Wayfarer: A Tale of Beauty and Madness (Tales of Beauty and Madness) (15 page)

“Just leave—” Ellie began to repeat herself, but two things happened at once.

Avery stepped forward, right hand coming up, fingers flicking loosely. A brilliant blue-white flash cast sharp-ink shadows; goose bumps popped up on Ellie’s skin, tingling and prickling.

She had to blink several times before what she was seeing made sense.

Cryboy, his leather jacket smoking, sprawled on the pavement, rolling back and forth and making a small
heeen
noise. Ralfie crouched, shaking his head with weird boneless broken-neck twitches. A reek of burned hair and gunpowder; Hop lay crumpled and unmoving. There was another slumped shape in the shadows, near the mouth of an alley to their right; she found out she didn’t want to look at it.

Mithrus Christ, what did he—

“Warned you,” Avery said quietly, and took Ellie’s arm again. “Come on, Ell.”

She didn’t resist. He didn’t walk very quickly either, maybe because she was hobbling. Her feet were killing her, and everything else wasn’t too happy either. The entire damn day had just caught up with her.

He’d parked on Highclere, but down at the far end where Ruby never did, on the left side of the slender frost-cracked street. The houses here were narrow and frowning. Expensive shotgun shacks, Dad had called them.

The thought of her father was a pinch inside her chest, a hard twisting one. Had she really called Laurissa a whore?

I can’t go back.
The knowledge jolted, a painful precise slice inside her chest.
She’ll kill me. And not just figuratively
.

So, what, then? Sleep on the street? Wait until school tomorrow and . . .

Her brain seized up yet
again
. Hard to think when you were tired and terrified, and she hadn’t slept since last night. It felt like a long time, though. It felt like she hadn’t slept in months.

His car was the same primer-painted heap, and maybe he kept it that way because it blended in here. There were empty spaces on the street, which never happened during the day. The cars belonging to the neighborhood people were older and heavier, battered and repaired, soft-glowing anti-theft charms visible as the breeze stirred spindly tree branches and mouthed the houses.

“What did you do to them?” It was a stupid question, but that looked like a really useful charm to have, and never pass up the opportunity to learn, right? If she could get something out of this, maybe the day wouldn’t be such a total, incredible pile of wasted everything. Broken discs, torn-up paper, what few clothes she had left probably shredded now too. She had nothing but her schoolbag, and her mother’s ring, and the uniform she stood up in. How could things get worse?

She had to wince, and her left hand tingled, wanting to make the
avert
sign. It could always,
always
get worse. Laurissa had taught her as much, hadn’t she.

“They don’t send you to Academy to learn knitting.” He unlocked the passenger door, letting go of her arm slowly, reluctantly. “Medic charms can hurt as well as heal. Besides, I wasn’t about to let them do anything to you.”

So he’d settled into his charm-clan’s specialties. Good for him. “Could you teach me?”

He actually looked shocked. “Mithrus, no. It’s not a charm you want, babe. Not one you should be throwing, either. You’re not even—”

She could finish that sentence in her sleep.
Good enough. One of us. Pretty enough. Worth it.
Whichever one he meant, well, it wasn’t like it would hurt her, not after today. “I might need it,” she persisted. “I couldn’t see what you did.”

“Good. Get in the car, please?”

Why?
“If I do, will you teach me?”

“No. I’ll drive you wherever you want to go, though.”

“How about New Avalon?”

An easy shrug. His irises reflected oddly, more gold than dark at the moment. Had he really come out just on intuition, looking for her? “If you want. Getting through customs might take some doing. But your dad was a diplomat, right? You still have a passport?”

Of course not. Laurissa took it. She’s probably burning it right now hoping to charm a rebounding sympathy onto me. “No. I don’t . . . no.”

“I’ll figure something out. I’m not kidding.”

She searched what she could see of his expression. Oddly enough, she believed him. “Why are you doing this?”

“You don’t know? Mithrus, you’re so smart, but . . . what’s a guy got to do, Sinder? Pretend we’re back at Havenvale and tease you again? Throw myself into the bay? Walk through the core singing a Hellward tune?”

Well, you could find me a place to spend the night.
Caution warred with desperation. A crazy idea hit her, and she looked up at him, tall and absurdly comforting, his face shadowed as true night folded her soft wings over New Haven. The beech tree behind him rattled its leaves, reminding her of the flicking of his fingers as his charm laid waste to jacks. Medic charms looked awful handy, but her Affinity wouldn’t show until . . .

The thought refused to coalesce.

He might have thought she was looking at him for a completely different reason. Because he leaned down, his breath smelling of peppermint beechgum, and his lips touched hers.

W
ARM, SOFT, TENTATIVE, AND HER EYES FELL SHUT
without any prompting on her part. His tongue probed for entrance, and a flash of
oh my God I don’t have enough practice to do this right
went through her weary, aching skull, right before her hands crept up to cup his face and her own mouth opened. Stubble a slight roughness under her fingertips; he had certainly grown up, hadn’t he? He had to bend down, and she had wondered sometimes if your neck got tired when you snogged a boy.

