Disclaimer: I (obviously) do not own any of Cornelia Funke's Inkheart characters, or the section from Dusty's POV. However, I do own the characters of this world and the majority of the plot.
A/N: Bad or not, I just had to write this story down. Please R & R.
Dedication: To my friends. Sara, who told me to get a real boyfriend, The Clarineteer, who rocks, and to someone who won't tell me her pen name, who has a singing voice I would kill for. (Not her though :).
"Take my advice, and fall in love with someone real for a change." Traci leaned back, languidly, sipping her drink.
Love? Allie thought, jolted out of her day dream. Do I love Dustfinger? I don't even know what love is! He's not even real after all…
"Allie!" Traci's voice brought her back to reality once again. Traci had always been able to make people listen when she spoke.
"Allie, I'm going, okay? It's getting dark."
Great, Allie thought bitterly. She probably thinks I'm crazy. Her own parents thought she was. Crazy. They wanted to send her away to some summer camp for disturbed teens, and here she was, ruining her last evening with her best friend. She waved dully at Traci's retreating back.
That night, she pressed her hand against the frosty glass of her window, lost in thought.
Maybe Traci was right. Maybe I should get a real boyfriend for a change. Maybe I should forget about Inkheart for a while.
But I'd never love anyone else…
Angry with herself, she stepped away from the glass and began pacing.
Maybe my parents were right! Maybe I am crazy!
Crazy…
No. I'm just like Meggie. I'm longing for another world…
No, she realized. I'm not like Meggie. She had the power to make her wish come true. And I want something I can't have. Like Dustfinger…
No! No Dustfinger! No Meggie! She ordered herself. Think about something else, anything else! Think about Traci, her face, her voice!
Voice…
Traci's voice. Traci's voice!
She ran to her desk, knocking over the lamp as she scrambled for paper and pencil. Nothing had ever depended on her writing so much. If she was ever to create something worthwhile, it would have to be this.
Traci awoke to the sound of pebbles on her window sill.
She shrugged on her robe and slid her legs out of bed.
"Allie, what are you doing?" she whispered, surprised to see her friend standing outside so late.
Allie just waved her questions away. "I don't have much time," she said impatiently. "Just let me in, and I'll show you."
Allie's purpose became all too apparent when she shoved the paper into Traci's hand inside the darkened bedroom.
"Read it."
"Allie…" Traci turned to leave.
Allie gripped her arm. "Don't call my parents, Traci. Just try. Please. I'm serious. I promise, I've never been more serious. We're friends, right?"
Hesitantly, Traci sat, almost afraid that the bed would splinter beneath her. "What about when you want to come back?" she inquired, stalling.
Allie met her gaze. "I won't be coming back."
Dubiously, Traci began to read. Allie's words were slightly vague about time and place. They seemed to hinge on the fact that Inkspell had been published about forty years ago.
Halfway through, Traci glanced up. She screamed. Allie was gone.
Her mother came running. "Is something the matter, honey?"
"Bad dream." Traci smiled wanly.
Her mother brushed the issue aside. "Good. Listen, have you heard from Allie? Her parents have found that she's missing."
Traci took a deep breath. "No. No, mom, I haven't." And she crumpled the paper in her palm.
Allie's clothes were wet. Drizzling rain trickled from an iron gray sky. In shock for a moment, she looked at her watch. "I can't promise that it will be the same time of day there," she heard Orpheus say. So the watch was useless now. Oh.
She shook her head to clear it. How much time had she wasted? She glanced up at the sky. The gray made it impossible to tell the time. She looked around. She was in a forest, apparently all alone.
But then she heard the screams.
Dustfinger pushed the two-fingered man aside. He shouted Farid's name, but the noise all around drowned out his voice. The boy was still holding Meggie's hand with one of his own, while the other held the knife, the knife that Dustfinger had given him in another life, another story.
"Farid!" The boy did not hear him-and Basta threw.
Dustfinger watched as a girl pelted out of the trees, running oblivious to the rain and the flames and the carnage, running as though her life depended on it.
The knife bit into Allie's side, slicing through fabric and skin and muscle. She slipped and fell into the mud, dimly aware that the blood soaking her clothing was her own. She couldn't trust her legs anymore, couldn't trust anything anymore. A haze settled over her vision, and it had nothing to do with the mist.
"In time… didn't come in time… did I?" she babbled, half crying, half screaming, delirious with the pain.
Resa kneeled beside her, stroking her hair. How long had it been since her own parents had stroked her hair like that?
She continued murmuring desperately. Had she come too late?
"Shh," Resa whispered. "You came in time… Just in time…"
She didn't know how Resa heard her. Maybe it was written in the blood spilling from her side… all the crimson blood… Anyway, she didn't care. There was only one thing that mattered now. Where was Dustfinger?
There. There he was, beside her. His scarred face alone seemed real. More real even than the white women reaching for her, calling her name.
"AALLIEE," they whispered, offering her an eternity of peace and comfort. The blood draining away from her brought color to their lifeless faces.
No! She couldn't leave just yet…
In time… Just in time…
Allie smiled. Smiled despite the pain, despite the blood trickling from her lips. She smiled at the Resa, smiled at the white women, and, lastly, at Dustfinger.
"Just in time to say I love you."
