Page 56 of The Black Key

She sounds jealous and I don’t blame her. The gown Miss Mayfield has fashioned for Carnelian is unlike any ball gown I’ve ever seen. The skirt is made of chiffon, pretty layers that float to the ground like clouds. But the bodice is carefully cut out in satin ribbons that form a crisscross pattern, navy-blue silk layered over baby-blue lace, so that her ivory skin peeks through. It cuts off in a tight circle at the base of her neck and right at her shoulders, leaving her arms bare.

It makes Carnelian look like a woman in her own right, someone who could turn heads at a ball.

“What do you think?” Miss Mayfield asks.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers. Then she whirls and embraces the dressmaker. The assistants look away, embarrassed.

“Well, let’s make sure everything is as it should be.” Miss Mayfield snaps her fingers and the mirrors disappear. She takes out a pair of strange eyeglasses and a measuring tape and begins to examine every seam and hem.

“Loose thread here,” she mutters, peering at Carnelian’s left shoulder. The tall girl makes a note. “And let’s take—”

But whatever she was going to say next gets lost, as the wall opposite me suddenly explodes in a deafening burst of heat and plaster and dust.

Nineteen

I AM FLYING THROUGH THE AIR, THROWN BACKWARD into a rack of dresses.

Some deep protective instinct causes me to join with Air, so that the rubble and debris shooting toward me are deflected in a gust of wind. The dresses soften the blow as my back slams into the wall, my connection with Air broken. Sparks explode in front of my eyes, my ears ringing. For several seconds, or maybe minutes, I lie there, half-hidden by layers of satin and wool and brocade. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Everything is dull, muted. Slowly, my hearing returns.

The first thing I notice is the screaming. One long sustained scream. I sit up, rubbing my left ear, and see the head attendant standing in the midst of the ruined shop, staring at her arm. Something sharp and white is poking out of her skin, thick lines of red dripping down her forearm into her hand. I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat as I realize it’s her bone. Her arm is shattered.

Miss Mayfield’s dress is torn down one whole side and there is a large bruise blossoming under one eye. She is crouched on the floor, tending to the tall girl, pressing a green lace ball gown against a gash on her forehead. I don’t know where the freckled girl is.

Diamantes are littered all around us, glittering in the rubble like stars. My brain is slow to respond, my head fuzzy. Where did all this money come from?

Where are Coral and Carnelian?

The picture forms in front of me like a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces missing. There’s a giant hole in the wall opposite me. Through it I can see broken tiles and melted hunks of copper, splintered wood and huge chunks of concrete. A man’s shoe. A broken lamp. And fire. Fire everywhere.

The bank. The Royal Bank next door.

Those are the targets the Society is hitting.

I scramble to my feet as the girl with the broken arm shrieks louder. The fire burning through the bank has caught on the carpet of the shop. I can feel its delicious heat from across the room. But it’s headed straight for Miss Mayfield and her charge, devouring every scrap of silk and lace in its path.

In the distance, I hear the faint wail of sirens. They’ll never make it here in time.

I join with Fire—an excruciating burst of heat accompanies the element. My skin boils, a pain that is unbearable and welcoming at the same time. Fire always makes me feel equal parts alive and frightened.

For a second, the flames flare higher, but I am in control now, and I calm it, slowly and steadily, focusing on my heart beating in my chest, forcing the fire to recede. It shrinks down to half its size, then a quarter, then it is nothing more than a few wisps of smoke wafting up from the remains of a charred carpet. A crackle of its heat echoes over my skin as I release my hold on the element.

I come back to myself and immediately search for the two royal girls. When I see the high heel hanging from a limp foot, my heart turns from fire to lead. Coral is pinned beneath a large hunk of plaster. Blood seeps out in a dark puddle from underneath her.

“Coral!” I cry. I try and lift the plaster but it’s too heavy. The sirens in the distance get louder. “Coral, no, no . . .”

I shake her shoulders. Her head bobs around, lifeless. Her eyes are closed, almost as if I’ve just tucked her into bed, except it’s concrete instead of blanket on top of her and she’ll never open her eyes again. I sit back on my heels, pressing my palms against my own eyes as if I can rub this horrible sight from my brain.

I hear a small moan from behind an overturned sofa. Forcing myself to move, I stand and leave the corpse of Garnet’s wife behind to find Carnelian trapped beneath the sofa, alive.

“I can’t . . . breathe . . .” she croaks.

“Just hold on,” I say. “I’m going to get this off of you.”

I connect with Air again—the initial swooping sensation in my stomach that accompanies the element doesn’t give me the same thrill it usually does. Instantly the air around me is ready, waiting. As I push my fingers underneath the edge of the sofa I can feel its entire weight, not just the smooth mahogany frame that I’m touching. I am aware of all of it. I am the air underneath it and around it and nestled in its cushions. I am everywhere.

Lift, I think. As I stand, Air pulls with me and the sofa is thrown into a mannequin with such force that its head comes off its body. Carnelian rolls onto her back, gasping for breath.

“Are you all right? Can you move? Are you hurt?” My hands flutter around her uselessly, afraid to touch her.