It didn’t. And practice, she learned, was not incredibly necessary. All it took was attention, his hands carefully on her waist and she liked the feel of that. She liked the warmth of him, the way he blocked out the breeze and the night, the car solid behind her too. Caught between those two solidities was a space just her size.

He made a sound way back in his throat, and all of a sudden she wondered if Ruby was wild because she liked this feeling of safety. But that was ridiculous, right? Rube was super-safe. Her life was a picnic compared to Ellie’s. She was a de Varre, for God’s sake, what did she have to be afraid of?

The crazy idea returned, and she had to break away to breathe. Avery leaned into her, and she found out she liked the slight hint of cologne on him, too. Something woodsy, almost like pines, and a tang of silvery coldness. The space between his neck and shoulder was warm and oddly vulnerable, and just right for her to rest her face in, nestling up close. There wasn’t enough room to work a slipcharm between them, and she found out she liked it that way.

If only everything was this
simple
.

His arms were around her now, and he rubbed his jawline against her hair, a shudder going through him. His soft outward breath became a word. “Wow.”

Her smile caught her by surprise, and she was sort of glad her face was hidden. Everything inside her turned warm and soft for a moment, her bones full of heated honey. “Yeah.” Her breath made a warm spot against his collarbone, and he moved a little, restlessly.

He stilled. Deep breaths, and Ellie matched his. It was nice to breathe in unison, she decided. If she could just stay here for a little while longer, things might not be so bad.

“So tell me what I’ve got to do,” he finally said, into her hair. “Then I’ll drive you wherever you want. Okay?”

I really would just like to stay here.
That wasn’t really an option, though. Neither was asking him . . . what could she ask him?
Hi, take me home and protect me from my crazyass Strep-Monster?
That would go over really well.

Who would believe
her
once Laurissa put on her charming face and reminded everyone she was Sigiled, an adult, a stepmother who’d kept Ellie after her dad derailed in the Waste?

When all was said and done, Ellie was just a kid. A stupid, worthless, brainless little bitch who ruined everything for everyone. Ruby and Cami believed her about the Strep, because they were her friends . . . but adults, even Mother Heloise, believed Laurissa couldn’t be
that bad
. There was nothing anyone could do. Until she was eighteen or apprenticed, she
belonged
to her legal guardian.

She was owned.

Besides, she’d heard about Province Homes and orphanages. They were pipelines leading straight to the kolkhoz, if you survived them.

No, she had to start planning and moving, and quick. The crazy idea returned for the third time, and the decision only took her a heartbeat.

What else did she have to lose?

“You can drive me to Juno.” Her throat was tight, but she managed to get the words out. “I have to go near there. And maybe soon you can teach me what they taught you at Academy. That’s what I want.”

“I can’t . . .” He sighed, his arms tightening. “Mithrus, you really know how to put the rack to a guy. Damn.”

“I’m sor—”

“Nah.” He actually kissed her hair, and the warm shivery feeling that went through her almost made her weary knees unlock. It was a good thing there was nowhere to fall; he had her against the car so hard she could barely breathe. It was only for a moment before he loosened up, stepping back and holding her at arm’s length as she blinked up at him. “You know, I had dreams about doing that.”

“About driving me around?” Her cheeks scorched, and she almost leaned forward. The little betraying tremble in his arms told her that he’d let her, and that he wouldn’t be averse to going back to that fascinating new thing called kissing.

“Sticking my tongue in your mouth.”

“You have no romance.”

“I have
lots
of romance. I’ll show you sometime.” Was that a grin on his face? She couldn’t tell, it was too dark now.

“Keep it under wraps, Fletcher. I’m a nice girl.” The wisecracking felt good. Like she had everything under control. If she could fool him, maybe she could make herself believe it.

“Yeah, you are. When you’re not hell on wheels. Get in the car, Sinder.”

So she did. He held the door for her, and closed it with finicky, careful softness. He even waited until she locked it before going around to the driver’s side, and she took a moment to shut her eyes in the dark, there inside the shelter of his car, and let herself pretend it was going to be all right.

• • •

“Here?” Puzzled, he peered up the street. Under the elms the darkness thickened, even the ancient wrought-iron streetlamps struggling to pierce through. “Who lives around here?”

“A friend.” Ellie reached for the door handle, hesitated. “Hey.”

“What kind of friend?”

A batty old lady. Who nobody, especially Laurissa, would ever connect me to. And it needs to stay that way.
“Just a friend. Listen . . .” The words dried up. What did she even want to say?

The engine purred. His fingers didn’t restlessly tap the steering wheel. He stared at his knuckles like they were the most interesting thing in the world. In the soft glow from the instrument panel he looked older. Twenty, maybe, or even further along. It was a funny thing, to see what he’d look like in a few years. His cheekbone had a good arc to it, and the shadow along his jawline looked interesting enough to touch.

So she did.

Her hand hung in the air between them, and he was a statue. She traced the bottom of his cheek, marveling at the texture, so different from her own skin. A muscle flicked high up on his cheek, and his knuckles had gone white.

She snatched her fingers back.
Don’t, Ellie. This could burn you.

