“You…” Ale’s voice is high and thin. “You just… Why did you…?”
“She was going to attack me,” I say.
“What?” he says.
“She had to be subdued,” I say.
I’m jittering. I feel like I could run across the whole of Iris right now. Simultaneously, somehow, I feel like I might need to go vomit.
I let myself get so close to her. She was looking right into my eyes.
“Emanuela,” Ale says. “She’s… she’s the most important girl in this city.”
“If you say so,” I say.
“They have statues of her everywhere,” he says. “They worship her. We can’t—we can’t just—”
“Tie her up?” I say. “It’s interesting that you would say so, because we just did.”
Ale is scrambling. He looks at the bedroom door. He looks out the narrow windows at the darkening veil and the roofs of the city that’s not ours. He looks back at the girl tied to her bedpost.
“She was being so nice,” he says, a little helplessly.
I narrow my eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
I crawl closer to Verene. I pull the sewing scissors out of my pocket and press them to her neck. She goes stiff.
“Don’t scream,” I say. I roll down the ribbon we used to gag her, fully prepared to smother her if she screams anyway.
“I know who you are,” she says the moment she’s able.
“What?” I say.
“I know who you are,” she insists.
“Oh?” I say. “Who are we, then?”
“You’re—” She’s holding her head high, but she’s also quivering, and when I realize it’s with fear, I get a strange, sick thrill. “You’re with them.”
I glance over my shoulder at Ale, perturbed.
“With who?” I say.
“I know about it, all right?” she says. “I know about the Red Roses. I know who your leaders are and where you meet.”
I, of course, have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Hmm,” I say noncommittally.
“I know you’ve been sneaking around the catacombs, trying to investigate me,” she says. “Why do you think you saw me down there? I was at the underground well. I was painting, actually. And I heard noises, so I went to make sure it wasn’t somebody in distress, because it’s very unnerving to hear noises in the catacombs. And then you threw a lantern at me and ran off.”
That’s… not what I expected her to say.
“You were… painting?” I say.
“I spend all day making water for the city,” she says. “I would never complain, but it is exhausting, you know. When I need a break, I work on my paintings. I’m sorry if that offends you.”
“What were you painting?” I say.
“A picture!” she says. “Of scenery! Does it matter? The point is that I tried to approach you, and you reacted like I was a… bloodthirsty ghost.”
“Oh my God.” Ale is whispering to himself behind me. “That was her. I was so sure it was a—”
“Well,” I say to Verene, “it does seem that you have more information about us than we suspected—”
“I’m not hiding anything,” she says. “I don’t have a secret room of prisoners, or a secret supply of blood, or whatever it is you suspect me of. I make water for the city with my magic, and I do it from nothing, and no one gets hurt. I’m the Heart of Iris. I’m different. I’m not—I’m not like—” She cuts herself off.
“You’re not like…?” I echo.
She’s silent.
“I’m not like her,” she says, quieter. “And I can prove it.”
“Really?” I say. “How?”
“I’ll show you my magic,” she says. “Right now.”
“Right here?” I say.
“Right here,” she says.
“And what exactly does that involve?” I say.
“Oh, water will go all over the room,” she says. “My brother hates it when I do magic up here. But he’ll live.”
The little water ritual she did for the city was, admittedly, rather impressive. But I’ve already seen it. I need something else. I need more.
“So you spend most of your time at the underground well,” I say.
“Yes,” she says. “It’s always full. That was my promise to the city, and I’ve kept it. But we don’t have to go down there. I can do my magic here.”
She says it all a little too quickly.
“Do it, then,” I say.
“I will,” she says.
There’s a long moment of silence where she just sits there, and we just stare at her.
“I don’t see any water,” I say.
“I’m waiting for you to untie me,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I can’t do it unless I’m free.”
That’s what I thought. I reach for her gag.
“Wait!” she says, squirming away. “Just wait. Don’t do anything you’ll regret. I know my powers seem too good to be true. When they first manifested, that’s what I thought, too. But they’re real. If you want me to explain where they came from, I can’t. I just know that I’ve been given something special, and that’s why I have to use it. For everyone. For you.”
She sounds so very certain. She sounds like she believes in herself—in the Heart of Iris—all the way down to her bones.
For one disconcerting moment, I wonder if I’ve miscalculated. I wonder if it’s really possible for a city to be this uncomplicated and this perfect. I wonder if I’ve spoiled it all by treating their leader like she’s just as dangerous as the watercrea was. I have to imagine that once you’ve attacked a girl and tied her up and told her that you think she’s a liar, it’s pretty hard to convince her to share her miraculous, blood-free water with you. I barely knew anything about the watercrea’s magic, and I know nothing about this city. I could be wrong.
My hand drifts, of its own accord, to my hip, and the mark that’s been on my skin since I was seven years old. That mark means that I’m not like other Occhians. I’m
