She felt it, but it didn’t hurt. It was more like being reminded that this was her.
She was real: and being real, and her, was—What? What was it? Who was it?
That was the big question, wasn’t it? When all the fireworks were over: Who was she?
You’re nothing, Boa said quietly.
Candy wanted to counter Boa’s insults. But her energies were focused elsewhere: on the rush of awakening that was passing through her body, down from her neck, over her torso, and up, filling the twice-souled vessel above.
Did you hear me? Boa said.
“Keep your petty insults to yourself, Boa,” Laguna Munn said. “You may have suffered a little, trapped in the child’s head. But Lordy Lou, there are worse deaths to suffer. Such as the real thing. Oh . . . and while we’re talking, I know what you’re thinking: that once all this is over you’ll have my sons running around doing your bidding!”
Boa said nothing.
“That’s what I thought. Well, forget it. There’s only room for one woman in the lives of my beautiful sons.”
Please, Boa protested. I’d never try to compromise the sacred relationships between you and your sons.
“I don’t believe you,” Laguna Munn replied plainly. “I think you’d try anything if you thought you could get away with it.”
I wouldn’t dream of it. I know what you’re capable of.
“You might think you do but you don’t have the first idea, so be careful.”
Understood.
“Good. Now, I should leave this chamber.”
“Wait,” Candy said. “Don’t go yet. I’m feeling dizzy.”
“That’s probably because I’m still here gabbing. I should leave you to give birth to Boa.”
The image Laguna Munn’s words conjured was grotesque. It made Candy feel sicker than ever.
“It’s too late to feel queasy now, girl. This is dirty magic we’re doing. It’s not the kind of work sanctioned by the Council of the Yebba Dim Day. If it was, you wouldn’t be here. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” Candy said.
She understood perfectly well. It was the same in Chickentown. There was a Dr. Pimloft whose offices were above the Laundromat on Fairkettle Street. He’d do certain operations people were too embarrassed to talk to their regular doctors about. Sometimes that was your only choice.
“I’m going to get out of here,” Laguna said, “before I throw the conjuration off balance.”
“Where will you be? In case there’s a problem?”
“It’ll be fine,” Mrs. Munn said. “You want to be separated, after all. So . . . here comes the conjuration. I designed it to do what you require. So let it do its job.”
There was a sound like someone chopping with axes from behind Mrs. Munn, and a shadow-bird—or something like it—rose from the darkness and flew in and out through the intricate pattern, wall to wall to wall to wall, before disappearing into the darkness behind Mrs. Munn.
“What was that?” Candy said.
“The chamber is getting impatient,” she said. “It wants me gone.”
The phenomena occurred again, exactly as before.
“I should go,” Laguna Munn said. “Before this gets any worse.”
Candy suddenly felt weak and her legs buckled beneath her. She tried to make her legs respond to her instruction, but she realized she was no longer the mistress of her body. Boa was.
“Wait . . .” Candy started to say, panic rising in her chest. But even her tongue wouldn’t do as she instructed. And it was almost too late. Laguna Munn had turned her back on Candy, preparing to leave.
It’s over now, the Princess said.
Candy didn’t waste energy trying to reply. She was seconds away from losing herself forever. She could feel rhythmical thundering that no doubt Boa had set to work. It was eating at the corners of her world, consuming her consciousness with ever-larger bites.
Through a haze of white noise she saw Laguna Munn open up a door in the wall.
No. Candy tried to say. But no sound came out.
This would be a lot easier if you just gave up and gave in. Let go of Candy Quackenbush. You’re going to die. And you won’t want to be alive when I start feeding.
What? Candy thought. Feeding off me? Why?
Because I’ve got to grow myself a body, girl. That requires nourishment. A lot of nourishment. Did I forget to mention that?
Candy wanted to weep at her own stupidity. Boa must have shaped these plans no more than a few thoughts away from where Candy had been hiding her own thinking. But she’d hidden her intentions totally. There hadn’t been a moment when Candy had been suspicious.
But you know now, Boa gloated. If it helps, think of this as punishment for stealing my memories of magic. I know death may seem a very strong punishment, but it was a terrible thing you did.
I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry?
Too late. It’s over. It’s time you died, Candy.
FAR OFF, SOMEWHERE IN the darkness, Candy Quackenbush thought she heard the sound of Laguna Munn’s voice.
“Covenantis? Did you lock the chamber? The lock, boy!”
There was no answer from the child. All Candy heard was the chorus of strange noises her dying body was making. Her heart hadn’t stopped entirely. Every few seconds it still managed to beat; on occasion it even managed two or three beats strung together. But what little life her body still possessed was more like a memory than the real thing: like a vision of the Abarat even as it slipped away. All gone now. All forgotten.
No, not entirely forgotten. Some portion of her eyes’ ability to form images still existed. Though she could no longer see the walls of the Separation Chamber, she could see, with eerie specificity, a stain of smoky gray air appearing in front of her face. She knew its source. It was coming from her own body.
It was Boa’s soul she was looking at. At least the haunted shadow of it, finally liberated from the cell into which the women of the Fantomaya had put it. Freed from Candy. And now gaining strength.
It was pushing itself, spreading itself, extruding rudimentary legs from its torso, and something that had the potential to become arms, while from the top a single thread of gray matter sprouted. From this fragile stalk, two leaves had formed and on them, the undeveloped shape of a mouth and nose. And above the leaves, two white, slim petals grew, each with bursts of blue and black upon them, as if blessed with sight.
It was a simple illusion, but it quickly gained credibility as new stalks sprayed upward in their dozens, forming intricate laceries of vein and nerve that began to conjure to shape of their possessor’s face. Though it was still little more than a skinless mask knitted of pulsing threads, there was a glimpse, even there, of the young woman who would soon come into being. She would be beautiful again, Candy thought. She would break hearts.
Candy hadn’t lifted herself up off the ground since her knees had buckled beneath her. She still knelt in the same spot, watching the vestigial form of Princess Boa attract to it the detritus of the life-forms shed by the chamber walls: withered flower housings, leaves, living and dead, all adding their sum to the patchwork that was slowly giving the Princess