Lili Crow - Wayfarer

For a moment she thought of the Strep showing up here, and panic was a stone in her throat. What could she say? Don’t tell anyone? Should she beg? Offer him . . . what? She didn’t have anything.

Of course, he’d never know what she did to keep him safe. Nobody would believe her if she tried telling them Laurissa was a black charmer. She was respected, even if she wasn’t liked, and she was an adult . She’d put on her sweet voice, the one she used with the boyfriends, and it would be all over.

Her arms fell to her sides. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He had a deathgrip on that dead branch, tendons on the back of his broad capable hands standing out, and his charm-shined boots had black dirt and leaf mold clinging to them. “Also, to tell you something.”

What would that be? She just glared at him, and he actually laughed, tossing his head back a little. Not too much, it would throw his balance off.

When he leveled his gaze back down at her, she had her hands on her hips, not caring that she’d have to charm the dirt out of the white button-down. She was always untucked and disheveled around him, for God’s sake. It was like the entire world was conspiring to make her feel like an idiot whenever he was in sight.

“This year’s Midsummer Ball is set for fullmoon.” He shifted a little, very carefully, and there was a sharp groaning creak from the branch he perched on. “Three days from now, at the Fletcher estate. We won the bidding; my mother’s happy as hell and the phones are ringing nonstop. I would like to invite you, Ellen Sinder, to dance with me.”

That’s impossible. “It’s way too early in the season—” she began.

A flash of something like anger crossed his face. “It’s the end of Junius , Ellie. You’ve been here a while.”

Junius? But . . . oh, crap, I missed finals, and— had she really believed she was going back to Juno?

No. They couldn’t drag me back. That was the trouble about being a teenager, though. They could drag you back.

“Seriously?” She searched his expression, her neck aching as she stared up. “Avery . . .”

“If you don’t like me, Ellen, just tell me so and I’ll quit bugging you, okay? I had the hugest crush on you at Havenvale but you never gave me a chance. And the funniest goddamn thing happened to me when I came home and saw you on the platform. I started thinking about you again, couldn’t get you out of my head. I still can’t, but I’ll leave you alone if I’m not wanted here. Okay?”

Is he serious? What’s in it for him? Everything she had ever wanted to say to him rose up inside her, hit a rock, and boiled. Charmsparks popped around her, and the feeling of his attention, as if her skin was alive again, poured over her in a wave. “It’s not that,” she managed around the obstruction in her throat. Now she felt guilty for thinking he was like the Strep, always looking for an advantage. “Really, Ave, it’s not that. I like you. A lot.” You have no idea how much. “I just . . . I have problems.”

“So we solve them.”

We? You don’t know Laurissa . “That’s awful sweet of you, but—”

“Are you coming to the Ball, princess?”

Oh, for God’s sake. No. It’s not worth her finding me there, and what do you want from me anyway? Not a chance, dammit. “Okay. If you promise not to tell anyone where you found me.” Wait, what did I just say?

“Done, charmer’s word. I’ll be silent.” The branch creaked sharply and he scrambled back with monkeylike agility. “Three days, Sinder. Don’t forget!”

“Wait!” she called after him. “I don’t have anything to wear!” What are you doing here anyway? Why didn’t you just come to the front door?

He was already gone, and unless she climbed into the compost heap, she wouldn’t be able to yell after him.

Oh, Mithrus Christ. What now?

Now, she told herself, staring at the wilting, slaughtered dandelions, she should probably talk to Auntie.

“. . . SO IT’S IN THREE DAYS. AND I SHOULD MAYBE GO.” She tried not to bite her lower lip.

Auntie had gone still, the pot on the stove bubbling. The old woman’s hair had grown thicker, longer, and more tangled, if that were possible, and the twigs and leaves caught in its wild mess struggled to poke free.

If I go, maybe he won’t tell. Or maybe . . . I don’t know. She did know, that was the trouble. She wanted to go, to see him. “I don’t have anything to wear, but I can fix that. I might go to Southking and get a bolt of something, make a dress. I can charm . . . Laurissa’s a couturière , so I know how to do cloth and shoes . What do you think?”

Her words petered out. A pounding in her chest echoed in her wrists and ankles, and why was she sweating? Auntie wasn’t like Laurissa.

“A fête?” The old woman sounded puzzled. “But Columba will return, yes?”

“Of course.” Like I have anywhere else to go. “I wouldn’t leave you, Auntie. I just don’t want to bring her here.”

“Wickedness will not follow Columba to Auntie’s door.” The old woman muttered, her head sinking forward as she stirred with a wooden spoon. Fragrant steam rose—it was spaghetti, though the tomatoes in the garden were all still green. “But a promise, a promise to return.”

The scarecrow made a sharp crackling noise, and Ellie almost flinched. It was just a pile of stuffing, though. Even if its painted mouth was a grimace, even if the smears of blue paint that were its eyes almost seemed to follow her as she pushed her chair back and moved restlessly into the kitchen.

“I promise I’ll come back. You need help in the garden.” She stared at the smaller cheese press on the counter, where a block of creamy, crumbly white was being pressed. The cinnamon kitchen was too bright; her eyes stung a little. “I can work, I want to stay and work with you. If you’ll have me.” Don’t get greedy, Ell . “Maybe I can do some marketing too, now that I’ve been here a while. Anything.”

The spoon splashed in rich red tomato sauce. “Oh, Auntie markets in her own fashion. I shall find you cloth, and conveyance, little Columba. And when the dancing is done, you shall return.”

“Well, yeah.” Her heart ceased its wild pounding. It was a good thing, or she might have been sick. Her fingers, digging into the countertop, relaxed little by little. “I’m scared. I really . . . really just . . .”

Before she could help herself, she’d taken the few steps to cover the space between them and thrown her arms around the old woman. Auntie stiffened—some charmers didn’t like to be touched—and as Ellie squeezed gently she got a sudden strong whiff of rotting copper. Sour sweat and dirt, and that nasty scabby breath.

Well, no old lady smelled sweet, right? She worked all day, just like Ellie did.

“You’re amazing,” Ellie finished. Because I know you don’t like to be thanked . “Really amazing . I wish I was your apprentice, you’re the best charmer I’ve ever known. You saved my life, and you’re just so . . . amazing.” Lame, Ell. Really lame.

“Auntie is merely Auntie,” was the grumbling reply, but the brown, creased face broke into its wide white V-shaped smile, and this close Ellie could see a fine sprinkling of iron-grey and black hairs among the white thistledown.

Maybe she wasn’t that old. Her skin was fine parchment, and this close it looked fresher, somehow. The wrinkles weren’t that deep.