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CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Obviously

Frank meant well. He’d wanted to welcome Morrigan home to the Deucalion in the best and only way he knew how. Guessing (correctly) that she was by now sick of string quartets, orchestras and brass bands, he’d opted to give Charlie a record player and several boxes of vinyl and put him in charge of the party music. Instead of tiny fancy canapés and crystal goblets, he’d plugged in a bunch of old fairground machines to make snow cones and popcorn and put Martha and Kedgeree on barbecue duty, churning out semi-burned hotdogs and greasy burgers. There was absolutely no dress code, and the guest list was limited to Unit 919 and their families, Miss Cheery and her girlfriend, Roshni, plus all the usual suspects at the Hotel Deucalion.

Of course, Frank couldn’t resist decking out the rooftop with colourful festoon lights, dodgem cars and an impressive collection of noisy, flashing arcade games. But there was no chocolate fountain or fondue volcano. No trapeze artists, no line-dancing elephants. No fifty-person choir singing Happy Birthday . No skywriting plane to scrawl ‘MORRIGAN IS FOURTEEN’ across the sky.

Morrigan was impressed; she’d never known Nevermoor’s pre-eminent party planner to show such restraint. She knew it was probably at Jupiter’s insistence and that it was undoubtedly killing Frank … and she appreciated it, she really did.

But even so, she was on the lookout all night for a moment when she could escape – just for a bit – for a few minutes of quiet. And the second that moment arrived (when Hawthorne accidentally drove his dodgem car off the track and crashed into an arcade game), Morrigan grasped it. In the mess of shouting and hysterical laughter, she slipped downstairs to find refuge on an empty moonlit balcony overlooking the Palm Courtyard. Collapsing gratefully onto a sunlounger, she gazed up at a clear sky full of stars.

Three days had passed since Spring’s Eve and, until today, she’d been almost too wrung out to think a full, coherent thought. It had been blissfully mind-numbing to be so empty of murder and dragons and letters and monsters and endless, spiralling worries.

But tonight, her head was filled with THINGS again, and the biggest thing of all was that she had to tell Jupiter about Squall, and she had to do it now.

Don’t ruin the party , said a little voice, buzzing like a mosquito in her mind. You can tell him tomorrow. You’ve waited this long, what’s one more—

The annoying little voice was interrupted by the balcony doors opening and, as if summoned by her thoughts, Jupiter appeared in the bright bluish moonlight.

‘Oh, hello!’ he said with a look of mild surprise. ‘Mind if I join you? It all got a bit much for me up there.’

Morrigan looked up from her sunlounger, raising an eyebrow. It was an unconvincing line from Nevermoor’s biggest party-loving extrovert. ‘Really?’

‘No,’ he admitted, smiling as he stretched out on the lounger next to hers. ‘I was looking for you. Thought you’d be in the Smoking Parlour, to be honest.’

‘I think it’s in one of its experimental moods. So far today it’s done Water From a Garden Hose in Summer, New Box of Sticking Plasters and Uncooked Rice .’

‘ Un cooked? Interesting.’

Jupiter crossed his ankles and clasped his hands behind his head. Morrigan did the same, and they sat like that for several silent minutes, staring up at the moon.

‘I meant to tell you, your friend Lam was quite marvellous on Spring’s Eve,’ he said finally. ‘Very calm under pressure. She seemed convinced the clocks weren’t going to change, at first. But sure enough, just before midnight the Unresting showed up in full horrible force, and she leapt into action.’

‘Wait.’ Morrigan sat halfway up, leaning on her elbows. ‘You mean Plan A worked? The Guiltghast got fed?’

‘Mmm, ultimately, the whole thing went off without a hitch. I found it quite terrifying, frankly, but Lam was like a traffic conductor. “This way please, straight ahead to the Guiltghast, enjoy your oblivion.” I think Conall’s already planning to poach her for an apprenticeship in the Wundrous Supernatural League.’

Morrigan lay back down again, limp with relief. She and Squall hadn’t sent the Guiltghast back in time to its doom, after all.

She took a deep, cleansing breath of cool night air.

‘I’m ready to tell you the thing now.’

‘I know. That’s why I came looking for you.’

‘You’re going to hate it.’

‘I know.’

She looked over at him, but his eyes remained skyward. ‘No, Jupiter, listen to me. You’re really going to hate it. I need you to understand that.’

‘I know.’ He sighed, then finally turned his face towards her. ‘And I need you to understand that whatever it is … however much I hate it … it could never make me hate you .’

‘You might want to wait until you’ve heard—’

‘The dealbreaker doesn’t exist, Mog,’ he said calmly. ‘Take a moment to believe that.’

