The Peculiar

painfully, he forced himself up, forced himself to move. “Hettie,” he called. “Hettie, you have to-”

Everything was still. The wind had stopped, the noise too. The wings were frozen in midair; splintering crates, hooks and chains all hung suspended. The door was a perfect ring at the center of the warehouse. And framed inside, standing small and lonely among the vaulting trees, was Hettie.

She looked at Bartholomew, her black eyes full of terror. Tears were streaming down from them, dripping over her sharp cheekbones. She raised her hand.

Then there was a sound like a violin string snapping. The spell was broken. Everything was in motion again. Rubble rained down from all sides-wood from the crates, stone from the walls, propellers and burning canvas from the airship. The door vanished.

Bartholomew gave a savage cry. He ran to the place where it had been, clawed at the air, clawed at the stones.

“Jump!” he cried. “Jump, Hettie, jump, jump!”

But it was too late for that.

Above him, there was a tremendous crash. Chunks of roof and burning beams collapsed around him, caging him in. Somewhere in the roiling smoke, an explosion. He fell to the floor, crying and screaming, and blackness enveloped him.

He didn’t know how long he lay there. It might have been a year or a day. It would have been all the same to him if he were dead and this were the end of the world. Sounds echoed toward him from far away. Water, icy cold, stung his skin. The black and silver of fire fighters’ uniforms glimmered dully through the fog of his vision. Then people were crowding around him, talking all at once.

“A Peculiar,” they said. “Half dead. Should we leave him? Leave him here?” And somewhere Mr. Jelliby was being angry, shouting, “You’ll get him to the carriages, is what you’ll do! You’ll rush him to Harley Street, and if it takes you the rest of your lives, you’ll save him! He saved you. He saved all of us.”

Go away, Bartholomew thought. Leave me alone. He wanted to sleep. The darkness was there again, rolling beneath him and beckoning him. But before he let it take him, he opened his eyes and looked up. He could see the sky through the ruined roof. It was dawn. The sun was just rising over the city, piercing the heavy clouds.

“I’ll come find you, Hettie,” he whispered as strong hands lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him away. “Wherever you are, I’ll bring you home.”