Continuation of 25, I own nada. I just like writing about them experiencing the golden age of the Lower East Side... My relatives make some more cameos!
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"Alright," said Alek bemusedly, "What is it?" Dylan looked tense.
"You have to promise me you won't tell anyone."
"Of course."
"I tried to tell you. More than once. I'm so sorry..." He looked away, and Alek told himself that he would forgive Dylan no matter what.
"What is it? I'm not mad, really."
"I'm going to tell you a story," said Dylan, blue eyes glinting with determination. "There was once a man who had a daughter and a son."
Alek never knew that Dylan had a sister, but he supposed he had never asked. Maybe something awful had happened to her, and that was Dylan's secret.
"The man flew hot air balloons, and he would take his children with him. The mother disapproved, because she wanted the lass to learn how to sew and clean so she might one day find a husband. But she didn't want to. She wanted to fly like her brother and her father. And one day, her da went roaring away in a balloon..." He cleared his throat and continued. "Then the girl's family was free to make her a lady. Day in and day out, the girl learned how to stitch a hem, how to make dinner, how to make a baby stop crying. She hated it. She missed flying. And then her brother joined the Air Service and she was alone in the world."
"I'm sure your sister would underst-"
"I'm not barking finished. So the girl... She dreamed that she would fly again. And she had a plan to get away. So she talked to her brother when he was on leave. He liked her idea and said he'd help. They found clothes for her. A uniform."
They locked eyes, both hearts thudding loudly. Where was he going with this? Dylan cleared his throat again.
"And she cut her hair short and her brother took her to London. But there was one thing left. Her name, which was Deryn." Dylan sighed and sat up straight.
"She picked a similar one. Three letters in common." He wants Dylan to stop talking. He wants things to be the same way they always were.
"She picked-"
"Dylan." Alek finished hoarsely. He- no, she- nodded, eyes glittering.
"I'm sorry. So sorry. I really did try-!"
"I... This... This is mad! Why didn't she- I mean, you- just tell me?"Alek was struggling. He almost felt dizzy, and at that moment, nothing made sense anymore. It was like being hit over the head with a large and heavy object.
"Lots of reasons..." Her voice was a whisper now. "Dr. Barlow interrupted me in the egg room... And under the lizard room, I thought if you left and you never knew... things could be normal."
Alek's brain was making connections like lightning.
That was why she didn't like Lilit at first, and why she had carefully asked if Alek had any feelings toward the beautiful girl.
That was why she was so horrified when Lilit kissed her.
That was why she hadn't bathed when they were at the castle.
That was why she blushed vaguely when Alek had embraced her.
That was why Bovril called her "Mister Sharp."
That was why she always changed in private.
That was why she had such a delicate face.
That was why her voice was inconsistent.
That was why she was so excellent at sewing.
That was why Volger saw something different when Deryn fenced.
That was why she was so slender.
That was why she was so angry when he had called women mad.
That was why she couldn't be hung for treason.
It all made sense... It was paralyzing... This was all too much. In one day, he had learned an incredible secret. One too many.
"I'm sorry," he said, standing up. "I need to think for a while." It was true. He couldn't feel anger or sadness at the moment. Just confusion.
New York and its tapestry of stories. The Italian and Irish gangs were fighting again. Someone got married and someone got divorced. A soldier came back. Another one didn't. A baby was born and an old man died. A matchmaker made matches. A man made it through Ellis Island, but his son was sent back. A little boy fed pigeons. A teenager was working in a sweatshop, dreaming about the day she would send for her family in Poland. Murray, the candyman's son, glanced at a girl, Betty. An Italian grandmother led the crusade for scrap metal. A handsome-ish boy was running through the labyrinth of streets, muttering to himself in German about a girl with two names. A girl in trousers slumped over the cheap table of a cafe, biting her lip. Funny, how you can be so alone even when you're surrounded by people.