1503951200 (25 page)

“Did you hear what that man, that ‘doctor’ called you? They’ve been out there a long time and they’re desperate and they don’t trust anyone. Especially you. Who knows what you’ll be going back to?”

All Troy has are stories. To him the Survivors are clichés like Mangold. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Mina. She’s only a girl. She’s my . . . I found her. And she needs antibiotics.”

“Well, hell, Syd. Send her some. Bring her here. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Troy, I wish I wanted to be here. I do. But I don’t. I want to rebuild the City. And I’d like New Charity’s help. Why can’t anyone understand that? Why can’t you? Why can’t your father?”

“He doesn’t have a choice, Syd. He has to keep the Bishop happy. Without the Bishop, the Governor isn’t the governor anymore. The Sanctuary’s support is all the support anyone needs these days.”

“But is it worth all this? Worth all the lives lost outside the gates?”

“That’s not fair. We were his responsibility, not the rest of the world. He’s kept us safe.”

“Until he lets Nelle into the power station. Why is he parading her around like this?”

“He wants to keep Perry happy, too. Thinks Perry might leave or maybe go off the deep end. But if he gets to keep Nelle—”

“Keep her? She’s not a goddamned puppy.”

Troy gets in my face. His passion is like static building, and while I’m angry that we aren’t having the same conversation, circling around each other, at least this feels true, honest.

“You could rebuild right here, Syd. We could make you a studio, you could dance, you could teach. Bring your City people inside the gates. Start over again. Here with us.”

A part of me envisions this. And in my brief daydream, I’m happy. I marry Troy and have two kids, teach all day and drink wine with Pi all night. And hope to hell the wine would drown out my guilt and shame at abandoning the rest of the City and its people. My memories of Danny and my mother. The life I’d only had nascent dreams of. “It’s not that I don’t think it could be done—”

“You talk promises, but didn’t you make any to yourself?”

This isn’t getting us anywhere. “Look, I need to see Nelle, no matter what happens next.”

“The Governor says you’re planning something. That you’re using me. That you’re going to love me and leave me.”

“Well, what are you still doing here, then?”

“I’m following my heart.”

He’s telling me the truth. And maybe I owe him some in return. “I am planning something, Troy. I’m not going to tell you what, but the end goal is to keep everyone safe. That’s all. Trust me or don’t. I’m never going to be your father’s choice for you. Or Perry’s. It’s up to you to choose what you want.”

“I want you, Syd. I want to help you.”

“Even if it means burning your bridges?”

“I know you have promises, but can you make one to me?”

I nod, even though I should be doing no such thing.

“Don’t leave without telling me.” He offers his hand and I shake it. I’m looking at him; he’s looking at the ground.

But his hand slides up my arm. And something like lightning runs behind it. “Syd.”

“Hm?”

His hand is moving over my shoulder and to the back of my neck. “I should tell you something.”

I’d kiss him if he’d stop talking. “Hush,” I say. And he does.

Troy is gentle, not like the guys I slept with at the glorified high school masquerading as an art academy in the City. Those boys were showoffs, overly creative, overly vulnerable, overly loud—anything to make their mark.

Troy is almost tentative. He takes his time backing me up toward the soft juniper bed. The mattress, filled with soft juniper needles, forms itself around my body as he lets me down and lowers himself beside me. We kiss until my lips feel swollen, but here in this place, under the trees, the scent of warm juniper every time we move our bodies, there’s nowhere in the whole universe I’d rather be. He traces my skin over and over; we’re both chilled and still too warm for covers. When I pull the tatters of my dress over my head, he asks if I’m sure. The night air on my bare skin feels like flying. I trace the outlines of his body as he stands. He picks me up off the bed and turns so that my back is against the rough bark of a small juniper. He checks one last time, then fits himself to me. For the second time in one night, lights erupt from behind my eyelids.

I haven’t been very sure of anything in the last few weeks, but of this moment, I am certain.

I wake up to birdsong, stretched out under a thick woolen blanket, the twisting branches of the canopy bed overhead. I look to either side of me and the bed is empty, for which I am both relieved and bereft.

The sunrise feels like kindling. Above me, the sky peeks through a crown of juniper, and though there’s a bit of wine fog to work through, it all cascades back into place—the dinner, Len’s bombshell, Perry’s right hook, escaping to the backyard, the Bishop, Sheriff Jayne, and our race here to the bramble house. I remember Troy meaning to go home. I remember that he stayed.

Troy somehow, earlier and silent, has been back and forth to the house, leaving a full bottle of fresh spring water next to the bed alongside a pair of Cas’s grotty flip-flops, wrapped in a too-long windbreaker. I drink like an animal, letting the cold water run into my eyes and down my chest. Now that there is light, I have two goals. I have to talk to Nelle and to Pious.

