The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

“There is no time—we must get to the roof at once—Elöise!”
    Between them they caught Chang’s arms and helped him up the stairs. Miss Temple turned to Roger. The dirigible shuddered, a gentle kick as the cabin struck a wave.
    “Celeste—forget him!” shouted Elöise. “Come
now
!”
    The airship shuddered again, settling fully onto the water.

    “Wake up, Roger,” Miss Temple called, her voice hoarse.
    He blinked and his expression sharpened, looking around him, taking in the empty room without comprehension.
    “We are sinking in the sea,” she said.
    “Celeste!”
Svenson’s shout echoed down the stairs.
    Roger’s eyes went to the pistol in her hand. She stood between him and the only exit. He licked his lips. The airship was rocking with the motion of the water.
    “Celeste—” he whispered.
    “So much has happened, Roger,” Miss Temple began. “I find…I cannot contain it…” She sniffed, and looked into his eyes—fearful, wary, pleading—and felt the tears begin in her own. “The Contessa advised me, just now, against regret—”
    “Please—Celeste, the water—”
    “—but I am not like her. I am not even like myself, perhaps my character has changed…for I am awash in regret for everything, it seems—for what has stained my heart, for how I am no longer a child…” She gestured helplessly at the carnage around them. “For so many dead…for Lydia…even poor Caroline—”
    “Caroline?” asked Roger, a bit too suddenly, the words followed by an immediate awareness that perhaps this wasn’t the proper subject, given the circumstances, and the pistol. Miss Temple read the hesitation on his face, still grappling in her heart with the fact she had been found wanting twice in Roger’s rejection—first as a matter of course to his ambition, and then as a companion—and a lover!—to Caroline Stearne. This was not what she intended to talk about. She met his eyes with hesitations of her own.
    “She is dead, Roger. She is as dead as you and I.”
    Miss Temple watched Roger Bascombe take in this news, and understood that his next words were spoken not out of cruelty or revenge, but merely because she now stood for everything in his life that had thwarted him.
    “She is the only one I ever loved,” said Roger.
    “Then it is good that you found her,” said Miss Temple, biting her lip.
    “You have no idea. You cannot
understand,
” he said, his voice bitter and hollow with grief.
    “But I believe I do—” she began softly.
    “How could you?” he shouted. “You never could understand—not me, nor any other, not in your pride—your very insufferable pride—”
    She desperately wished Roger would stop speaking, but he went on, his emotions surging like the waves that slapped against the cabin walls.
    “The wonders I have seen—the heights of sensation—of
possibility
!” He scoffed at her savagely, even as she saw tears in his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. “She
pledged
herself to me, Celeste—without even knowing who I was—without a care that we must die! That all is dust! That our love would lead to
this
! She knew even then!”
    His hands shot out and shoved her hard, knocking her back into the cabinet. He stepped after her, arms flailing as he continued to yell.
    “Roger, please—”
    “And who are
you,
Celeste? How are you alive—so cold, so small of heart, so absent of feeling, without
surrender
!”
    He caught her hard by the arm and shook her.
    “Roger—”
    “Caroline gave herself—gave everything! You have murdered her—murdered me—murdered the entire world—”
    His groping hand found her hair and yanked her close—she felt his breath—and then his other hand was on her throat. He was sobbing. They stared into each other’s eyes. She could not breathe.
    Miss Temple pulled the trigger and Roger Bascombe reared back. His face was confused, and instead of snapping forward again he merely faded, like a dissipating curl of smoke, a shapeless figure in a black coat, falling onto the settee and then slipping with an easy movement to the floor. Miss Temple dropped the gun and sobbed aloud, no longer knowing who she was.

    “Celeste!”
    This was Chang, roaring out from the rooftop despite his pain. She looked up. Miss Temple felt an icy stab at her feet and saw that water was seeping through the floor. She stumbled to the iron staircase, blind with tears, and groped her way, gasping with unspent grief. Doctor Svenson crouched in