Page 92 of The Society of Unknowable Objects
“What about all the harm that’s been done to me?” Lukas countered as he had before to a similar accusation, no emotion in his voice. “What about me? What about all the pain I’ve felt my whole life?” His questions were made more devastating by his entirely reasonable tone. “Why does nobody care when I’m the one who’s hurt?”
Magda shrugged, hands wiping tears from her raw cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’m truly sorry, Lukas.”
But he didn’t seem to hear her. “Nobody ever cares about the pain I feel, so why should I care about them? I care about the things I like... my plants and flowers... the magical items.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t care about anything else.” He stared at Magda for a moment, eyes very still and lifeless, like the eyes of a mannequin. “I don’t care about you, Magda. You’re not nice. If you won’t help me, I don’t want to talk to you.”
Magda was about to protest, to attempt once more to reason with him, but something touched her neck, something sharp and thin like wire. And then she felt it around her wrist and when she looked down, she saw the rose stem tighten suddenly and yank her arm out to her side. A large, angry yellow rose blossomed in her open palm, like a mouth opening hungrily. A second vine took hold of her upper left arm in the same way, pulling her backwards and renewing the ache in her shoulder.
This is magic, isn’t it, Magda? Just like back in that small town in Alabama, all themadness. Your friends restrained or dead or dying. The world changed. A dangerous, unstoppable man. Is this really the sort of thing you want to covet and be excited by?
It wasn’t. This was nothing that Magda wanted.
Her mind went back to the discussion she’d had with Henry that night in her house when she had returned from Hong Kong. What was it Henry had said?
Wehave toput the childish things away.
In a flash of inspiration, two thoughts connecting, Magda realised then what the answer was—the answer Henry had already given her days earlier. She knew what she had to do.
“Wait!” she shouted, spurred on by her realisation and needing to speak before the branches silenced her for good. “I’ll help you! I’ll do what you want!”
The branches relaxed, the thorns around her neck loosening slightly, the yellow flower in her palm shrinking back into itself. Lukas lifted his chin to her, eyes narrowing in a question.
“I will do what you want,” she hurried to say. “But with conditions.”
Magda could almost feel waves of disapproval radiating through the air from Frank. She could imagine him shouting in his mind, demanding that she stop.
“You will help me?” Lukas asked. “Really?”
“With conditions,” Magda repeated. “Can I sit down, Lukas? Please? Can we talk about it?”
Lukas considered the request for a few moments, his eyes settled on Magda, her whole body throbbing with unease.
“Like friends?” she tried, hating herself.
Lukas relented, and the vines moved again, unwinding and releasing her.
Oh, thank heavens.
She sucked in a deep breath of relief, rubbing her wrists and her neck and then sat down opposite Lukas, crossed-legged on the tangled mat, just as he was, her knees stiff and protesting. She looked up briefly. The illumination from the flowers high above fell differently here, andMagda sat in a puddle of deep orange and yellow light. Lukas’s face was similarly doused in yellow light, making him look even more sickly. As if he were made of wax.
“Thank you,” she said to Lukas. “Thank you for letting me go.”
Lukas’s gaze slid off to the side, like a man distracted by something. Frank and Henry were there, still frozen, resembling monstrous puppets held up by strings, arms out at awkward angles. Henrietta was on tiptoes, as if the branches were lifting her slightly off the ground.
“Your old friend...” Lukas said. “His wings are changing colour. He is unhappy.”
Of course he’s unhappy. He thinks I’m betraying him.
And maybe, in a way, I am.
“I will help you, Lukas,” Magda said, trying to shove Frank from her mind. “I will make another person for you with the book if you promise me something.”
Lukas’s eyes roved around Magda, to her side and over her head, as if he was studying something behind her.
Your wings. He’s looking at your wings. What truths will your wings tell him? Youhave toimagine what is going to happen. Tell yourself the story of what he wants: You will create a friend for him. You will use the book. That is the truth. That is the story—imagine it, Magda. You are an author, imagine this story!
Lukas didn’t say anything about her wings. Instead he asked, “What promise?”
Magda nodded at the Impossible Box, sitting on the bed of wildflowers between them. “I want you to promise to give me the box and all of the items that were inside it.”
