“Everything is exactly as it should be,” Miranda said with a slow smile. “Your task has been completed, I assume?”
“Of course.” It had been ten years since Corinthe’s exile as an Executor, and not once had Corinthe failed to complete an assignment. “And your night? What were you up to this time … more trolley rides?”
Miranda’s eyes flashed, but her smile did not fade. “My night went exceptionally well. And I have good news for you.” Like a magician pulling cards, she produced a marble with a flourish. “This is your last task, Corinthe. And then you can go home.”
“The last one?” Shock and joy swelled in her chest. Would she really be allowed to return to her home now? “Are you sure? How do you know?”
Miranda’s smile became more playful. “I have my ways. You trust me, don’t you?”
Corinthe nodded. Trust was another human concept, a concept she had never known or particularly needed before Humana. Miranda had taught her to trust.
The marble was cool in Corinthe’s hand. She thought it felt even heavier than usual. She gazed at it in the soft moonlight, could see the shadows inside it shifting, resolving. The marble seemed particularly cloudy, which meant the fate had been more disturbed by chance than most. Whatever the job was, it would need her full focus.
Inside the marble’s swirling dark colors, a hand became visible. Corinthe’s hand—it had to be; because it held her knife. She squinted and held the marble closer. The figure in front of the knife was backlit by the rising sun, featureless.
Though she could not see a face, one thing was clear.
Someone would die.
A chill went through her. Someone would die by her hand. Usually she only assisted in orchestrating deaths: accidents, things that would be called unlucky. But Corinthe knew there was no such thing as luck.
Though she’d trained for it, she’d never actually been called upon to kill. She’d never seen herself in a marble before. Never had her own future been closely entwined with a human’s.
She swallowed against the rising wave of panic. She understood now. The Unseen Ones were testing her. This was the task that would prove she was ready to return home. She was practiced and strong. She couldn’t fail now.
“When?” Corinthe asked, hoping that Miranda couldn’t see how nervous she was.
“In the morning, at the first light of dawn.”
“So soon?” Corinthe couldn’t stop herself from saying. She had to kill someone in less than five hours?
“You’re not eager to go home?” Miranda frowned.
“Of course I am,” Corinthe said. A tiny spark of hope ignited deep inside her chest. All these years she’d never allowed herself to hope too much, just in case. Was it really possible? Would she finally be allowed to return to Pyralis?
The light in Miranda’s eyes shifted. She grinned again, just enough to reveal white teeth, sharp as knives. Her right incisor extended down farther, sharper than the rest. She reached out and ran her hand over Corinthe’s cheek. “We have done so well all these years. We deserve this. You deserve it.”
Corinthe nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Miranda reached into her pocket. “I have something else for you. I’ve been waiting a long time, until the time was right, to give it to you.”
She pulled out a long chain and slipped it over Corinthe’s head. On it was a tarnished silver oval the size and shape of a walnut that hung low over Corinthe’s chest.
Corinthe loved pretty jewelry, especially things that sparkled. This necklace was so plain it bordered on ugly.
Still, a gift—even an unattractive one—was a gift.
“Thank you,” she said politely, as she had learned was customary in Humana.
Miranda laughed. “It’s not meant to be pretty.” She turned it over. On the back of the oval was a tiny button. When pushed, the walnut split in half on a tiny hinge, opening; a tinny music began to play, and the figurine of a ballerina began to pirouette.
Longing, fierce and hot, rose in Corinthe’s chest. She knew that melody. It was the same one Miranda hummed every day.
“What—what is it?” Corinthe’s heart pounded wildly against her ribs and threatened to burst right out of her chest. The ballerina spun, flashing, in the dark; she couldn’t look away. “Where did you get it?”
“This is the compass that will guide you to the thing you want the most,” Miranda said. “When you find yourself inside the Crossroad, the dancer will stop and point you in the right direction.”
The thing she wanted most?
To return to Pyralis.
Home.
“Don’t take it off. Above all, don’t lose it. It’s the only way to find your way through the Crossroad when the time comes.”
Corinthe turned the small music box over and over in her hand but couldn’t see any mechanisms that made the ballerina spin. “I have to cross more than one world to return?” The thought of navigating the Crossroad, something only the Messengers did, made her stomach flip. She was certainly strong enough, but still—the Crossroad was dark and lawless. The danger of it was deep and psychological; it mirrored your own state.
When she’d first been pulled through the Crossroad into Humana, her heart had been full of chaos and confusion. She had felt as if she were getting violently torn apart. But now she was older: determined and capable. She’d earned the right to go home. …
“Will you become the Guardian of another Executor when I’m gone?” Corinthe’s voice cracked a little. She would miss Miranda, who’d been her only friend for so long.
Miranda touched Corinthe’s face briefly. “I don’t know what will happen next.”
Corinthe felt a tug of concern. Miranda had been almost like that special human thing: a mother. Corinthe hated the idea that Miranda might be alone after she left.
“Don’t worry.” Miranda smiled, as if she could see Corinthe’s thoughts. “Everything will be as it should. You’re ready. And as long as you have the compass, you’ll find your way.”
Corinthe closed her fist around the locket. Holding it in her hand, solid and real, loosened the tightness in her chest. She could travel the Crossroad. A grin spread over her face. It was finally happening. The locket was suddenly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.
She jumped up and then pulled Miranda up with her.
“Shall we walk together?” Miranda said. “One last time, to celebrate? Then I, too, have an errand to perform.”
“In a little while,” Corinthe said. She just wanted a few minutes alone to think. To prepare for the task at hand.
“Don’t be too long,” Miranda said. “And, Corinthe?”
Corinthe turned to her Guardian. Miranda’s eyes were as dark as the ocean. The wind blew her hair around and above her, making it appear as though she was crowned with a ring of writhing serpents. She smiled, and her eyes flashed momentarily green—the vivid color of a firefly’s wings.
“I’ll miss you,” Miranda said. “When you’re gone.”
6
“They won’t support what you’re trying to do.”
Miranda ignored the girl’s voice. “One cappuccino, please,” she said to the barista behind the counter. Miranda didn’t even drink coffee, but she enjoyed Fiend, the narrow, wood-paneled coffee shop in the Mission filled with a collection of mismatched stools and mismatched people: pink-haired, pierced and punctured, tattooed, and stinking of various human smells. It was chaotic and disorganized and everything she loved.