Lili Crow - Wayfarer

“No ma’am.” Mithrus Christ . Sweat collected in the curve of Ellie’s lower back. She hadn’t changed out of her uniform yet—since she’d missed most of High Charm Calc, crouching over the keyboard for Babbage study-chat with Ruby and Cami had taken forever; she had to catch up and there was French to struggle with, too.

There was an odd light in Laurissa’s gaze, like a sheen of oil on a dark puddle. “It’s just us now. Such a tragedy. Just us girls, together.”

Yeah, with Dad gone it’s just us, and your boyfriends when you want them over. And that baby on the way. Which may or may not be Dad’s. Mithrus. “Yes.” The sweat was in the hollows of her armpits now too. Oh, God, where is this going?

“That’s a good girl. Go get your plate. There’s a train due tonight.”

What? “A train.” Ellie repeated it as soft and noncommittal as she could, taking a step back. So she was obeying, but she wasn’t questioning .

The Strep hated to be questioned.

Her stepmother’s other hand rested on the slight curve of her belly. Her talons, glossy Chinin Red, scraped against the fabric of her shirt as she caressed the small mound, probably unconsciously. She’d only begun to show after the train crash, after the news of Dad’s . . . death. That was thought-provoking too, wasn’t it.

“My sister is coming. Another little girl in the house for you to play with.” The Strep examined her plate critically. “I do hope you won’t let it affect your studies. Or your chores.”

Sister? What the hell? “No ma’am.” She escaped through the archway. Her own plate was charmed to keep it warm—Antonia always did that, though she left the Strep’s alone. Ellie had given up wondering if it was Miz Toni’s comment on the woman, or just that the Strep was afraid of poison charm.

Maybe it was just that Toni felt sorry for Ellie. That was possible too. Laurissa had cut the staff several times, and the first to go were the ones who dared to give Ellie any pitying looks. Laurissa couldn’t get rid of Toni, even though she’d been Ellie’s nanny a long time ago. At least, she couldn’t get rid of a cook of Antonia’s caliber easily , not if she wanted to keep a certain status.

The Strep was all about that certain status. It was, Ellie had decided, why she’d gone for Dad. Inter-province lawyers weren’t celebrities, but they were worth a lot of money. Not a lot of people could handle delicate negotiations one day and trips through the Waste on a sealed train the next.

Ellie stood for a minute in the kitchen’s safe dimness. Every surface quietly gleaming, the two stoves and the stainless-steel fridges clean and shut like tight-pursed mouths, the squares of pristine cream linoleum flooring charm-scrubbed. Before the Strep, she and her parents had come into the kitchen to eat more often than not, laughing with Toni and playing games, Ellie lisping childhood charms and her father’s smile a warm bath of approval.

Of course, the Strep wasn’t even the worst thing that had gone wrong. It had all started with Ellie’s real mother, dead in a matter of days. Six years ago, but she remembered it like yesterday, each of those days crystal clear and painful-sharp. The anonymous wasting illness that had consumed her mother was like a Twist, settling in and destroying everything, leaving Ellie’s life unrecognizable. And her father, half dead with grief, easy prey for a charming woman he met overWaste, a blonde bombshell who fluttered around and catered to him before the wedding. She’d even fussed over Ellie, teaching her about makeup and tiny little charms.

Afterward, the siege had begun. Poor Dad hadn’t even realized he was in the middle of a war, probably because the enemy only came out of her foxholes when he was gone on one of his inter-province trips. Like the first time, a sudden stinging slap and Laurissa’s hissing venom. Little rich girl, thinking you’re so special. Well, you’re not .

When Dad came back, Laurissa was suddenly all sugar and cream again, and Ellie’s silent confusion had sealed the deal, so to speak. She had sensed, clearly and sharply, that it would be her word against Laurissa’s, and Dad was busy and absent. Even if Ell spoke up, well, she’d still be left alone with the Strep.

A lot .

She’d gone over and over it since then, trying to find the way she could have done things differently. There was just all sorts of food for thought now that things had changed so much.

Too bad she never had any time to chew it.

She picked up her plate and trudged back for the dining room. She only got a few minutes to herself during the day, enough to take a deep breath and remember what it used to be like. Sometimes the stolen time helped.

Sometimes, like today, those few filched seconds just made it worse when she stepped into the dining room again and smelled that burning-cedar anger.

Laurissa looked up from the head of the table. Its gloss distorted her reflection again, and the edge of the Strep’s Potential was a smoky ripple, not vibrant like Ruby’s or colorless heat-haze like Cami’s or shimmersoft like Ellie’s own. Lately, the Strep’s charm-mantle had been even odder. Almost fraying at the edges, but only when she was at home. Out in public she was the same as she’d ever been—a painted screen nobody but Ellie saw the danger behind.

“Do sit, dear.” Laurissa picked up her wineglass, took a mannerly sip, and set the crystal down with a click. “We must discuss a few things.”

Great. Each mouthful would turn to sand while she tried to figure out what the Strep wanted next, but God forbid she didn’t eat. Ellie settled gingerly in her chair, laid her napkin precisely in her lap, and braced herself for whatever was next.

The sleek black-gleaming train heaved and snored, pushing its shovelnose chased with dull-red glowing countercharms along with a breathless sigh. Billowing steam and cinders laden with Potential-sparks gushed, as if it rode a cushion of smoke instead of true-iron rails.

Passing through the Waste was dangerous. Out beyond the cities or the electric razorwire and sinkstone borders of the kolkhozes, Twists ran wild, the fey moved through in their own meandering ways, and stray-sloshing Potential messed everything up. Even the foliage and wildlife in the Waste got Twisted in places, without charmers to drain off the excess Potential and make it manageable.

So to go through, you had to pay for passage on a sealed train— and an indemnity in case you were contaminated en route. Diplomats and inter-province lawyers, not to mention some corporate bigwigs, had travel insurance, but it didn’t cover accidental Twists—and sometimes, even true-iron didn’t hold back the shifting, and a train derailed.

If it did, your best hope was to die in the accident, because whatever lived out in the Waste would finish the job. Or you’d Twist, and that would be the end of it. Or, one of the hunters from the cities would find you, and you’d be killed on sight.

The risk of bringing contamination into the cities was just too high. Only fey could move between Waste and city, or Waste and kolkhoz. The huge communal farms were where criminals were sent, true, but they were better than the alternative.

Anything was better than the Waste. So everyone said.

Sometimes, Ellie wondered.

She breathed out, then in with shallow little sips. Her stomach still hurt. The after-dinner calm had been punctured only by the Strep’s angry scream when Ellie slip-charmed yet another pair of high-heeled boots; the application of Potential had been complex but performed perfectly. It was a charm Laurissa had been working on for days—and not having any luck with. They were waiting for Laurissa to add her Sigil . . . and to sell. They’d fetch a high price.