“—love you.” This he said while tilting backward, tipping toward the floor.
“No!” Isobel screamed, her cry echoing through the hall the moment before the crash sounded.
Bursting along all the refitted lines and reconstructed fissures, the Noc’s doubled body exploded, several shards pinging her shoes.
Isobel collapsed to her knees, her hands leaping to grasp at the skating shards as she watched the blackness in his solitary eye snap out.
The back of his skull had caved inward. The sleeves of his jacket, Varen’s jacket—their jacket—had flattened out along with the Noc’s black clothing.
In less than a second, Pinfeathers had executed his own demise, and as far as Isobel could tell, the only part of him that had survived total annihilation was his face.
Faces.
Split down the middle, the two halves lay like masks atop the debris.
Isobel took hold of the jacket.
She pulled the garment from the rubble, causing splintered bits of Virginia’s fractured portrait to tumble and scatter free, broken now for good.
“I love you, too,” she whispered into the collar, hugging the jacket close. “Both of you.”
24
Mummer
For a long time, Isobel continued to hold the jacket close, eyes closed.
rginia’s stead, Madeline, clad in her violet evening gown, her hair pinned with that rhinestone comb, now occupied the bench of a grand piano, the same one that sat in the parlor of Varen’s house.
The built-in shelves of blacked-out picture frames materialized on the wall at the phantom’s back. Decorative curtains spilled down to flank the window.
Everything looked just as it had the first time Isobel had seen the memory through the TV, on that night she’d found Pinfeathers waiting for her in her family’s living room. And again, after she’d entered the reversed dreamworld version of Varen’s house.
The memory. Could it have switched because . . . ?
Slowly the Noc turned in place, and Isobel had her answer.
His left eye—Scrimshaw’s—had gone empty. On his right side, a black eye blinked at her once more.
“Low blow,” Pinfeathers said. “But then, we told you to aim for the heart, didn’t we?”
“Pinfeathers,” she breathed, her shoulders sagging in relief.
“For now, yes. But while we’re all here and accounted for—mostly—allow us, if you will, to tell you one other thing before we go. Before I go. Well, make that two things.”
“Please,” Isobel said, her eyes flickering to the memory of Madeline as she played the notes of Varen’s lullaby, humming softly along. A glitch froze the scene, and then the notes and their player restarted. Distantly, Isobel wondered what it all meant, why the memories of Varen and Poe were linked to their Nocs. She knew she didn’t have time to ask for an answer to that mystery, though. Not when Pinfeathers was talking about leaving. She knew him better now than to assume his plan was merely to dissipate and depart.
She sensed that they were both done with running.
“You can’t go,” she said. “Not yet. I still need your help.”
“I have helped you,” the Noc replied. “And will yet. You’ll see. We were sleep-flying before you woke us up. Practicing what we’ve learned, crossing thresholds while trying our best not to wake you before you were ready to see us as we really are—holes and all. And what the crow has seen, the pigeon knows. Besides, you heard Fossil Face. I think you know as well as I do that it’s better for the both of us—for all of us, really—if we . . . if I don’t stick around. Though first I must attest that old scribble-necked codger is a great fat liar. That drawn-out bit about begging?” The Noc folded his arms. “Never happened.”
Isobel shook her head. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”
“Item number one,” the Noc said, ignoring her. He withdrew several steps, striding directly through the repeating memory of Madeline. As if the memory had been composed of smoke, the entire image disappeared, swirling away to once more reveal the interior of the white chamber. “Good-bye, cheerleader.”
She started after him, alarm spurring her forward. “Wait—”