Tina Connolly - Copperhead

“Urggh,” said Jane, eyes still closed.

“She’s not safe yet,” Helen said in a low voice to Frye. It felt odd, speaking for her older sister when she was right there, but Jane was not exactly standing up and taking charge of things, either.

Frye took a closer look at the prone figure on the divan. “What happened?”

“Lack of food, for starters,” said Helen. “I don’t think she’s eaten for three days.” She lowered her voice. “Which begs the question, why doesn’t she remember what happened during those three days.” To her sister she said, “Jane, tell Frye how you felt during the facelift. When the copper machine started.”

“Like I was split in two,” Jane said hoarsely. “Torn right down the center like a paper doll. And no, I don’t remember much about the warehouse, but I can hear you talking about me.” She struggled to sit up. “I think I could try some water again.”

Frye’s penciled eyebrows arched high at the sight of Jane’s bare face with the reddened lines where the iron strips had been. In the daylight the lines looked raised, scarred. Helen wondered if they would ever fade. Frye’s jade-green nails gripped Helen’s sleeve. “Do you think … could you have been taken over by a fey ?”

Jane glared. “No.”

Helen shook her head as she gave Jane the water. “I don’t see how it could be. If a fey takes you over it’s stuck there till either you or it dies. It can’t go in and out. When a fey tried to take me over, it immediately started erasing me. In a matter of seconds I would have been gone for good.”

Frye sighed. “It makes me wish I’d done that facelift when you asked,” she said. “But there’s always one more audition, one more show, one last party.…”

“Facelift?” said Jane. She looked sharply at Helen. “You’ve been helping me, haven’t you?”

Helen suddenly beamed, for she had . “Yes,” she said. “I’ve got you three convinced already. More to follow, I’m sure.”

“Three in one day,” said Jane, and there was respect in her voice. “Good.” She clutched the water glass and her eyes grew fierce. “Yet not enough. We have to do all the facelifts. Immediately.”

Helen and Frye looked at each other. “Jane, honey, you’re not well enough,” began Frye.

Jane shook her head. “I will be. I have to. I need the women to go to the warehouse, where their faces are. I need everyone.”

“How are their faces in the warehouse?” said Helen. “It looked as though they were stolen from your apartment.”

“Nonsense; they’re not stolen. They’ve been taken to the warehouse,” said Jane positively. “Rows and rows and rows of them, looking at you with their black blank eyes. Now you must bring them to their faces. All The Hundred women. I need all of them, to match them up.”

“Okay,” Helen soothed, for she had seen no such rows and rows as Jane described. “I know. They’re not safe, are they?”

“You’re not listening,” said Jane, and she lurched to her feet, steadying herself on Helen’s chair. “They’re not safe, Helen, listen to what I’m saying. They’re not safe.”

“I am listening,” said Helen. “Please sit back down.” She helped her sister back to the divan and said, “Oh, Jane, please be reasonable with yourself. You need food and rest. You don’t even know what happened to Millicent.…” She trailed off, thinking again that the shock would be too much for Jane.

“Who, Mrs. Grimsby?” said Jane. “Oh, Mr. Grimsby has her. He’s taking good care of her. She’ll be right as rain.”

“You mean … is she out of the fey sleep then? But she shouldn’t be with Mr. Grimsby. She was trying to get away from him,” Helen said. “We all were, and now there you were in a warehouse that he must know about, because it had his invention in it.” She rather thought she might like to lie down on a divan herself. “Now look. You said Millicent told you something. About a Fey King, and a plot, yes?”

Jane looked sideways at her, rubbing her forehead. “How much did I tell you?”

“Just that,” Helen said, thinking back. “That another fey might be following through on the dead queen’s plot to infiltrate the city.” Helen worried her fingers together. “Oh, but Jane, you don’t even know. Niklas and Edward both confirmed it. Maybe this fey is planning to invade one of The Hundred. Or already has. We need to get them changed back. But we need their old faces.”

“At the warehouse,” said Jane. “Oh, my head.”

“But why there? It doesn’t sound safe,” said Helen.

Jane sank down into her chair, fingers gouging into her temples. “Don’t be silly, Helen. I know far more about this than you. The warehouse belongs to Mr. Grimsby alone. The rest of Copperhead doesn’t know anything about it. And Mr. Grimsby’s spending all of his days at Parliament now. So all you have to do is bring The Hundred to the warehouse tomorrow at noon. I’ll do them all at once. Safety in numbers.”

Helen looked at Frye. Frye said, “Well, I don’t have a show to go to anymore.…”

“If we get The Hundred,” said Helen to Jane, “will you stay here and sleep? You clearly haven’t recovered from whatever that horrible machine did to you.” She raised eyebrows at Frye in request.

“Of course you can and will stay here,” said Frye. “Fais comme chez toi.”

“Mmm, and I already did,” said Helen, gesturing at the knit dress. “I hardly know you and here I am borrowing your clothes. But I split the seams of my skirt crawling in that warehouse.”

“You should wear trousers,” said Frye.

Helen laughed. “Well. Maybe.” Frye still looked at her, and so she finally said, “I don’t think yours would fit me, though, and even I know I shouldn’t spend today altering slacks.” It would be an interesting problem, she thought; she hadn’t ever attempted to adapt slacks to fit and flatter hips.

Frye waved this aside. “Sometimes I think I’m storing half the theatrical wardrobes in the city,” she said. “I’ll see if I have something. Now Jane, I’m going to tuck you in the attic with toast and broth and a dirty book and then Helen and I will go find your women. I still have my fey face, so that extra charisma should help. I can be quite charming when I try.”

Helen shook her head, slowly, resolutely. If this was going to work there was more to it than this. And sometimes, like fixing Alistair, maybe you just had to step in and start fixing situations, or at least sorting them out. “I can’t,” she said. “Frye, if you’ll let me direct you—?”

“That’s what actors are for.”

“I’ll give you Jane’s journal and explain everything I know about it. Then you’re in charge of getting all the women together. You and your charisma.” Helen looked at her sister dubiously. Jane was staring off into space, fingers delicately tracing the raised pink line on her jaw where the iron had been. “Hopefully Jane can help if anything in the journal needs interpreting.”

“And you?” said Frye.

“I’m going to the dwarvven slums,” Helen said. “And find out what a certain dwarvven spy knows about all this.”

Helen went straight to the statue of Queen Maud on the pier. She was sure now it wasn’t coincidence that Rook had mentioned it at Frye’s party. Not when Alistair mentioned Jane being spotted there, and then Jane turning up at the factory a half-block away. Besides, there was Alistair’s insistence that Rook was a spy. That he was working for Grimsby all along—and more than the nebulous other business Rook had admitted to. Helen cringed, thinking of her frank admissions to Rook.