She took a moment to believe it. Then she took another breath. Then she told him everything.

Morrigan had imagined this conversation a million times, seen it play over and over in her mind – how Jupiter’s face would broadcast his every thought and feeling, how he’d groan and pace and interrupt and shout and ask why, and how could you? How she’d be constantly on the backfoot, apologising and defending herself and eventually shouting back at him because hadn’t he lied to her, too? Hadn’t they lied to each other?

But none of those things happened. He was quiet through the whole story and his face betrayed nothing. Morrigan was glad she’d had the practice run of telling Jack, and although that had been at least a hundred times easier, this time she felt she did a better job, even if she jumped confusingly around in the timeline. She knew the things that Jupiter would care about most, and she emphasised them: that Squall hadn’t tricked her, and that he hadn’t made his cure for the Wunimals contingent on her signing the contract. She was honest about everything, even – especially – the real reason she had ultimately agreed to the apprenticeship. She described how it had felt to wield the power of a real Wundersmith in the teaching hospital that night. How her brief proximity to that gift had finally made her understand how far she was from possessing it.

She tried to explain that learning only from the ghostly hours – from dead Wundersmiths – wasn’t enough. That it was never going to be enough, and she could see the danger waiting for her down the safe path, even if nobody else could. Wunder would continue to swarm to her even if she lacked the skill to control it.

It was only when she told him about the Hush that Morrigan saw something flicker in Jupiter’s face. He crossed to the other side of the balcony and leaned back against the cement balustrade, arms folded, looking thoughtful.

‘Usually when people are hiding something, I see it in a handful of predictable ways – a big wall around them, or the smudge of a lie on their face, or a thick white fog I can’t see through. But after that night you cured the Wunimals, you were a sort of … house of mirrors. Instead of what I might usually see when I look at you – the little worries that flit around you like moths, or the remnants of a dream trailing away in the morning, or the bright green flicker of some new idea – I was just seeing my own things, reflected back to me. It seemed almost normal, just … distorted. And I was sure I’d seen something like it a long time ago, but I couldn’t think where . I talked to Fen about it and we both remembered what it was like when Jack become a teenager, how suddenly he felt like a closed book, and it took a long time to creak that book open again … and I thought that must be why it was familiar. But I don’t think that was it at all. I think …’ Jupiter hesitated, staring at the ground, before eventually he seemed to change his mind. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this Hush . But I don’t like it.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Morrigan. ‘It’s gone now.’

Jupiter gave a sort of agitated nod, chewing on the side of his mouth as if he was trying not to say all the things he wanted to say.

‘You could have got there without his help,’ he said finally.

‘I don’t think I could have.’

‘We might have found a way.’

Morrigan made a sceptical noise. ‘You don’t really believe that.’

He didn’t respond, which was her confirmation.

‘I want to see him,’ Jupiter said. ‘Squall. I want to meet with him.’

‘I’m … not sure if he’ll agree to that.’

‘And if I was seeking his agreement, that might be a problem.’ He looked at her flatly. ‘The next time he sends the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow for you, I’m coming too.’

What an unfathomably terrible idea, Morrigan thought.

But she nodded and said, ‘Okay.’

They settled into a slightly less comfortable silence for some time, until Morrigan remembered something important. ‘Jack told me about his mum and dad.’

‘Did he?’ Jupiter glanced over in vague surprise. ‘Good. About time. He’s a well of secrets, that boy.’

Morrigan felt a stab of guilt as she thought of Jack’s biggest secret of all, and how it was her secret now, too. At least she had a couple of years to talk him out of his plan, she supposed. Another problem for future Morrigan.

‘I’m sorry about your sister. About Rosamund.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t know … All those trips away from the Deucalion, going off-realm all the time … I didn’t realise—’

‘Of course not, Mog. How could you?’ He smiled, a little sadly. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, though. It’s my job.’

‘Do you think they’re still …’ Morrigan hesitated, suddenly unsure how to finish that question. ‘I mean, do you have any idea what could have happened to them?’

‘Many ideas.’

Jupiter’s darkened gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance. Morrigan waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. They were quiet for a bit, each occupied by their own thoughts, until he spoke again.

‘I’m glad Jack is confiding in you.’ Pushing away from the balustrade, Jupiter returned to the lounger beside hers, stretching out his long legs again. ‘You have so many brothers and sisters, but he only has one.’

Morrigan peeked sideways at him. ‘Speaking of which. There’s something I’ve been wondering about.’

‘Mmm?’

