Inkling

12.3 The Sleep of Death

9:20 A.M.

Max and Lincoln had fallen asleep. Max's head was resting on Lincoln's shoulder and Lincoln's head was resting on Max's right ear. This was all fine until Lane came barging in. She stared happily for several seconds as they both jumped and scrambled to straighten jackets and collars. Finally, and this was the most pleasing of all, they looked at each other in amazement for much too long. Lane watched for a moment before turning her eyes to the room before her. She squinted in suspicion as Max and Lincoln mumbled profanities at the sunlight leaking in through a slit in the curtains.

"Where has Wink run off to?" Lane was not speaking to anyone in particular. Lincoln and Max scanned the room themselves and Sophia and Daisy were still asleep on the bed, clinging to opposite edges of the mattress. But Adam Wink was nowhere to be found and it was not exactly a space one could hide in. Lane was shaking, and not from the cold. The strain of keeping her body together was enormous and sometimes she felt as though she would burst at the seams and simply cease to exist.

To say there were more important things to worry about would be wholly incorrect. To say that the other priorities in the room outweighed her own, however, would be exactly to the point. Lane turned her eyes to the bed and tried to memorize the peaceful expression on Sophia's face, and wondered if she would ever see it again. She had known her for such an insignificant amount of time, but still Daly's words echoed in her ears: It is always a mystery, how dark magic will manifest itself. Have you noticed how slow time has been moving? I bet everyone expected an early spring. Could they have shoved more time into only a day?

Anything was possible with magic involved, and it seemed right. Lane felt as though she had known Sophia for her entire life. Lane was distracted from such light thoughts by the sound of Max and Lincoln arguing. They, too, talked as though they had known each other for years.

"There is something you are not telling me." Max paced back and forth in front of Lincoln. He was much less antsy with Lincoln around, but it was becoming clear that out of sorts was Max's natural way of being. "Something you are all not telling me."

His gaze dragged across the room, pausing for a moment on Sophia's sleeping form before landing once more on Lincoln.

"What is it I do not remember from last night?"

Sophia and Daisy had awoken and were sitting in Lane's bed, groggy by very much aware of what was happening. No one moved - no one dared to. But this did not help, it only served to agitated Max more, only increased the rate at which he paced. It was as though he already knew the answer to the question he asked but needed confirmation - as if he needed someone else to actually say it.

"Lincoln." Max's voice was raw, a live wire of emotion he did not know how to name. There followed an intensely long pause and they stood, Max staring into Lincoln's back, Lincoln staring at the wall.

"He is dead," Lincoln said it without turning around or shifting his empty gaze. He said it without offering further explanation. Max felt his heart jump into this throat with the assumption he could not speak. Luckily, after several heartbeats, Lincoln did it for him.

"You killed him, Max."

But, as it would turn out, Max was about as good at killing as he was at everything else. Which is to say: not very good at all.