Skylark by Meagan Spooner Page A

a halt and turned to stare at me. “Miss Lark, what happened to you?”
    For a tiny, overwhelming moment I wanted to pour out to him what had been done to me. I longed for sympathy. I wanted him to be horrified, wanted him to comfort me. And I knew he would. But what would telling him accomplish? Better leave him out of it. Better keep him safe.
    “Just take me home,” I whispered. I felt hollow, scooped clean.
    “But I need to take you to the hospital—all that blood—”
    “Tamren, if I tell you anything, you’ll get in trouble for it. You might get in trouble just for giving me a ride.” Why had I said that? There was no way I could walk so far as my building. I wasn’t even entirely certain where I was.
    Tamren’s ears were turning a furious shade of dark pink. “Miss Lark, if someone’s hurt you, you tell me and I’ll whoop them.”
    I laughed. “Just take me home, Tamren. That’s all I need. Please.” I gave him my address.
    Tamren spluttered and protested but in the end he gave in. When we arrived it took some serious convincing to prevent him from accompanying me up all the stairs to our apartment, but eventually I was able to start the long climb to my apartment, alone.
    As my feet hit the familiar solidity of the steps, I realized I had no plan. I had nowhere to go. Even if I could hide from their pixies, my tiny stash of food wouldn’t last long. Still, something made me long for home.
    It took all my strength to climb the steps. I collapsed against our door—which turned out to be ajar. I fell inward. Looking up, I saw Caesar’s face.
    “Lark?” He sounded uncertain.
    “C,” I gasped. “Please. Please, I need your help.”
    This was pure desperation. Caesar was a Regulator. His entire function within the city was to ensure that it ran smoothly. And what would make it run more smoothly than apprehending a Renewable capable of sustaining the city for a few more generations? His talkie device hung quiet at his belt; with it he could summon an army of pixies here in seconds.
    But he was my brother. Suddenly I was telling him everything.
    At some point in my story Caesar guided me into the living room, to the couch that served as my bed. I noticed that it was still made up for me. Whatever the Institute had told them, it wasn’t that I was dead.
    When I finished speaking it was more due to my voice failing than because I had reached the end of my story. “Please don’t call them, C,” I begged him. “Please don’t report me. They won’t even make an Adjustment; I’ll just vanish again. You have to believe me, I haven’t done anything wrong. Please—” My voice gave out.
    Caesar leaned toward me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Of course I’m not going to report you,” he said, hoarsely. His gesture was awkward—I’m not sure he had ever hugged me—but the touch was so welcome that it brought a fresh flood of tears as I turned into his shoulder.
    He held me for a while and then very gently disentangled my arms from around his neck. “I’m going to get you a glass of water,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
    I nodded, wiping the tears from my face.
    “Get changed into some real clothes,” he said.
    I shrugged out of my backpack and tore off my bloodstained tunic and pants, and slid into my only other clothes. Then I snuggled down against the arm of the couch and fell into a stupor. For a brief moment I was safe again. I was in my brother’s hands now.
    He was making a ton of noise in the kitchen. Dishes clattered and clanked. Now and then he’d mutter to himself, low and unintelligible. When he turned the spigot on the water tank, and I heard it tinkling into the cup, I realized that I desperately needed to use the bathroom. I forced myself up off the couch and down the hall, listening to the comforting sounds of Caesar in the kitchen as I went.
    On my way back, as I passed by the doorway to the kitchen, I could hear Caesar’s stream of murmuring more clearly.
    “. .