My cheeks go hot, and I look back to Bram, whose own face swims with unbridled panic. He pivots toward Ransom.
“Turn out your pockets.”
“I’m sorry?”
Bram curls his lip. “I said, turn out your damned pockets.”
Ransom looks to me, hoping I will step in, tell Bram to shove off. I can still feel the ghost of Ransom’s hands on my waist, going lower, pulling at my skirts.
“Do what he says.”
My stomach tightens while Ransom digs into the folds of his jacket, his eyes seething. Dry flowers fall from his pockets, a bit of black thread. He goes to empty his sewing pouch, and all that tumbles out is a pair of shears, more thread, and the needle he used to sew up my leg.
His eyes narrow to Bram. “There. Satisfied, Avery?”
I still myself for Bram to push farther, make Ransom strip down until he is nothing but skin and bone, but instead, he turns and ducks beneath a pew.
“Let’s just keep looking.”
We dart through the church, searching under and over things with no set pattern. I run toward the altar and throw back dusty velvet, toppling over tarnished goblets and candlesticks. But the bell is nowhere to be found. By the end, we are sweaty, and I feel sicker than I did before.
Bram scowls. “You’re sure it didn’t fall out of your pocket while you were sleeping, Adelaide?”
I shake my head. Stupid,stupid. “No, I held it this morning.”
Bram’s eyes slip up to Ransom. “And your lover didn’t stash it away somewhere?”
“He’s not my—”
“First of all, I already said my thoughts werenoton the bell. And second, I sure as hell wouldn’t leave without Adelaide.”
My lips part, but Bram is already nose to nose with Ransom.
“Why do I have the sense that I shouldn’t believe a word you say, Black?”
Ransom narrows his eyes. “I don’t know. Why don’t you just go fu—”
“Enough!” I shout, squeezing between them. “Look, I don’t know what is going on between the two of you, and frankly, I don’t give a damn. The bell is missing, which not only means we can’t bring anyone back, but also, we are now truly stuck here. So, perhaps we should just have some breakfast and figure the rest out on full stomachs.”
Ransom’s mouth is a thin line. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Bram echoes.
They each stalk away, one back to the fire, the other outside, his lips still raw from where I kissed him. My fingers slip to the pocket of my skirt, and once again, cold emptiness greets me.
Someone followed you. Bram’s words filter into my mind, and I blink the sting of them away.
Surely, not Father. He would have called it the portal of Erybrus, would have done everything in his power to close it up. All the better for him, ridding himself once and for all of such a wicked daughter. Better to bury an empty coffin than enter a demon realm.
I wonder what he is telling those back in Rixton. That I am dead? That I have gone to Idlewild and shall never return? Whatever lie is on his lips, I am sure he likes the way it tastes.
That is what breaks me, I think. Softens my anger to wretched grief.
I draw a thumb across my own mouth, remembering the feel of Ransom there, so bitter and delicate. His hands on my hips, my waist, higher and higher…
No, he wouldn’t steal the bell, would he? What purpose would it serve? Taking what he wants and trapping me here? It wouldn’t…
A shadow crosses in front of one of the windows, and I look out to the sea of red beyond. Ransom sits on the chopping block, jacket still swung over his shoulder. He rummages for something in his sewing pouch, and breath sticks like glue in my lungs.