This could burn you bad, and you don’t have a lot of wick left.

As casually as she could, she reached for the door. “Thank you.” Hoarsely, because her throat had gone dry. “I lost the number you gave me. Your parents still in the phone directory?”

“Yeah.” He still stared at his hands. Was he angry? Or maybe some other guy feeling, mysterious as the Seventh Layer of DeVarian’s Charms? “They’re bidding for Midsummer Ball, too, so the guest rooms are being redone. My dad had a couple extra phone lines put in.”

Bidding for Midsummer this early? Someone’s eager.
Maybe it was Laurissa.

Ellie found, to her weary relief, that she didn’t actually care. “So if I call . . .”

He shook his head. “Someone will answer, they’ll get me. Just tell me where you want to meet me.”

“And you’ll show up?”
Well, now I sound clingy. Clingy little Ellie.

“Yeah.” He didn’t even hesitate.

She had to ask. “Why?”

“You want me to say it again?”

“Maybe. No,” she interrupted when he opened his mouth. “Don’t say anything, okay? Let’s not ruin it. I’ll call.”

“Sure you will.” He said nothing else as she got out of the car. The engine idled, and he didn’t move.

She stepped onto the sidewalk. Up a block or two and to the right was where she thought Auntie’s house was. If it wasn’t, well, she was going to look really stupid wandering around here at night. Someone might even call the cops.
There’s a prowler . . . it’s a girl . . .
Then maybe she’d have to find a lie that wouldn’t tell them where she belonged, so they wouldn’t drag her back to Laurissa.

She was so tired coming up with a lie that good just didn’t seem possible. Not to mention the fact that if they didn’t drag her back to Perrault Street, she might be taken to someplace like Jorinda Hall or Crantsplace Juvenile.

That
was enough to make even Laurissa seem faintly welcoming. So Ellie put her chin up and her shoulders back, walking into the shadows under the elms. The sound of the primer-dipped Del Toro’s humming faded behind her, and when she crossed the street it cut off as if with a heavy knife.

She didn’t look back.

• • •

For a few moments she stood staring, in dull disbelief. At night Auntie’s house seemed even narrower, its slightly crooked chimney glowing at the top with a red smokelifter charm, its picket fence grasping fingers. The garden hummed to itself, and when Ellie stepped under the trellis arch she found the gate was open, held back by the twining vines of those queer frill-petaled roses.

She almost wanted to stop and look at the charm used to train them, but her head throbbed at the thought. The crushed-shell walkway ground under her tired maryjanes, and there was an odd slipping sensation—as if the shells were melting, or as if she was being drawn forward without moving, the house looming larger and larger as the path became a river and Ellie a tiny boat rocking on a deep current. She hitched her schoolbag up on her shoulder, the knotted strap digging in, and had her foot on the first slick, quartzlike step when Auntie spoke.

“Come late to Auntie’s door, the wanderer has. They come back to Auntie late at night, always.”

Ellie whirled, almost losing her balance. There, in the middle of a stand of waist-high green fern set back behind tall blood-colored hollyhocks, black in the darkness, the old woman stood. Fireflies danced around her white head; she’d freed her thistledown hair, a thin but oddly vigorous river down her back. Her brown face was scored with deep lines, but just as night had made Avery look older, it made Auntie look younger.

“I . . .” Ellie floundered. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I have . . . I don’t have anywhere else to go, and—”

“Yes, yes, Auntie knows.” One plump hand waved, fireflies rising from the fern’s depths to follow the gesture. “Inside the lonely daughter goes, and the smallroom upstairs is hers. Tomorrow we begin.”

She was too tired to care
how
the woman knew, or to examine the tiny secret thrill that went through her at the word
daughter
. “Begin?”

“Bright light inside Auntie’s weary little dove. We train it, we shape it. We teach thee to charm, Columba. Yes, a singed little fiery dove. Go inside.”

It’s about time something went right for me.
“I can’t pay—”

“Auntie doesn’t want
money
, little Columba. Go, and rest.”

Something in her lifted a weary protest, a murmur of danger. If Auntie had been a man . . . well, she never would have come here. She was smart enough for
that.
“Thank yo—”

A spark kindled in those dark eyes. “Do
not
, no
thanking
. Insult to Auntie it is. Inside, or we deny thee shelter.”

The implicit promise—that if she hurried, Auntie would at least let her stay the night—propelled her forward. Ellie forced herself up the steps. The fudge door opened, and strangely, once she stepped inside, she felt almost safe. It swung shut behind her with one high-pitched squeak, and she made it up the stairs and down a narrow, dusky hall. Four doors, three of them closed tight and secretive, but one left half open to show a soft gray bedroom with fans of white feathers over its empty fireplace and a small white-painted rocking chair by the tiny window. There was a bathroom the size of a closet, and a closet pretty much only big enough for a broom and two hangers, but it looked damn near like a palace.

The door even locked, but she didn’t find that out until later. Ellie dropped onto the deep gray velvet quilt on the narrow single bed, its iron scrollwork glinting in the bright moonlight—strange, that there was moonlight coming in through the window, because it was a cloudy night . . .

She fell asleep.