‘If … Jack’s mum is in your unit,’ she began haltingly, ‘and that makes her your sister, which makes you Jack’s uncle … and Bertram is my uncle, and he’s your brother … then doesn’t that—’ She paused, suddenly feeling shy. ‘Doesn’t that make you … sort of my uncle, too? A bit?’

Morrigan glanced away, feeling her face glow with embarrassment. She felt, inexplicably, as if she was asking for something she had no right to, something that didn’t belong to her.

But Jupiter simply nodded and said quietly, ‘Of course it does, Mog. In a … sideways sort of fashion.’ He smiled. ‘Uncle-adjacent, at the very least. Definitely.’

‘But you never said – you never told me to call you—’

‘I didn’t think I could!’ he said in a rush. ‘Or, at least, I didn’t think I ought to, with Birdie being so adamant about …’ Jupiter trailed off, scratching at his beard. ‘I’d have been betraying him if I told you—’

‘But you didn’t have to tell me,’ she said. ‘Not about him being in your unit. You could have just … you know.’

‘Told you to call me “Uncle” anyway,’ he finished for her, looking mournful. ‘I know. But we’d only just met, and I didn’t want to be pushy, and then it seemed too late and – well, I’m an idiot, aren’t I? Obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ she agreed.

Jupiter’s chest heaved as he took a big breath, then he sat up and turned face-on to look at her, planting his feet on the ground. His bright blue eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them, full of regret and hope all at once. ‘So … is it?’

‘Is it what?’

‘Too late?’

Morrigan thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t know. It might be.’

‘Give it a go.’

‘Uncle … Jupiter,’ she said, then scrunched her nose up. ‘Bleurgh, no – Uncle Jove ? Uncle Jove. Unnnclllle … Joooove.’ She rolled the words around in her mouth, getting a feel for the shape of them.

‘Try it in a sentence,’ he suggested eagerly.

‘All right.’ She sat up, crossing her legs. ‘Let’s see. You are an idiot, Uncle Jove .’

‘That’s the spirit!’

‘ Uncle Jove, stop tap dancing on the concierge desk ,’ she continued, tilting her head from side to side. ‘Hmm, maybe. Chips are not a vegetable, Uncle Jove! ’

‘Well that simply isn’t true, but yes, I think you’re getting the hang of it.’

‘ That pink suit makes you look like a melted ice cream cone, Uncle Jove! ’

His mouth fell open. ‘What – hang on. Which pink suit? I thought you liked—’

‘ Uncle Jove, get a haircut! ’ Morrigan shouted gleefully. ‘ Stop embarrassing me in front of my friends, Uncle Jove! You know, I think it does feel sort of right.’

‘I think it feels sort of like a stealth attack.’

She grinned. ‘Works for me.’

‘Delighted to hear it. Go on, try another. Only maybe you could be slightly nicer this time.’

‘I missed you, Uncle Jove.’ Jupiter made a choking sound, and for once in his life he seemed unable to speak. Morrigan took advantage of this temporary lapse and, summoning all her courage, barrelled onwards in a rush. ‘ IloveyouUncleJove .’

Jupiter swallowed once, then twice. His eyes were suddenly glassy. ‘I—’

He stopped, swallowing again.

Morrigan’s throat felt thick and her palms grew warm and she was acutely aware of the prickly feel of fabric against her neck. She opened her mouth to say something else, to clarify, maybe even to walk it back, but nothing came out.

The silence stretched. It felt like the sky had tilted on its axis.

Then he was beaming at her, bright as an oncoming Gossamer train. His chin dimpled and he gave a brisk nod, trying valiantly to pretend he wasn’t about to cry. The big sook.

‘I love you too, Mog.’

Her lungs filled with air, and the prickly feeling subsided, and she thought, Yes, I knew that. I already knew.

‘Obviously,’ Jupiter added, a little self-consciously.

Morrigan smiled. The sky tilted back where it belonged.

‘Obviously,’ she agreed.

On the morning after her second fourteenth birthday party, Morrigan Crow woke to find two final, unexpected presents. The first, two glass bottles of cream-top milk left outside her door by an anonymous benefactor. (Morrigan suspected she’d find said benefactor curled up in a patch of sunshine somewhere later that day, and resolved to say thank you with a tray full of tiny salmon sandwiches.)

The second gift was much smaller, but infinitely bigger. She’d given it to herself quite by accident.

It must have been the summoning of the Guiltghast that did it, she thought. A tiny figure had emerged on the pad of her right pinkie finger overnight, delicate and precisely drawn. A cheerful little bird with brown feathers and a white neck, its yellow beak open in song. Tattoo-like, but not a tattoo.

Morrigan stared at her hand, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement.

It was time to meet the Nightingale in the Nest.