Read Lumière (The Illumination Paradox) Online
Authors: Jacqueline E. Garlick
Lumière (The Illumination Paradox) (46 page)
“What’s all this?”
I slip through the door of the Compound and Iris is upon me, arms around my neck, squeezing me as tight as she can. Peeling the gasmask from my face, I pet her head. “My goodness,” I say, as she sobs on my shoulder.
“She was afraid you was never comin’ back, Mum.” C.L. says. He creeps out of the shadows into the shaky aether light of the hallway.
I must admit, I wasn’t sure myself. It was a wicked journey through the Vapour-laced woods all alone. If it hadn’t been for Pan, I’d never have found the way. The ascent up the side of the escarpment at the edge of Embers was the biggest test. I’m just thankful I didn’t run into more Turned.
“At any rate, you’re ’
ere
, now.” C.L. flashes me a toothless grin. A merry sight, I must say. Reaching up with a toe he guides a tear from his cheek, and a soggy lump forms in my throat. How little I’ve known of these people, and yet how much they’ve given me of their hearts.
“Yes, I am and don’t you worry.” I turn to Iris, cupping her cheeks. “Urlick will be back soon, too.”
She half grins, then her eyes fill with tears. “I mean it.” I thumb her tears away. “You have my word. Nothing’s going to happen to him. Not as long as I still
breathe.
”
Iris pulls me in, hugs me again. Cleansing steam coils up from the vents at our feet, filling the tiny alcove with its sharp Creolin scent. I take in a deep breath, glad to back at the Compound; glad to be breathing safe air.
Something small lands thump against my knees, knocking me off balance. A pair of tiny hands clutches my skirts. I look down to see a mop of fiery red curls cascading over the back of emerald dress. “Hello, Miss Cordelia,” I say.
She looks up at me, her big brown eyes sparkling with tears. “I thought you were dead,” she whispers.
“A popular consensus round here,” I jest, falling to my knees. Though my humor fizzles, unappreciated. “Look at me,” I say, taking little Cordelia’s face in my hands. “I want you to promise me, you’ll never think that way again. We are our thoughts, you know? So we must always try
hard
to keep our thoughts positive. Do you understand?”
She snivels and nods her head.
“Besides,” I pull her in for a quick hug, “the ones we love never die as long as we keep them alive in our hearts. Did you know that?” She shakes her head and sucks her lip. “Well, now you do.” I bounce a finger off the end of her nose. “Promise me you’ll remember that, no matter what happens?”
She nods again. “Good.” I lean forward, planting a kiss on her forehead.
“Is Bertie with you?” she whispers softly.
“Oh,” I take a breath, “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say, running a hand through her hair. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”
Her brown eyes brim with tears.
“Now, now, remember what just I told you?” She gulps, trying to swallow them back. “We’ll keep Bertie alive in our hearts,” I press her hand to her chest, “so he’s never really gone. How’s that?” She grins. “And when Urlick gets home, we’ll build another Bertie, together in his honor. Bertie junior we’ll call him. And we’ll start with these.” I pull Bertie’s scorched headlights from my pocket and lay them in her hand.
“About that,” C.L. interrupts. “Not to throw a damper on the party, but ’
ave
you given any thought to ’
ow
you’ll
get
to Urlick without the ’
elp
of Bertie?”
“I was rather hoping maybe you and Iris might have a plan.”
Iris chews her lip, looks away.
“I’m afraid we’re fresh out, Mum.”
“Well then,” I stand, rolling my hands together, my mind a flurry of thought, “without Bertie, I’ve no other choice but to use Clementine to go back to the city—”
“Clementine? But you’ll be spotted on ’
orse
for sure.”
The glint of Ida’s locket hanging around Cordelia’s neck catches my eye. I take it in my hand, rolling my thumb over the angel wing etching on the front of it. A wry smile warms my lips. “On an ordinary horse, perhaps…”
“I beg your pardon, Mum?”
“Do you have some parchment and some ink handy?”
Iris races off to find what I need, returning seconds later.
“What are you thinking?” C.L. asks, passing me the pen.
“I’m thinking Urlick’s not the only one who can make something fly.”
Cordelia claps her hands and giggles.
“Iris, the paper please.” She rolls the parchment out over a table at the end of the hall and inks the well. I dunk the nib and start to draw.
“An armored ’
orse,
Mum.” C.L. says, watching over my shoulder. “You planning on storming the city in a Trojan?
“Better than that,” I say, adding the finishing touches. “Have you ever heard of Pegasus?”
“Yes, Mum.” C.L. nods his head.
“Well, imagine Pegasus in an armored suit and a set of mechanical raven wings.”
Cordelia jumps up and down on the spot. Iris’s eyes shine.
