I shouldn’t have come here. But where else was there to go, for God’s sake?
Only one place. You know where.
“Now.” Ruby crunched on a fresh piece of bacon. “Drink your milk. We’ll do the dishes and set up the guest room for you. I’ll see if I can call Ellie. I might be able to sneak her out, or talk the Strep into—”
“No.” It burst out so hard and clear Cami didn’t have a chance to stutter. “D-d-dangerous. It’s t-t-too d-d-dangerous, R-rube.”
“So’s her stuck in that house with the Strep, dammit. I’ve been planning a jailbreak for a while, this is as good a time as any. And she’ll have ideas. She’s all practical and shit. Drink your milk.”
Cami just sat and stared at it. White milk in clear glass, and a sudden sweat broke out all over her. She probably smelled unwashed and desperate, too.
Was Nico still screaming, locked up and crazed by her mere-human blood?
Or was she mere-human? So far, nobody had told her exactly what the Biel’y were, except a cult. Maggots, Stevens had said.
Well, wasn’t that a lovely thought.
The man in the tan trench coat definitely wasn’t just-human, though. At least, not completely. Wood and sap and sawdust, and his blue, blue eyes.
Huntsmen, Tor had said. Okhotniki. Gripping the arms of his chair, shaking. Giving her poisonous presents, scars all over him.
Scars like hers.
The boys are Okhotniki.
Ruby kept up a running commentary. Cami just put her head down and did as she was told, washing dishes while Ruby dried and put them away. She was thinking so hard she even let Ruby bully her upstairs into the blue guest room, and the mirror at the vanity with its frame of enameled water lilies gave her a chill all the way down to her bones.
TWENTY-NINE
RUBY SWITCHED HER BABBAGE OFF WITH A PRACTICED flick. “Ell’s sneaking out a window, the Strep is on a charmweed bender and won’t notice until tomorrow. Now’s the best chance I have to spring her, and then we’ll fix this right up. All of it.” She shrugged into her black woolen school-coat, pulling her hair free of the collar with a quick habitual yank. “Don’t open the door to anyone.”
Cami nodded.
“I mean it. Don’t answer the doorbell or the phone. Just hang tight.”
Cami nodded again, following her down the stairs. Her scalp itched. She wished she’d had time to take a bath, at least. But the idea of water dripping from the tap made her cold all over.
“It’s iced over bad out there, so it might take some time to get her out and back here. Take a nap, paint your nails. You can wear anything in my closet.”
You must really be worried. Cami assayed a bright smile, picked a piece of invisible lint off her friend’s shoulder.
Ruby bit her lip. “Stop trying to look so brave.” She picked up her schoolbag, swung it once or twice to gauge its weight. Supplies, she’d said grimly, shoving various odds and ends into it. I don’t care if I have to break a window or two, I’m getting Ellie. I’ve had enough.
“S-sorry.”
“We’ll figure something out.” But she was pale, and she only had one gold hoop earring in. The asymmetry bugged Cami—it was Ruby’s version of a nervous breakdown. “You know where the liquor cabinet is. I’ll be back soon.”
“I kn-kn-know. G-go on. I’ll b-b-b-be f-f-fine.” Go, so I can think. I need to figure out what to do. Coming here was fine temporarily, but . . . The inside of her head tangled, and she traitorously wished Ruby was gone already.
Gone, and safe. The more Cami thought about it, the more she realized bringing all her trouble here wasn’t a good idea.
“You’d better be. Look, don’t drink everything, all right? Save some for Ell. She’s gonna need it.” And with that, Ruby was gone through the utility room. The garage door opened and the Semprena slid out, its chains and grabcharms rasping against churned-up, broken ice and packed snow. Cami made it to the living room window to watch, and was just in time to catch a flash of the sleek black car disappearing around the corner at a reasonable speed.
Never thought I’d see that. But there she goes, to rescue the fair maiden.
Was this what it was like to be a ghost? To watch everything arrange itself neatly without you, like a puzzle without the misshapen lump of an extra piece forced into it?
She took a deep breath. The ghost of breakfast lingered all through the cottage. Everything in here was trim and tidy, except for the explosion of Ruby’s room. The living room was deep blue starred with gilt-silver and touches of full-moon yellow, overstuffed chairs and a tapestry of a charmer’s sun-and-moon along one wall. The hearth was wide and scrubbed clean, a burnished copper kettle set precisely on the stone shelf before it and firewood neatly stacked in a holder shaped like clasped hands.
Sometimes, imagining where she came from, she’d pretended she was the heir of a great Sigiled charming clan, stolen by a competitor. She would daydream about her faceless birth-parents living in a cottage very much like this, searching for her tirelessly, only the evil competitor had sent her to another city across the Waste, and it would only be through some stroke of luck that they saw her and recognized her. Then there would be crying and hugging, and she would have a family of her own, and . . .
That was a kid’s dream. Like playing banditti in the barn.
Cami wiped at her cheeks. Stood staring at the empty fireplace. Gran, like most really strong charmers, didn’t want a lot of open flame while she was working. There was too much Potential that could just latch onto a fire and do odd things.
She could go up into the spare bedroom and lay on the tightly made blue and white bed, maybe. Or take up Ruby’s suggestion about the liquor cabinet. Go up to Rube’s room and turn on the stereo, hope that the noise would drive away the sound of Nico screaming inside her head. Or . . .
A chill raced down her spine, drawing every inch of skin tight. She hugged herself, and the cottage shivered too. The tapestry rippled, and from the kitchen she heard dishes clinking and rattling.
What is that? But she knew. Instead of a daydream of a Sigiled charming clan, the nightmare of reality was slinking closer and closer. You couldn’t run from that. It would sniff you out.
Like a dog.
Three raps on the front door. Cami’s mouth went dry.
Another two. It was four steps to the window, and she made them on rubbery legs. Tweezed part of the curtain aside—the Semprena’s tracks were already lost in a mess of churned-up white. The front garden was just the same, still and secretive under a white blanket.
And there was a shadow on the front porch. The angle was wrong, she couldn’t see.
No more knocks, but she could feel the waiting. A deep pool of it, ripples of silence spreading out. Don’t open the door, Ruby said.
But where could you hide when this came knocking?
And if I don’t answer, will they tear the house down? The trembling was all through her. She realized she hadn’t taken her coat off, though the cottage was warm and snug, and she still had her boots. The same boots that had carried her through snow and filth and the holding cell.
I wanted to know where I belonged. Now it’s calling me . . . home? Is that the word for what you can’t escape?