Chapter Thirty-Two #2
“Two times,” she murmured. “I have had my freedom threatened two times. Once by my father, when he threatened to take away my inheritance, and once by Francis Gladwell, when he stole the only thing that might have allowed me to live without an inheritance.” She shook her head.
“I won’t have my freedom threatened a third time, Vesper.
Not by you, not by anyone.” She withdrew her hand from her pocket slowly, and Vesper stilled as she caught the silver gleam of a small revolver in the moonlight.
Ada pointed directly at her as she advanced, and Vesper mirrored the movement by taking a step backward onto the edge of the frozen lake.
“Ada.” Vesper tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Think about this. Think about what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I am thinking,” said Ada. She was calm, her tone light.
“My plan didn’t work with Francis, but there’s no reason that the Illuminator can’t be reintroduced in a few months’ time with a new inventor puppet.
People’s memories are short, especially when it involves things they don’t really understand.
All I have to do is wait awhile, then I’ll find another willing proxy to present my idea.
It’s a foolproof plan. So long as I make sure I don’t leave any loose ends.
” Her expression changed, almost apologetic. “No offense.”
She moved forward, and Vesper took another step onto the ice. In the moonlight, she couldn’t see well, and she had no idea how thick or thin the ice underfoot was. Ada took another step forward onto the ice, and a crack splintered across the surface. “Ada, we need to—”
“Don’t worry,” the young woman said sweetly.
She hadn’t lowered her arm. “I’ll make sure to tell everyone exactly what happened: that a young ambitious reporter working undercover got tangled up in an investigation with a notorious gang, and lost her life in the process.
They’ll remember you as a hero.” She tilted her head.
“Someday, perhaps I’ll name one of my inventions after you, to honor your memory. ”
She took another step forward, and this time Vesper was sure of it. A hairline crack appeared in the ice between them. Sudden panic seized her.
“Ada, you have to stop—”
“Goodbye, Vesper.” Ada’s expression was placid, almost dreamlike. She cocked the gun with a loud click that reverberated across the frozen lake. “I won’t forget you.”
Vesper watched it happen in pieces, like photographs taken in rapid succession.
Ada stepped forward and a long crack splintered through the ice and between her feet with an ominous pop.
Her eyes widened as understanding and terror dawned on her.
She scrambled back at once, trying to get to shore again, but the sudden movement only deepened the crack.
Vesper saw what was going to happen a second before it did.
“Ada, don’t!”
Ada’s heel came down hard, and a deep crack splintered through the ice.
Vesper felt something give underfoot, and then she was falling.
She was plunging into freezing water. She screamed.
For several seconds, the world was quiet as she sank below the surface, but something innate drove Vesper to keep her eyes open.
Kick. She gathered the last of her strength and forced her body to move, kicking until her head broke the surface again.
She gasped as freezing night air stung her skin.
“Ada!”
The young woman hadn’t moved. She was staring at Vesper in terror.
“Ada, please!” Vesper scrabbled at the edge of the ice, trying to find purchase. She wouldn’t be able to get herself out on her own. “Help me, please!”
The girl looked at her for a long while. “I’m sorry, Vesper. I truly am.”
“Ada—”
She watched, pained, as Ada slowly rose and inched back toward the bank.
As soon as she was off the ice, she began to run.
Vesper watched as her form grew smaller and smaller.
New panic seized her. She was alone now, and the temperature was dropping fast. She remembered suddenly that no one knew she was out here.
Everyone was inside at the party, and didn’t even know she was missing.
By the time she was found, she’d likely be dead.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe, to keep calm as she tried to think of a plan.
“Vesper?”
The phantom voice in her head sounded like Max’s but she knew better than to trust it.
She’d read accounts of people who’d nearly frozen to death—hallucinations were a common symptom.
Perhaps this was what was happening now; she was hallucinating, freezing to death.
Her internal voice told her that if Max’s voice got to be the last one she heard, she was lucky. She took a deep breath in and out.
“Vesper!”
Vesper opened her eyes. That was no phantom voice. She searched the lake’s shoreline in the dark, trying to find the owner of that too-familiar voice. Finally, her gaze locked on something—a silhouette, a single tall form in the dark.
Max.
“Vesper!” There was fear in the sorcerer’s eyes. “I’m coming to get you! Don’t move!” He hesitated, then took a step onto the ice. At once, a series of pops sounded across the lake.
“Don’t!” Vesper rasped. “The ice is too thin, you’ll fall through!”
He was too far away for her to see his face well, but she saw him comb his fingers through his curls. Finally, he seemed to think of something. He dug into his pocket and pulled out something small.
“I’m going to get you to shore!” he said. “Just hang on!” He took a deep breath and extended his arms. Vesper was too far to see his mouth move, but she imagined he was uttering an incantation.
“Max, no!” Vesper’s voice was faint, but she spoke as loudly as she could manage. “Don’t do it, it’ll hurt you!”
Maximilian didn’t answer, but she thought she heard him shout a rude word and shake his head.
He held out both hands, palm-down. Then, without warning, he turned them simultaneously, and Vesper felt a surge of air billow underneath her.
It lifted her out of the water and carried her across the lake.
Her stomach swooped as she started to descend, but Maximilian’s arms were already outstretched, waiting.
She landed in his arms hard, and they both toppled to the ground.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re all right,” Max whispered in her ear. His arms tightened around her, holding her against his chest. “I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you, Vesper.”
Vesper held on to him like a life preserver, like he was the last thing tethering her to this world and keeping her from being ripped into the next. She held on to him until the world faded to a hush.