‘Do not!’ screamed Opal.
Rupert cut off the bird’s head.
Theodora leaped for the boy and almost reached him, but Opal raised Dot’s severed finger and out shot a powerful blast of magic. Archie and Dot were thrown back against the chimney while Theodora, Lio and Belchamber were swept clean off the roof. Theodora scrambled, caught herself on the gutter, vaulted up and back onto the tiles and just as she did, she saw Opal’s chalk-white fingers on Rupert’s shirtfront, shaking him violently. Opal pummelled and slapped the boy; in his shock, Rupert let go of the bread knife and Opal snatched it up. She raised it. And buried it deep in Rupert’s chest.
‘Rupert!’ Theodora screamed.
Opal stabbed and stabbed the boy.
Rupert turned his head to glance at Theodora, at Lio climbing over the brim of the roof behind her. Lio screamed for him as the knife tore through the boy’s clothes and skin. The sound of it was grotesque. Rupert pulsed each time the knife drove in, the pressure beating his body against the roof. Archie and Dot crawled along the tiles toward him. Somewhere in the water and debris, Belchamber bobbed. The red-haired boy blinked, his features almost surprised. He watched his family running for him as blood trickled from his mouth.
Theodora sent a tumult of magic at Opal, and the deranged young woman was vaulted from Rupert. Opal screamed. She flew through the air, dropping the knife. She summoned the raven’s ruined body and snatched it. Opal dove at last into a portal.
Theodora scooped Rupert into her arms.
‘Rupe?’ said the witch, her voice breaking.
Lio, drenched in sea water, took up Rupert’s hand.
Dot, still beside the chimney, covered her mouth with her hands.
The old man beside her hung his head.
‘Rupert,’ Lio whispered. Then, he began to cry, in coarse, heavy blows.
The boy stared back at them. Staring, but not seeing.
Theodora crumbled around him, her whole body shaking as she rocked silently.
Rupert was still. His lungs, paused; his heart, silent.
He had died as Theodora held him, the boy who would never be seventeen.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
It was Theodora who cast the portal, but Dot who led them through.
Someone had scooped up Belchamber from the water. Lio, probably. Someone clasped onto her right arm. Archie, probably. Dot knew only her own feet slipping up the wet tiled roof. Later, she would not understand how she did it: her body broken, severed and cauterised. She should have collapsed. But there was the boy, dead, in Theodora’s arms, and Dot could hardly spare a moment’s consideration for herself. Dot took Rupert’s hand, his fingers already losing their warmth, slowly casting away the last echoes of him. The sound of his voice. They would never hear it again.
He was a memory, now, fading, doomed to be warped slightly by every recollection. His blue eyes. His height. Little by little she would forget him, just as she had forgotten Emily.
Dot tugged Theodora into the portal.
They landed on grass with a soft, dull thud.
They were on a hillside overlooking a valley. Behind them was a little white cottage. Theodora buckled, still clinging to the body. Belchamber stirred and clambered down from Lio’s arms. His eyes were bright. The magic, it seemed, was gone from him. The spirit hung his head. Lio turned from the others. Archie rubbed hisown eyes with rough fingertips. Dot merely stared. First, at the boy and then at the place where her middle finger should have been, and then around at the rooftops peeking out of the valley below them, blanketed with willows.
A door opened.
Sodden footsteps.
A man called out.
Then, he was in front of them. Grey hair, dark skin, a wide nose and clever eyes. He wore spectacles. He was wrapped in a cardigan, and he stared at Theodora.
‘Tessa?’
The cottage was cramped. The windows were small. The library Theodora had once described was no more than a corner nook with a spray of books stacked upon a side table. Dampness hung in the air, but the living room fire was warm upon their sodden clothes, and the cohort hovered awkwardly around it, except for Dot, who had at last felt the onslaught of her fatigue. She curled up on the sofa, her eyes barely open.
