Sadie Madison and the Boy in the Crimson Scarf

31 | The Last Supper

Being back in the Madison house didn't make Michael feel much better. He knew the Narrowers themselves couldn't get to Sadie directly, but their agents—flesh and blood and bone—definitely could.

He closed the door, thundering the deadbolts into place.

"Michael," Larissa said curiously. "What are you doing?"

"The agents," he whispered. "Sadie thinks she might have seen...something."

Larissa looked at Sadie, her face pale. "Did you? Did you see them? Who were they?"

"They were stood in shadow," she replied, shrugging. "I couldn't see them properly. To be honest, it could have been anyone."

Larissa squared her shoulders, smiled, and turned for the kitchen. "We've prepared for a party, and a party we shall have," she said over her shoulder. "Unlock the door, Michael."

Larissa wandered off to put the fruit pies in the oven.

Michael watched her cautiously, unsure if she had all her senses intact.

A fist pounded the door.

Then another.

"Hello," called a voice. "Anyone home?"

It was madness to let this go on, to let people into the house, to let them near Sadie.

"We're here for dessert!"

"Come on, Sir Michael. Lower your drawbridge!" This last voice, the tipsy slur of Alexsy Rubinov.

Smiling at Sadie, Michael's hands quivering.

"Michael," came Larissa's voice again. "Open the door."

"Get upstairs. Now," he told Sadie, sliding the deadbolts back.

No sooner had the latch flicked open than a gloved hand crept around the edge and a face peered in. "Oh my, look at this place!"

Michael had almost forgotten about the colourful canvases and decorations sweeping through the house. He turned to look again, becoming surrounded by Wrens', Claus-Pritchards', Pendragons', Boswicks', and Tomes', flowing past him like water around a stone.

Michael eyes went to Sadie as she flew up the stairs, her hand outstretched, still holding onto something that wasn't there.

As the initial rush subsided, Michael pushed the door shut, stemming the flow of icy wind and snow. The house teemed with people gorging on the cornucopia of sugar and pastry and icing and chocolate and colourful sprinkles.

Sadie disappeared onto the landing, heading towards her room.

Michael followed, scanning each face as he passed.

When he arrived in the eaved bedroom, Sadie was sat on the bed looking lost and confused. Balthasar perched beside her, whiskers twitching.

"We're almost there," he said, unease knitted into his voice.

"Don't worry, Father," she said comfortingly. "What will be, will be."

Michael shook his head, shooing the cat off the bed. Balthasar scurried onto the window seat. "That's your grandfather talking."

Sadie's eyes narrowed. "Grandfather William?"

"Yes, Grandfather William. He was a big believer in fate and destiny. Everything happening for a reason, cause and effect. The Clockwork Universe—"

"The Clockwork Universe?" Sadie asked. "Like the painting in the hallway?"

"Yes. It's an ancient theory. One that many religious leaders and deists believed in and perhaps, still do, in some dark corner of the world, away from Minister Craven, and the Ryndai, and the Eight Day Assembly. The theory drew the universe as a mechanical clock, ticking along, gears whirring around inside. The universe—the clock—was predictable, predetermined in its task. Like fate and destiny. It was believed the Gods made the clock, wound it up and sat back, letting it tick into infinity."