“We’ll have to hurry, though.” I complete the sketch and spin it around for all to see. “We don’t have much time. I figure together we’ll be able to finish the armor and wings by late tomorrow,” I turn to C.L., “and then we can leave by mid-day the next.”
“We?” he swallows.
I twist the pen in my hand. “Well, I was kind of hoping you’d come with me.”
C.L.’s eyes grow big.
“I’ll need a wingman and I hear you’re the best—”
C.L. bursts into a smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way!”
“Good.” I take a breath. “And Iris, you’ll stay here with Cordelia in case by the grace of God Urlick comes back on his own?”
She nods.
“Wonderful. Now”—I rub my hands together—“once we get there, we’ll have to create some sort of diversion.” I pace. “Elsewise, we’ll be arrested the second we set foot in Brethren. Wanted posters of me hang on every street corner. You should see it. It’s a mess. Even the Northerners will be looking for me by now.” I turn to C.L, shaking my head. “This is not going to be easy.”
“Nothing worth doing ever is, Mum.” His lips curl up into a Cheshire-like smile. “But I think I know just the people to ’
elp
us.”
“You do?” I turn.
C.L.’s eyes alight. His pupil's glow. He dips his toes into his waistcoat pocket and pulls out a weathered-looking old poster. Stretching it out over the table, he presses out the seams, revealing a full color illustration of a travelling freak show. The faces of five or more tortured individuals peer up from the weathered page like animals behind their cage bars. The one to the far left looks suspiciously like C.L.
“I know them, Mum.” His eyes flash. “They’s
good
people. If only we was able to commandeer the train before it gets to the city, they’d be more than ’
appy
to ’
elp
us free Urlick—”
“What are you saying?”
“The show’s due to arrive in Brethren in two days time. If we was to overthrow the freak master and steal his train, we could ride it into the city.”
“Are you suggesting we shanghai the travelling freak show, and what? Tie up its master?”
“I prefer we kill him, but sure—”
“Have you lost your mind?!”
“Can you think of a better diversion?”
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--Jacqueline
Up-coming books by Jacqueline Garlick
The Illumination Paradox Series
Book Two:
Noir
Book Three:
Soleil
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A Novella:
The Epitome of Eyelet
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It takes a village to build a great story. I say “story” because that’s what counts, isn’t it? The story. Not the book.
On that note, I’d like to begin by thanking my story development coach, editor, and above all, one of my dearest friends, Lorin Oberweger, without whose counsel (and unyielding encouragement)
Lumière
would literally have been only half the story it is today—and me only half the person I am. Hugs. I would also like to thank the resilient and brilliant Kerry Vail for her many insights, and additions to this manuscript, and David Gatewood, whose talented eye helped to strengthen my every word.
A special thanks to my ninja agent Josh Adams, for his belief in me. Thank-yous go out to early draft readers and cheerleaders, Veronica Rossi, Katherine Longshore, Kjersten Ann Hayes, Donna Walker, Lia Keyes and Kristen Crowley Held, whose counsel helped to shape the story early on. Also to R. J. Anderson, whose kind words of encouragement (telling me I had in fact
not
made a mess of everything) picked me up when I stumbled and, gave me the strength to carry on, as did the wise words of Kathleen Duey, and of Emma D. Dryden, as well as her edits. And thanks be to Hazel Mitchell for her helpful British-isms. And to Naomi Canale and Heather Hamilton-Senter for their keen eyes.
And then there is Rosemary Danielis, my dear friend and biggest advocate, to whom I owe a great debt. Not only has she helped me to see the world in a very different way, she’s helped me embrace it, and we’ve all benefited from her wisdom. To Jennifer Pun for countless things and bountiful friendship. And to my rock, and very first writing friend in the business, Stacie Ramey, thanks for the endless love, support and encouragement you’ve given me throughout this journey (P.S. there may or may not be a bear in the cabin, but I will always have snacks). To my mentor and role model Ellen Hopkins, who saw a spark in my early writing and nurtured the flame, taking me under her wing, there aren’t enough words. Your ongoing support and encouragement has opened up a whole new world inside my heart and my soul. Thank you so much.
To Suzy Williams and Lynda Sandoval, early encouragers, and to all my friends and (writing) family, too many to mention—you know who you are—who have touched my life on this journey to publication, from Niagara to LA to Nevada, California and New York. Thank you all.
Lastly, I would like to thank my children, who’ve endured eating one-legged turkeys in my absence and who have graciously shaken off being shushed. And to my first reader, copyeditor, proofreader, business manager, best friend, and above all, the love of my life—my husband Sean, who from the very beginning believed in me enough to read through countless drafts, some good, some bad, and some downright ugly, but who is always there to cheer me up and cheer me on.
Love always and forever. J
