and the crease below them broke into a smile.
“I’m sorry, Gerstein,” Lily said, honing in on the shadows, “I forget that you can do this.”
“Anything that forms a face,” the simulacra replied with another folded smile. “Forgive me. I’m not spying on you, my dear. I did come to pass a message, but you looked so terribly forlorn.”
“What’s the message?” Lily interjected, keen not to return to the subject of her sadness.
Gerstein’s illusionary features became tense with worry for a moment, his voice dropping to that low, uncertain tone once more.
“It’s concerning your friend, Miss Dama,” the apparition began. “I thought you might like to know that she’s out of her wheelchair… it appears she’s making an attempt to climb the stairs.”
Lily’s first thought was of Jazzy as she used to be, and in her mind she saw the short Indian girl padding up the Imaginique’s winding staircases in her striped Where’s Wally socks. The vision passed swiftly, though, as Lily saw reality for what it was. Jazzy had a severed spine, and if she was clambering, using only her upper body to climb the daunting mountain of steps before her, then she was in some kind of trouble.
“Thank you,” Lily said swiftly, and she scooted downwards to shoot from the end of the bed, so as not to disturb Gerstein from his station in the curtains.
As her bare feet slapped the floorboards towards the door, she heard the watchman call after her: “Meet you down there.”
The simulacra travelled through the walls at a much faster pace than Lily’s exhausted frame would allow, and she spotted him settled into a theatre poster as she approached the lowest staircase of the Imaginique. This was the place where the stairs connected to the corridor of the grand foyer, and Gerstein had taken on the guise of a hand-drawn skeleton on the poster, about halfway up the stairs. He pointed hurriedly downwards with one spindly finger and there, in the darkness, Lily beheld her friend.
Jazzy’s eyes flashed at her, two deep black pools that glistened with tears borne of frustration. Her legs hung limply behind her where the girl had made it halfway up the stairs, and she strained to push her top half up the next step, one hand reaching wildly for Lily’s assistance. Lily rushed to Jazzy’s side and hoisted, her gravity magic racing out in that graceful way that she only possessed when she was casting by accident, and soon the two girls were perched on the centremost step of the stairs, with Gerstein in the poster right above their heads.
“Look,” Jazzy gasped, clutching at the v-neck of her Ghostbusters pyjamas.
Lily was still holding fast to her friend’s arm, but Jazzy fought her way from her grip to point back up the stairs, into the empty blackness of the first floor landing from which Lily had descended. Jazzy’s fingers trembled as she found her breath, her deep eyes pooling with dampness once more in a pained effort to speak.
“They don’t notice me, ever, but… She led me out here. I had to follow. Don’t you see her?”
Lily watched Jazzy’s fearful face as she spoke these words, but when she glanced to where her friend pointed, Lily saw only the darkness of the landing beyond. There were lights under a few doors on the corridor, and somewhere on the ground floor below them, the kitchen was filled with the chatter of the theatre’s most nocturnal souls. When she glanced up to the poster where the skeleton simulacra stood, Gerstein was looking down at them both from within the frame. His bony shoulders gave a shrug.
“Don’t ask me,” he said, “I can only see the living.”
Jazzy shook her head, her neck drooping weakly as she lost the remainder of her strength.
“She’s not…” The girl stumbled over her words, tiny teeth biting on her lip for a moment in thought. “She’s more than a memory, Lily. She’s important.”
Lily looked again to the empty space where Jazzy had pointed, and a cool
“I’m sorry, Gerstein,” Lily said, honing in on the shadows, “I forget that you can do this.”
“Anything that forms a face,” the simulacra replied with another folded smile. “Forgive me. I’m not spying on you, my dear. I did come to pass a message, but you looked so terribly forlorn.”
“What’s the message?” Lily interjected, keen not to return to the subject of her sadness.
Gerstein’s illusionary features became tense with worry for a moment, his voice dropping to that low, uncertain tone once more.
“It’s concerning your friend, Miss Dama,” the apparition began. “I thought you might like to know that she’s out of her wheelchair… it appears she’s making an attempt to climb the stairs.”
Lily’s first thought was of Jazzy as she used to be, and in her mind she saw the short Indian girl padding up the Imaginique’s winding staircases in her striped Where’s Wally socks. The vision passed swiftly, though, as Lily saw reality for what it was. Jazzy had a severed spine, and if she was clambering, using only her upper body to climb the daunting mountain of steps before her, then she was in some kind of trouble.
“Thank you,” Lily said swiftly, and she scooted downwards to shoot from the end of the bed, so as not to disturb Gerstein from his station in the curtains.
As her bare feet slapped the floorboards towards the door, she heard the watchman call after her: “Meet you down there.”
The simulacra travelled through the walls at a much faster pace than Lily’s exhausted frame would allow, and she spotted him settled into a theatre poster as she approached the lowest staircase of the Imaginique. This was the place where the stairs connected to the corridor of the grand foyer, and Gerstein had taken on the guise of a hand-drawn skeleton on the poster, about halfway up the stairs. He pointed hurriedly downwards with one spindly finger and there, in the darkness, Lily beheld her friend.
Jazzy’s eyes flashed at her, two deep black pools that glistened with tears borne of frustration. Her legs hung limply behind her where the girl had made it halfway up the stairs, and she strained to push her top half up the next step, one hand reaching wildly for Lily’s assistance. Lily rushed to Jazzy’s side and hoisted, her gravity magic racing out in that graceful way that she only possessed when she was casting by accident, and soon the two girls were perched on the centremost step of the stairs, with Gerstein in the poster right above their heads.
“Look,” Jazzy gasped, clutching at the v-neck of her Ghostbusters pyjamas.
Lily was still holding fast to her friend’s arm, but Jazzy fought her way from her grip to point back up the stairs, into the empty blackness of the first floor landing from which Lily had descended. Jazzy’s fingers trembled as she found her breath, her deep eyes pooling with dampness once more in a pained effort to speak.
“They don’t notice me, ever, but… She led me out here. I had to follow. Don’t you see her?”
Lily watched Jazzy’s fearful face as she spoke these words, but when she glanced to where her friend pointed, Lily saw only the darkness of the landing beyond. There were lights under a few doors on the corridor, and somewhere on the ground floor below them, the kitchen was filled with the chatter of the theatre’s most nocturnal souls. When she glanced up to the poster where the skeleton simulacra stood, Gerstein was looking down at them both from within the frame. His bony shoulders gave a shrug.
“Don’t ask me,” he said, “I can only see the living.”
Jazzy shook her head, her neck drooping weakly as she lost the remainder of her strength.
“She’s not…” The girl stumbled over her words, tiny teeth biting on her lip for a moment in thought. “She’s more than a memory, Lily. She’s important.”
Lily looked again to the empty space where Jazzy had pointed, and a cool
Similar Books
