Conjured

me. What we had was real. You care about me. You know you do! I’d be a rotten hostage if you didn’t care. You have feelings. You are real!”

She now stared at Zach. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help it.

“You’ve made yourself real! Maybe you didn’t start out that way. Maybe you weren’t born. Maybe your childhood was crap. Well, guess what? My childhood was crap too. After Sophie died … I was just someone else to blame, another person who wasn’t watching, who wasn’t careful enough, never mind that I was a kid too. My existence was only a reminder of her absence. But it doesn’t matter what happened in the past or what other people think of you in the present. What matters is who you are. And you … you’re amazing, Eve! You created yourself! He didn’t make you. You did it! You formed yourself! And that’s extraordinary.”

The doll couldn’t stop staring at Zach. He doesn’t lie, she thought.

“Enough,” the Magician said. He sucked in the doll’s breath, and the doll felt herself rise into the air. She floated to the circle and was lowered into the center. Knife still at Aidan’s throat, the Magician levitated him as well, laying him near the doll.

“Eve, listen to me,” Zach said. “The roses in the bookshelves, the painting with the real water, the books that flew around us, the way we flew … Remember how it felt.” She did remember. She’d loved the way it felt with their arms around each other, rising into the air. That had been real. What she’d felt … what I’d felt had been real.

“I said, enough.” The Magician flicked his hand toward Zach, and a scrap of cloth plastered itself over his mouth, silencing him. But it didn’t block Zach’s eyes. Zach was looking at me exactly the same way he had when I wore the body of a beautiful human girl, instead of a cloth face with green marble eyes. He was looking at me as if he saw me, all of me, as if I were real and whole and unbroken. I saw myself through his eyes.

I saw me.

As the Magician knelt beside Aidan, I said, “You must miss her. You must feel some sadness, some regret, some human emotion. I do. I miss her.”

He positioned Aidan’s body within the chalk circle.

I continued. “I miss the way she used to brush my hair, strand by strand, while she told me stories. I miss how she’d make the marionettes dance. Do you remember our life together? We lived in a forest for a time under the trees, and we watched the acrobats swing and twist in the air. And we lived on a pier in a harbor. You’d use the magic in me for beautiful things: to change both of you into seabirds and fly out over the waves, to make the rain dance as it fell, to grow hundreds of roses in an instant … Your shows were pure joy, and your audiences loved you, but your performances weren’t for them. Every one you did, every bit of stolen magic you used, was for her; everything was always for her—to make her happy and to keep her safe. Because of how she made you feel. Safe. Strong. Magical.”

He wasn’t listening.

He had to listen.

I thought of the Storyteller—how she could command the full attention of any audience with the tone of her voice. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who was afraid.” I said it in the way the Storyteller would say it, drawing on her memories of how to weave a tale. “He was afraid of dying, of hurting, of being weak, of being powerless, of being helpless, of failing, of humiliating himself, of being alone, of growing old, of never being safe … and the fear ate him inside.”

The Magician drew the knife, but he moved more slowly, as if the air had thickened.

“And once upon a time, this boy met a girl who knew how to steal strength from others as they died. But though the boy and girl stole the magic, the magic wouldn’t stay inside them. So the girl, who had become a woman, knitted a doll to hold the magic. This doll was made of cloth for skin, button eyes, thread for her mouth, and yarn for her hair. At first, the doll was like all other dolls, limp and lifeless. But as the magic poured into her, she began to wake up. She learned to breathe. She learned to see. She learned to hear. One day, she learned to move. Another, she learned to speak. And last, she learned to think and very, very slowly to feel. And while this happened, you were learning not to feel. With each death, you died a little inside, until you forgot why you were doing this—that it was for her, to be with her, to be alive with her, to be safe with her and special for her. And she was doing it for you, to be together without fear. She sent me away to protect you. She tried to kill me so you could be together …”

The Magician was crying.

“But you killed her instead.”

The knife slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor of the wagon. The Magician dropped his face into his hands.

Seizing the moment, Aidan flailed his body. His forehead touched mine, and with a pop, we vanished. We reappeared beside Zach. Leaning forward, I pressed my embroidered lips against Zach’s and breathed all the magic I could into him.

The yarn that bound us dissolved into smoke that swirled through the wagon.

Free, I sprang to my shaky cloth feet and plucked an empty box off the string. I opened the lid. Using magic, Zach sent the box sailing toward the Magician.

As the Magician raised his tear-streaked face, the open box hit him in the chest.

He vanished inside it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Without looking at Zach or Aidan, I fetched a cloth and began to scrub at the chalk circles and symbols. Aidan caught my arm, the cotton in my elbow squishing under his grip. “That’s evidence,” he said.

I yanked my arm away. Bits of fiber flew in the air. “The boxes are evidence. The body parts are evidence. I am evidence. These are instructions for how to do what he did. No one sees this.”

Zach grabbed another cloth from the Storyteller’s bag of scraps and began to scrub beside me. His lips were pressed together into a thin line, and he scrubbed with such ferocity that he looked as though he wanted to wear through the floor as well.

“But you can’t—” Aidan began.

“You lied to me.”

Aidan winced. “I thought it would be the best way to win your trust. You’re remarkably unsusceptible to my manly charm, Green Eyes. And you already trusted the WitSec agents. I thought I had to trump that.”

“You could have told me the truth,” I said. Beside me, Zach obliterated another set of symbols. Nearly all traces of the ritual markings were gone.

“You didn’t like me,” Aidan said, as if this were inexplicable. “You wouldn’t have believed me. As you may or may not recall, when we did tell you the truth, you didn’t believe us.”

“Whoa, back up,” Zach said. “What truth?”

“The truth that she is special,” Aidan said, looking only at me. “And we value her. Regardless of how the trial turns out, she will be safe with us.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” Zach demanded. “Who are you?”

“He had a badge,” I said.

“What badge?” Zach asked. “Did I miss something? Obviously I did. I was stuck in a box. What did I miss?”

Aidan shrugged with fake modesty. “I persuaded a few people that I could be useful here. Namely, Lou and Malcolm. Lou seems to think he controls me, and Malcolm … well, he knows I want to keep you safe. Our interests align, at least in that respect. They loaned me the badge.” He bent to pick up the box with the Magician inside, but I scooped it off the floor faster. I clutched it to my chest.

“Notice how he’s avoiding the key question,” Zach said. “Let me say it very slowly. Who are you, and what do you want with Eve?”

“I want her help,” Aidan said simply. He faced me, his eyes earnest. “My home … my country … we’re at war. A nation on our northern border wants to topple our government, destroy our culture, and claim our