Hollowpox The Hunt for Morrigan Crow - Jessica Townsend Page 0,153
of cotton on his backside where a fluffy tail used to be, before it came off in the wash and disappeared who-knows-where.
‘Can I tell you something?’
‘What?’
‘You love this rabbit.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I already know that.’
‘You don’t, though. Not the full story.’ Jupiter sat down again in the chair beside her bed, still holding the rabbit as gently as if it were a real unnimal. ‘You think you love him because you’ve had him since you were a baby. You think you love him because he listened to eleven years of your secrets and stories. And because he was always just the right size for tucking into the crook of your neck as you fell asleep, for hiding on the seat beside yours at the dinner table.’
Morrigan smiled. She did used to sit Emmett next to her at dinner sometimes. Nobody knew because nobody ever sat on her side of the table, and of course if Grandmother had spotted ‘that dirty old thing’ in the dining room, she’d have pitched a fit. But it made Morrigan feel like somebody was on her side to have him there, even if he couldn’t speak up for her.
‘You think you love him because of his soft floppy ears and his dear little waistcoat.’
Emmett wasn’t wearing a waistcoat … but he used to. Just like he used to have a fluffy tail.
But Jupiter, of course, could see the missing waistcoat. Just as he could see Morrigan’s bad dreams and worries, and the hollowed-out Wunimals, and Dame Chanda’s perpetual kindness.
‘And because of his button-black eyes,’ he continued. ‘Because they remind you of your own black eyes. And because he’s the only friend you had when you were small. But that’s not why you love Emmett so much.’
Morrigan shivered slightly, though the room was warm.
‘You love him,’ Jupiter continued in a soft, low voice, ‘because every fibre of his fur, every stitch in his seams, every fluff of his stuffing is infused with – is positively glowing from – the love of the person who owned him before you. His very first owner.’
Something in the back of Morrigan’s brain clicked, like a key turning in a lock.
Jupiter held the rabbit closer, examining every inch of fur, a frown deepening the crease between his eyebrows. ‘Her handprints are all over him. Cloudy silver smudges. Big hands, little hands. Hands a bit like yours. Twenty-odd years of them, layer upon layer.’
Morrigan held her breath, so reluctant was she to miss a single whispered word. Jupiter at last lifted his eyes from Emmett’s dusty little face to her pale one.
‘Mog,’ he said quietly. ‘I think, perhaps, this rabbit belonged to your mother.’
Somehow Morrigan knew instantly that he was correct. A feeling of warmth spread from her chest all the way out to her fingertips, and she reached for Emmett, smoothing down his ears gently.
It really was a most extraordinary knack.
Morrigan didn’t sleep that night. She wanted to. She could have happily spent another week unconscious. But her mind wouldn’t turn itself off.
Thoughts of her mother had turned to thoughts of her family here in Nevermoor. The family she’d found at the Hotel Deucalion. The friends she counted as sisters and brothers, and the new friends she’d made in unexpected places.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Sofia, and about Jupiter’s face when he’d admitted there was no cure in sight. Even with everything she’d tried to do these past few days – taking the Gossamer Line to Ylvastad, negotiating with Wintersea, arguing with Jupiter, everything that happened in Courage Square – so many Wunimals were still in danger. Her friend was still in danger.
Mostly, though, Morrigan was thinking about what Anah had told her. After visiting hours were over and Jupiter went home, Anah had crept onto the dimly lit ward to visit her.
‘Morrigan,’ came her whisper in the dark, then a quiet, ‘Ow!’ as she bumped into something.
‘Anah?’ she whispered back, sitting up in bed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Shhh,’ said Anah, tiptoeing over. Morrigan scooted sideways to make room for her. ‘I heard Nurse Tim telling your patron you’d woken up, so I volunteered to stay late so I could come see you. Normally junior scholars aren’t allowed to be on duty past six o’clock, but I think they’re getting desperate. Can I have a bit of your chocolate? I’m famished, haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.’
‘Help yourself,’ said Morrigan, pushing the half-eaten box into her hands. ‘Is everything all right?’