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Marcus whistled a snappy tune as he entered the district attorneys office. He could have sent Helena, but he hated to miss an opportunity to tease his favorite prosecutor. Hed also been surprised to find the indictment had come down on Harris almost immediately. It might have just been the poor guys bad luck that the grand jury was meeting the same day he was arrested, but Marcus wanted to know if someone was pushing the case forward. Why couldnt she just leave her alone? This wasnt about the bookshop, this was about the mould they wanted her to fit, be the person best suited to their simple dynamic. Everything had to be normal. Her family had a set trajectory, a prescribed altitude and direction that allowed no deviance. All her mothers talk of getting out of her room, living life, meeting people… Her mother should’ve been over the moon finding her in the pub, drinking with boys. But this wasn’t done under her terms. Mum doesnt say so. Does he call her Pickle? Emma is the only thing that matters. Tell me who he is. That was part of his torture routine—leaving me to wonder what he was about to do. The camera was rolling, and I dug deep to control the fear edging its way up my spine as my body began to tremble.How long have I been here? I glanced at the wall where Id scratched off days until theyd all become a blur of pain and humiliation.Two weeks? Three? I think Ive been a bit harsher than usual with Catherine recently. Im sorry for that, I think. She doesnt seem troubled by it the way I am. She accepts it all. It was her act of rebellion, a little interlude of partying and acting up and giving the vicar a reason to go out of his mind. I don’t think I can leave it at that. You see, bits have been coming back. You know that feeling when you see something random and it reminds you of a dream you had when you were a child? It’s like that. Suddenly, I’m asking questions of myself. I have a memory of a dark, wet, sparkling place. I can tastethe taste you get after you’ve had a filling – like iron filings and chemicals. More than anything else, I can see the girl I haven’t let myself think about in three decades. Freya. Red hair. White lines on her arms. Older than us. She was there, I know she was. She never said goodbye. Left, like she’d left all the other schools. I’ve started looking for her, Catherine. I know I said I wouldn’t, but I have. I’ve started looking into myself as well. There are pictures there. Not memories, but echoes. Something that comes to me when I sleep. Do you remember the old caretaker? The man in the woods who used to talk to us about oneness and vibrations and journeys between different planes of reality? I’ve been thinking of him a lot. You tell me I shouldn’t hang around with my friends at the farm but they’re good listeners, and they help me find the frequency I lost that day. I know it will come back to me. Eve is worrying about me too. She’s been worrying for 30 years. Do you remember that day I called her Mum by accident? Oh my God I’m still so embarrassed. What are you now, Shan? Why are you back? Three, wasnt it? There were three, Im sure. Karens mouth gaped open, and she shook her head. You cant do that, Dakota. Hell kill you or take you prisoner again. Finally Shan turned back to her and made the return trip. Released from his attention, the messenger collapsed. By the time Elayne had helped him back to his feet and he had taken off for the town again, Shan stood next to the carriage. Naul scrambled to his feet, yapping for joy until Shan shushed him. He was talking to somebody, says Violet. A noise in the night woke her. Only cold air met her when she rolled over. There was no sign of Shan, just a faint outline in the furs and blankets where he had lain. Beyond the shelter of the tent, the fire had dwindled away to a dull red glow and the chill in the night made her shiver. They moved southwest with the inevitability of the seasons, descending from the snow plains through the foothills and into a world that didnt know snow. Flowers littered the undulating meadows and the seed-heavy grass swayed in the breeze. Her bare feet catch on tree roots; risen from the muddy ground like swollen veins. Sharp pebbles puncture her skin: the sting eclipsed a moment later by the sensuous suck and pull of warm mud and dew-moistened grass. She is only dimly aware of these sensations. Could not speak if she wanted to. Her throat is afire: her tongue swollen; the taste of rotten bark filling her mouth and nose. Youre Shistra-Phail, in training at least. And born with innate magic, so your training will fall to me, Indarin told her firmly. Jeren thanked the Lady he didnt say serpent-born, the phrase they normally used to describe those like her, cursed with magic in their blood. It was his last request. He claimed you as such, Indarin replied at last. He did so in front of us all. Do you really mean to tell me that he never discussed it with you first? Orangery! she repeats. Ha! Is there an Appley? Do we get there by walking down a Lemony Snicket? Orangery – thats funny …,.