Her smile sharpened. “That ship sailed long ago.”
I wasn’t sure how she knew that. “I mean I want to be in control of when and if I hurt someone.”
She waved a lace-covered hand. “So be in control.”
“But if I go crazy—”
“You are a Crow with dreams of becoming a Cape, speaking to Sally Cemetery on a night that will not end.” Vacant eyes met mine. “What makes you think you’re not already crazy?”
“I’d know.”
“Perhaps.” She folded her hands into her lap and turned back to the ocean. The pale moon lit her profile, casting her eyes in bottomless shadow. “And perhaps sanity and madness are no different than life and death; eternally intertwined until it’s impossible to know where one starts and the other stops.”
“Are you saying you’re not crazy?”
It was the only time in that too-long night that I heard Sally Cemetery laugh, a hollow, aching sound that restlessly roamed the clearing as if searching for an exit. “I am as mad as the proverbial hatter, yet the actions I’ve taken were by my choice and mine alone.”
I thought of all the stories she played a brutal part in and swallowed. “Every action?”
“Every grisly and terrible feat. Or did you think I was some sort of lost sheep in need of saving?”
“No. I just—”
Sally’s voice dropped to a whisper, so low that I could barely hear the words that every child knows by heart.
“Sally Jenkins, pale and wary
seems to be so ordinary
yet all the bodies she could bury
would fill the whole world’s cemetery.”
As she spoke, the moon came unmoored, sinking like a stone towards the horizon, leaving her unlined face in darkness, leaving her figure a dark and narrow silhouette on the far end of the bench.
Despite myself, despite everything I knew, I reached toward that darkness. Toward Sally.
•—•—•
The morning light was too strong to bear, the August sun reflecting off the Pacific far below to drive bright spikes through my closed eyelids. I shaded my face with one hand and blinked tears from my eyes. I squinted against the mirrored glare and looked to the far end of the bench, hoping for a glimpse of black skirts and too-white skin.
There was nothing to see but pock-marked stone.
Sally Cemetery was gone.
INTERLUDE
The first indication that Jonathan Bard was not alone in his office was when the woman on the couch noisily cleared her throat. To his credit, Bard didn’t spill the mug of coffee in his hands. Instead, he placed it down on a coaster, if a bit more heavily than necessary, and raised an eyebrow.
“Somehow, I missed hearing Agnes announce you, Alexa.”
Midnight smiled. “You said you wanted to see me. You didn’t say I should make an event of it.”
“I’ll never hear the end of it if she finds out.”
“You do remember that she’s your assistant, and not your mother?”
“There are times I think she’s a little bit of both.” He grinned. “Can I get you anything?”
“Chai, if you have any leaves left.” As Bard went to a table at the back of his office, her voice softened. “You look tired, Jonathan.”
“It’s been a difficult semester.”
“And Marissa? Any change?”
“None.” He sprinkled tea leaves into a small china cup, added in a spoonful of spices, and then poured the hot water. “As far as the doctors are concerned, she’s the picture of health, but…”
“But she still hasn’t woken up.”
“Not in over a year.”
“And the Stevenson boy—?”
“Was years away from attempting a healing.”
Alexa sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He crossed the office and handed her the tea. “I’m not giving up.”
“Nor would I expect you to. It’s one of the reasons Mari loves you so much.”
The smile Bard sent her was grateful, as much for her usage of the present tense as for the reminder of his wife’s devotion. “She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“When she wakes up, I suspect she’ll disagree vehemently. As usual.” Alexa’s lips quirked in her usual half-smile. “But you didn’t invite me here to talk about Marissa.”
“No, although I always appreciate the opportunity.” Bard sighed. “With a semester behind us, I wanted to check in with you on your patient.”
“Which one?”
“Let’s start with Mr. Jackson.”
“Meaning that this impromptu interrogation is really about Damian.” Alexa smirked. “As for Alan Jackson, I believe he’s adjusting as well as could be expected.”
“To life in the Free States?”
“To being around people. For years, it was just he and his father, traipsing through what’s left of the Dakotas. The dorms, the classes… even the limited socialization… every facet of life at the Academy requires an adjustment. But he’s making progress.”
“It’s nice to have some good news for a change. Nikolai is raving about his combat potential. The last time I saw the old warhorse this excited was when the Scarlet Dynamo was a first-year.” Bard stared into his coffee for a long moment. “And Mr. Banach?”
“He’s hurting over Shane’s death… like a lot of first-years, I imagine.”
“Hurting I can accept. It’s the other rumors I’m worried about. Is he still sane?”
“I suppose that depends on your definition of sanity.”
“Alexa…”
She shook her head. “I’m not being difficult, Jonathan. You’ve known hundreds of Capes in your time. How many of them would you consider entirely sane?”
“Well, there was one woman, if you could ignore her propensity for all-black clothing… but I’m told she quit the business for other pursuits.” Bard’s smile was gentle, almost teasing. “Let me rephrase; is he a danger to those around him?”
“I don’t believe so.”
He gave a short nod. “Then he stays… for now, at least. I’ll keep running interference with the other parents.”
“How is that going?”
“It’s going. I just remind them that this is my school, not theirs, and that Damian’s enrollment was my decision to make. So far, they’ve either swallowed that lie or are too polite to call me on it.”
“Have you had any luck on finding out why the government was so focused on his admission?”
“No. I lost most of my contacts when President Weatherly took office. The few who remain
