I get off the bed and on to my knees and reaching my hand under the bed my fingertips brush something – something smooth and chunky. I get lower, slide my arm in until it won’t go any further. With painful slowness, I claw the item closer until I can slip it from its hiding place.

Dusty and scuffed, it takes a moment for me to process what I hold in my hands. It’s Dad’s skin book. Mel must have gone for it before she went back to her room last night. I hold it reverently and brush away the dirt with my sleeve. I turn each page and it’s really him – every mark is like hearing his voice again after a hundred years. Mel did this. She saved him for me.

But at what cost?

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-two

I walk out of the museum, attempting the same brisk, purposeful stride I used when I went in. The square is still full, and most people have their hands free now – skin books deposited into their temporary home at the museum. They have their attention elsewhere, and I look towards the stage, where everyone else seems to be focused. Another public meeting, I think.

But there is just one worker hanging a banner. They work from the left, lacing the edges against the front of the stage with ropes. I stand and look as they slowly unfurl the rolled fabric, wondering what new pronouncement Longsight is making this time. The worker is methodical, making sure not to crease the material or hang the banner askew. Slowly the words come into view.

WANTED

Leora Flint

On suspicion of the murder of the storyteller, Mel.

Cries of distress explode around the square like firecrackers. I blink and read the words again. My mind is screaming at me to run but I am paralysed by that cold, terrible word: murder.

Finally, my feet respond to my mind’s pleas and I walk out of the square, down the cobbled street until I am far enough away to run. And I run home, all the time expecting the chase to begin.

“She can’t be dead, Mum. Tell me – tell me she’s not.” I sob into Mum’s firm embrace. No one is immune to the curse that I bring – if I love you, you may as well give up. But Mel? She was different. Mel was the strong one, the leader, the one who had been groomed to be part of the government since she was a child. She was courageous enough to take risks and not worry, because she was too important – she was safe.

“You’re not going to leave me too, are you?” I whimper, and Mum tells me the comforting lies I need to hear.

“I’ll never leave you. I’m here, and I’m staying right here.” She murmurs softly into my hair.