stumbling over Gram’s cloak, ran to the hedge, and threw up.
Behind me, the voices stopped. My whole body felt hot, and the edges of my vision darkened briefly, but I didn’t pass out. Tears burned down my cheeks. Dimly, I was aware of someone steering me into the house, a cool washcloth wiping my face, a glass of water being pressed into my hand.
“Sit,” my mother commanded.
I sat.
“You’re okay,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed the top of my head, smoothing my hair with her hand. “You’re okay.”
I nodded, because she seemed to expect it. I didn’t tell her I was afraid I’d left some important part of me at the Drought and Deluge—like maybe my brain—or that I was beginning to feel a little unhinged, and sitting in the parlor with my superhero mother, her sidekick, and my precalculus teacher was not very good for my sanity. And that was without adding demons into the mix.
My skin felt hot again.
“You’re okay,” she said a third time. Then, assured that the shock I’d suffered was not life-threatening, she whirled, stalked toward Mr. Alvarez, and began arguing. “You know I don’t like that word.”
Demon, I presumed. I didn’t like it, either.
“It has its purposes,” Mr. Alvarez answered. “It’s evocative.” He and Mom stood near the doorway, facing each other, both with stern looks and crossed arms. Morning Star versus Math Teacher. Another irrational bubble of laughter rose.
“You used it to force my hand,” Mom said.
“She was attacked,” he retorted. “Your hand was already forced. How long did you really expect to keep her ignorant? What did you think to gain? She needs to know where she comes from.”
“She’s my daughter, Ryan. You have no authority in this. You pull rank, I pull off your arms.”
It was too much effort to try to make sense of this. Turning away, I gulped down water to clear my throat.
Leon had vanished as soon as we entered the house, only to reappear a moment later with the gauze from at least three first-aid kits. Now he pushed Gram’s garage-sale table aside and knelt in front of me, bandaging my ankles.
I was too numb to protest. I just sniffled weakly, staring down at my feet, and said, “You’re making me look like a mummy.”
Without speaking, he pulled a tissue out of nearby box and handed it up to me. He kept his eyes lowered. He wouldn’t look at my face, and I couldn’t look at his. I felt all knotted up inside.
The night had separated into fragments: my mother in her Morning Star hoodie; the alley with its smell of bleach; the air thickening around me; the vanishing lights. Demons.
Demons.
My mind shied away from that thought. I concentrated on little details, trying to orient myself. I focused on the air. The windows were open, and the cool autumn wind pushed in, smelling of rain. I watched Leon’s hands. His hands were really too big for the rest of him. A long, slender scar snaked down the back of one, forming a hook at his wrist.
Mom and Mr. Alvarez went right on arguing.
“We’re not having this conversation here,” Mom was saying. She flicked a glance toward me, like she’d suddenly remembered I had ears.
“Secret’s out, Luce. Hiding things now will only make it worse.”
“Let’s try this again: my daughter, my business.”
“You know I’m right. She’s a target because of who she is, and you can’t change that. She deserves the care and protection of the Kin.”
Kin.
He’d said that earlier, in the alley.
It was a word I’d heard before, but not in the way he said it. His tone, the emphasis he gave it, resonated within me. It had a homey feeling, a sense of something safe and old. I thought again of Gram’s stories. She’d never spoken of any sort of kin, but I could almost hear her say it, and with the word came a sensation of history. It held an image of cool rivers deepened with rain, of tree roots stretching far below the earth, of the dark, secret spaces of memory. Kin. It
Behind me, the voices stopped. My whole body felt hot, and the edges of my vision darkened briefly, but I didn’t pass out. Tears burned down my cheeks. Dimly, I was aware of someone steering me into the house, a cool washcloth wiping my face, a glass of water being pressed into my hand.
“Sit,” my mother commanded.
I sat.
“You’re okay,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed the top of my head, smoothing my hair with her hand. “You’re okay.”
I nodded, because she seemed to expect it. I didn’t tell her I was afraid I’d left some important part of me at the Drought and Deluge—like maybe my brain—or that I was beginning to feel a little unhinged, and sitting in the parlor with my superhero mother, her sidekick, and my precalculus teacher was not very good for my sanity. And that was without adding demons into the mix.
My skin felt hot again.
“You’re okay,” she said a third time. Then, assured that the shock I’d suffered was not life-threatening, she whirled, stalked toward Mr. Alvarez, and began arguing. “You know I don’t like that word.”
Demon, I presumed. I didn’t like it, either.
“It has its purposes,” Mr. Alvarez answered. “It’s evocative.” He and Mom stood near the doorway, facing each other, both with stern looks and crossed arms. Morning Star versus Math Teacher. Another irrational bubble of laughter rose.
“You used it to force my hand,” Mom said.
“She was attacked,” he retorted. “Your hand was already forced. How long did you really expect to keep her ignorant? What did you think to gain? She needs to know where she comes from.”
“She’s my daughter, Ryan. You have no authority in this. You pull rank, I pull off your arms.”
It was too much effort to try to make sense of this. Turning away, I gulped down water to clear my throat.
Leon had vanished as soon as we entered the house, only to reappear a moment later with the gauze from at least three first-aid kits. Now he pushed Gram’s garage-sale table aside and knelt in front of me, bandaging my ankles.
I was too numb to protest. I just sniffled weakly, staring down at my feet, and said, “You’re making me look like a mummy.”
Without speaking, he pulled a tissue out of nearby box and handed it up to me. He kept his eyes lowered. He wouldn’t look at my face, and I couldn’t look at his. I felt all knotted up inside.
The night had separated into fragments: my mother in her Morning Star hoodie; the alley with its smell of bleach; the air thickening around me; the vanishing lights. Demons.
Demons.
My mind shied away from that thought. I concentrated on little details, trying to orient myself. I focused on the air. The windows were open, and the cool autumn wind pushed in, smelling of rain. I watched Leon’s hands. His hands were really too big for the rest of him. A long, slender scar snaked down the back of one, forming a hook at his wrist.
Mom and Mr. Alvarez went right on arguing.
“We’re not having this conversation here,” Mom was saying. She flicked a glance toward me, like she’d suddenly remembered I had ears.
“Secret’s out, Luce. Hiding things now will only make it worse.”
“Let’s try this again: my daughter, my business.”
“You know I’m right. She’s a target because of who she is, and you can’t change that. She deserves the care and protection of the Kin.”
Kin.
He’d said that earlier, in the alley.
It was a word I’d heard before, but not in the way he said it. His tone, the emphasis he gave it, resonated within me. It had a homey feeling, a sense of something safe and old. I thought again of Gram’s stories. She’d never spoken of any sort of kin, but I could almost hear her say it, and with the word came a sensation of history. It held an image of cool rivers deepened with rain, of tree roots stretching far below the earth, of the dark, secret spaces of memory. Kin. It
Similar Books
