may realise how formidably you could run this city, if only you’d put in a little effort.’
Squall and his hounds made to walk away, looking for all the world as if they might just saunter straight off the rooftop.
‘Oh – one other thing.’ He stopped abruptly, spinning back to face her. ‘I should warn you. They’re going to flip the script.’
Morrigan frowned. ‘What?’
‘The Wundrous Society,’ he clarified. ‘Any day now, they’re going to flip the script about Wundersmiths. About you. The official Wunsoc line has long been Wundersmiths are monsters. Wundersmiths are the cause of all our woes. But watch. Someday soon it will change to This Wundersmith will slay our monsters. This Wundersmith will solve all our problems.’
‘Oh no.’ Morrigan glared at him from beneath half-closed eyelids. ‘What an awful thought, that I might be asked to help people. How truly terrible.’
‘You have no idea.’
He’d already turned once again to leave, cloaked in shadow, when Morrigan finally shouted at his back the thing she really wanted to say. The thing she’d been wondering for months.
‘Why did you kill them?’
It had taken all of her courage to say it, and she could feel herself trembling, shocked by her own audacity. Squall halted, but he didn’t face her. The hounds growled a warning. ‘Why did you murder the other Wundersmiths? Your friends?’
Squall remained perfectly still.
‘They trusted you.’
She didn’t even see him move, but in a fraction of a second he was right there, looming above her. The pale, expressionless mask had slipped to reveal the beast inside, black eyes and blackened mouth and sharp, bared teeth. The shadow hounds whined. Even they were afraid of him.
Morrigan felt terror grip her throat. Her overwhelming instinct was to shrink away, to run, to close her eyes, but she wouldn’t let herself. She held her breath, staring at the monster Squall. Committing him to memory.
‘Another thing you will one day understand,’ he snarled, ‘is that Wundersmiths don’t have friends.’
Morrigan recoiled from his words as if they might burn her.
And then the mask was back. So still and pale and cold, it might have been carved from marble. So ordinary, she might almost have believed she’d imagined that other, hidden face. His true face.
And then he was gone, leaving only a curl of black smoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Spark
Morrigan stayed on the rooftop for some time after Squall and his hounds disappeared into the Gossamer. She took deep, steadying breaths, and pressed her hands together to stop them shaking.
Eventually she wandered in a daze back to the stairwell, still replaying the conversation with Squall over and over in her mind, while trying to shake out the image of his monstrous face.
Things are ever so much worse than you know.
What could be worse than a hospital overflowing with comatose Wunimals? Worse than people scared to leave their homes for fear of being attacked, and Wunimals unable to break curfew under threat of being arrested? Worse than the Deucalion being closed down indefinitely? Worse than people dying? Worse than a disease without a cure – or more accurately, a monster that couldn’t be destroyed?
As she descended the last steps into the buzzing Proudfoot House entrance hall, Morrigan felt a hand grab her elbow.
‘Morrigan!’
‘Ow! Cadence, what—’
‘Where have you been?’ Cadence began steering her through the throng of scholars and towards the front door. ‘You missed our organic witchery workshop.’
‘I was on the rooftop. Wait, I have to—’
‘Doesn’t matter now. Just come outside. You’ve got to see this.’
‘Cadence, wait,’ Morrigan said again, trying to yank her arm back, but her friend held on tight. ‘I have to tell you something.’
‘Tell me later. This is important.’ Cadence let go of her arm when they’d reached the top of the marble steps. A dozen or so scholars were standing there, looking nervous.
A huge, noisy crowd had gathered at the end of the long drive, outside Wunsoc’s tall iron gates. Hundreds of people carried placards and shouted at Elder Quinn, Elder Wong and Elder Saga, who stood just inside the grounds. The placards were too far away for Morrigan to read, but judging from the angry yelling, she doubted they had anything friendly written on them.
Cadence