I allow myself a momentary sadness that the actions I take today may destroy what I have with the one person who might truly love me, but I try to shove this aside. I am not my mother, destined to be alone. I am not other women who want lives of careful order and habitude. I am not a woman who will be defined or contained by a man’s wishes. I may not live out this day, but I will protect both of my homes, and Troy with it. Romance or not.

I allow myself one last stretch in the juniper-bough bed. A petty part of me wonders if other women have been here before me, if I’m the only one Troy has ever loved.

Between the unrest inside and outside the gates, and the way I left things with the Sheriff, I don’t have the time to mull it all over. I shake the needles from the top sheet and find last night’s dress, shredded to the thighs. I have no shoes, save the sandals, and no outerwear, save Troy’s jacket. There is kindness if not pragmatism in Troy’s bundle. One half of me clings to it like a starving woman, and the other half rejects it like an allergy patient.

There’s not a lot of time, though, before I have to get moving.

The ranch is my logical first stop. That way, I can find Pious and make sure he’s okay. I’ll gather the things I might need should I have to run, and hide them here in the bramble house before finding a way in to see Nelle.

I have to convince her to wait for me to kill the Bishop before she opens the floodgates and activates the Blessing’s Ward. She’s likely to make her move when she’s completing the repairs for the power station. But I have to know how much time I have—days or hours.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, once again marveling at the smooth woodwork Troy accomplished at the edges of everything. I stumble to the edge of the shelter to relieve myself and then see a note at the entrance, written in Troy’s block scribble. A pen clings to the page, as if in hope of a reply.

S,
it says.
Mansion not safe. Don’t come for N now, but maybe soon. C at apartments. I’m at the jail. L taken in for disturbing the peace. Be careful. I love you.
My heart leaps into my chest. I run my fingers through my hair and decide things aren’t going to get any better than they are. I shove my feet into Cas’s sandals and my arms into Troy’s jacket, wrapping the excess around myself, taking every advantage this sweet man has given me.

Maybe if I play my cards right, there can be at least one more night in the juniper bed.

Pi is in the living room, head in his hands. He looks up when the door slips closed, his expression both relieved and irate, as if he’s glad I’m home so that he can finally throttle me.

“Where were you?”

“With Troy. I’m sorry. I know you must have been worried.”

“Do you, Syd? Or is this some more of the
ready, fire, aim
selfishness you learned from your mother, taking off without a thought for anyone else?”

I let the old baggage trundle past. “I was scared and I didn’t know where to go.”

“Sheriff Jayne was here looking for you. If she couldn’t find you . . . what if Priam had put you in his basement? Or worse.”

I shudder. “The Governor is the least of our problems,” I say. “Did the Sheriff say why she wanted me?”

“As if you couldn’t conjecture?” His face darkens a shade. “Do you know this woman, this Nelle Mangold? Was this your plan, to get her here and help her make a scene? Just what exactly are the two of you up to?”

“Nelle and I are not a two and we’re not up to anything. I’d never seen her before I got here. The City was once a big place. We’re both Survivors, but—”

“So that’s it, then. You don’t claim New Charity whatsoever.”

“I do. But Nelle doesn’t. And that’s the point. Before anyone else gets hurt I have to do something.”

Pi holds a hand up. “I don’t want to hear this. Either you start acting like a woman whose friends and family mean something to you or I’m done, Cressyda. I’m sorry for the years I wasn’t in your life, your father wasn’t in your life, but you’re meddling in things that aren’t yours.”

I try to continue, but only a squeak comes out. Pi has never spoken this way to me. I need him right now. I need to be a part of New Charity, now more than ever. And he’s not listening.

“As for your vendetta against the Bishop, I cannot fathom which one of you put this notion into Len’s head, but it’s irresponsible.”

“Cas had a vision.”

“A vision isn’t a truth, Cressyda; a vision is a possibility.”

“She said it was from the Bishop’s own memories.”

Pi rolls his eyes at me. “Of all the nonsense. He’d never allow such a thing.”

“You don’t know. You’re too busy burying the memories of your own magic. Right alongside my dad’s. Magic you never even told me he had.”

“It wasn’t my place, Syd. Besides, he gave it away at the Blessing. I couldn’t have held it for you even if you wanted it.”

“He didn’t. He kept it.”

Spittle flies from his mouth, he’s so angry. “You don’t know anything about any of this. And you don’t listen worth a damn.” His face is so red it looks bee-stung.

It’s then I think about the buzzing from last night. Pi won’t be able to believe Cas’s vision either, even if it comes straight from the horse’s mouth. I grab the journal sitting on the kitchen counter, and wave it in front of him. “Read this and tell me there’s nothing hidden inside. Who is ‘M’? Why was he running herds of horses to Meadow and Klein? He was helping the Survivor camp. He was trying to help me.”

“Do you know what kind of danger you put yourself, put us in when you say things like that in public?”

“I’m not accusing. I’m celebrating, Pi. At least someone in this place had some compassion. And I have compassion, too, which is why I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re all going to be safe.”

Pi looks ten years older than he did the day before. “You do what suits you, Syd. You always do.”