“How did you deal with it?”
Anne shrugged. “I suppose I just decided that what happens, happens.”
“But we can change what’s going to happen. We can prepare. Head things off.”
“How am I supposed to prepare against all of that?”
“It’s not like we’ve done nothing,” I said. “You’re far better protected now than you were a few years ago. Something like that kidnap attempt back when you lived in Honor Oak wouldn’t work if they tried it again.”
“I suppose.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I . . .” Anne hesitated. “I suppose . . . deep down, I don’t think it makes a difference.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Any of it. Wards, plans . . .” Anne looked down at her clasped hands. “It feels as though in the end, if something like that is going to happen . . . then there’s no point fighting it.”
I frowned at Anne. “You really think that?”
“Sometimes,” Anne said. She shook her head and stood. “Come to bed.”
An hour later found me back on the futon, staring up at the ceiling. I needed to rest—I had an early appointment tomorrow—but the conversation with Anne had bothered me, and when I finally drifted off, it wasn’t to sleep.
I wandered the landscapes of Elsewhere, feeling the world shift and change. Before this year I never would have come here so casually, but with the dreamstone and Arachne’s tuition, I’d become almost as comfortable in Elsewhere as outside it. I walked through halls of marble, gleaming pillars reaching to arching ceilings. The marble halls became a ruined city, the city became a mountaintop, the mountaintop a castle, the castle a forest, the forest . . .
. . . stayed a forest. Oak and beech trees stretched up above, birds singing in the branches. It took me a moment to realise where I was, and when I did, my first instinct was to turn away.
Usually when you visit someone else’s version of Elsewhere, it’s because they’re in Elsewhere too. Either that or you can find them in their dreams and lead them here. But it’s possible, with a delicate enough touch, to travel to a part of Elsewhere shaped by someone else’s sleeping mind without waking or disturbing them. There’s little reason to do it, since in most cases you’ll find something vague and unfinished, like an artist’s sketchbook. But Anne’s Elsewhere is more real and more defined than anyone else’s that I’ve ever met, for reasons that are both good and bad. I hesitated, on the verge of stepping back into my own dreams. There was only one other person to talk to here, and the thought of that conversation made me uncomfortable.
But what’s comfortable and what’s necessary are usually different things.
I followed the path until the trees fell away to reveal black glass walls, looming up to block out the sunlight. Absentmindedly I created an opening large enough for me to pass, letting it disappear again once I was through. Inside the walls was a bare flat plaza, broken by a black tower reaching up to a cloudy sky. I walked to the tower, opened a door that took form at my hand, and descended.
The spiral staircase wound its way down around a central well. White spheres glowed from the walls, set at even intervals, but the black materials of the tower soaked up the light. I kept descending until I reached a landing. There was only one door, made out of solid metal, thick and heavy. Three bolts held it shut. I slid them back one after another, then opened the door.
Inside the room was a young woman, with black shoulder-length hair and reddish brown eyes, wearing a black dress that left her arms bare. She was seated on an iron throne, though not by choice. Manacles of black metal were fastened at her ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists, holding her legs to the side of the throne and her arms behind its back. Chains disappeared from the manacles into holes in the throne, with only a link or two visible at each. A collar at her neck kept her back straight and her head against the headrest, but her eyes were open and turned towards me. “Oh, look,” she said. “Visiting hours at the prison.”
The girl in the chair had many names. Dr. Shirland called her Anne’s shadow. Anne didn’t use a name at all, just “her.” I’d thought of her as not-Anne, but after the events of last year I’d started thinking that “Dark Anne” might be more accurate. I’d asked her once what she wanted to be called, and she’d told me just to call her Anne. There was a message there.
“How are you doing?” I said.
“Oh, fine, fine.” Dark Anne tilted her head with the small amount of movement she was allowed. “Sitting down here chained alone in the dark has really been a positive experience for me. I feel like I’ve grown as a person, you know?”
I walked across the room towards her. “Well, your sense of sarcasm seems in good shape.”
“Yeah, because there’s so much else to do. So what made you finally show up?”
“I figured I was due.”
“Or because your last chat with real-world me didn’t go the way you wanted?”
“If you already knew, why did you ask?”
“I wanted to see what bullshit excuse you’d come up with. And yes, I heard all of it. Funny thing about being stuck here—I can hear what’s going on outside just fine. Can’t talk, can’t feel, but I can sit around and watch everything my other self gets to do to enjoy herself.” Dark Anne raised her eyebrows. “And yes, in case you’re wondering, that does mean everything.”
I looked at her.
“By the way, you really ought to be more aggressive about—”
“You can stop there.”
Dark Anne smirked at me. “Suit yourself.” The chains clinked as she shifted on the throne. “So let me guess. Her whole ‘que será, será’ attitude didn’t make you very happy, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Aww. What’s the problem? Feel like you know what’s best for her? She’s not being a good little girl and doing as she’s told?”
I looked back.
“I know, I know. You diviners are all about preparation and planning. Must be really annoying for someone to point out how useless it is, right?”
“Do you have anything useful to say, or are you just going to take cheap shots?”
Dark Anne shrugged. “I don’t know, what’s in it for me?”
“Well, there’s the little detail that anything that happens to Anne happens to you,” I said. “So I’d say you’ve got a personal stake in this. Unless you think Anne’s wait-and-see plan is a good one.”
“No, her plan’s dumb as shit. Here’s the bad news: you aren’t going to change her mind.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You really haven’t figured it out?” Dark Anne cocked her head. “Let’s put it another way. Who do you think I am?”
“You’re the side of Anne that Anne can’t or won’t deal with. Aggressive, ruthless, self-centred. You told me you were born in Sagash’s shadow realm, but that wasn’t really true. You were always there.”
“Well, well. Someone’s been talking with Dr. Shirland.”
“I answered your question,” I said. “Now answer mine. Why do you think Anne won’t change her mind?”
“Not won’t, can’t,” Dark Anne said. “Think about it. According to you, I’m the evil side of Anne that’s all nasty and ruthless, not like the real Anne, who’s all sweetness and light. So here’s a question for you. Which one of us do you think’s better at fighting to stay alive?”
“You think it’s you.”
“Of course it’s me, you frigging idiot. I am the side of her personality that got split off specifically to handle life-and-death situations. Except that instead of doing that, I’m chained up down here in the dark where I can’t reach anyone or do anything, while Little Miss Perfect gets to run the show. And now you’re like, gosh, her decision-making when it comes to all this dark and scary stuff doesn’t seem all that good anymore. Hey, I wonder whose fault it is. What do you think, Alex? Who’s the reason things ended up this way?”