Laura fiddled with an argent. “No one’s happy all the time.”
“But you come home and complain. All the time. And your boss seems very abrasive. I don’t want you to be stuck somewhere toxic.”
“I’m not. It’s kind of … freeing, actually. Clae’s honest. That’s what makes it, strange as it sounds. He doesn’t have to put up with me, or anyone else. So when he does, and when he says I’m doing well, I know it’s true. He sees value in what I do.” He sees value in me, her brain continued, but she kept her mouth shut.
“I’m sure you’re a valuable worker, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be just a tool for him to throw away.”
“Clae doesn’t learn the names of tools or machines.”
Belatedly she realized this wasn’t meant to refer to Clae’s stubborn distrust of interior workers. Morgan was referring to herself: her stricken look proved it. Shame rose in a hot flush in Laura’s cheeks. How could she fix that kind of mistake?
Morgan composed her face into a rigid semblance of normalcy and rested a hand on Laura’s shoulder.
“Sometimes people value you in ways you misunderstand,” she whispered. “You can tell you’re valued, but for what? Is it because you’re smart? Is it because you can hold a good conversation? Is it what they can get out of you? Are you just a pretty face? Oh, don’t look at me like that, Laura, you are pretty. But think about it. He’s a horrible person, and what is he gaining from you? Does he really think that highly of you?”
“He’s not as horrible as he likes people to think,” Laura defended.
“He’s horrible enough. Please, just answer me truthfully. Why do you put up with this?”
Laura scrunched up her face as she tried to sort out an answer. Lots of vague thoughts swirled around her head, but forming them into something coherent proved difficult.
“I like to feel like I’m important,” she settled on at last. “When I’m there, I know I am.”
She knew better than most how family wasn’t obligated to care—she and Morgan hadn’t spoken to the rest of the family in over a decade, and Cheryl hadn’t so much as seen them—but at times it still felt like Morgan raised her more out of pity. Like she was watching over a younger version of herself, or maybe some offshoot of her precious older sister. When it came to Clae, there were no opportunities for such doubts. She knew exactly where she stood in his eyes.
Morgan gave a hollow laugh and shook her head. “Is this all because of that book?”
“It’s more than that.”
“But that’s the root.”
“It’s not—”
“If only we never bought it. You might be happier.”
Happier? Morgan looked at her with big sad eyes, but anger coiled in her stomach. The woman might as well have scooped up all her hopes and dreams and tossed them down the stairs. “Happier,” as if Sweeping were just an ugly phase that had lasted too long to be proper; something that could’ve been avoided entirely if only they’d taken enough care, like a disease.
“I’m going to be late for work,” she said tersely.
“Laura—”
“See you later.”
She hastened out the door before she could be questioned further. Laura wanted to believe Morgan honestly cared, but she kept throwing out things like this. It felt increasingly like all the value she saw in Laura was actually the value of a potential husband to drag the family into some semblance of respectability.
Using amulets is hard, but I’m really good at it. Even Clae was impressed, she thought as she left. Morgan’s morose face lingered in her mind, so she kept trying to justify it all. All that time at school feeling so tiny and useless, and people really expect me to keep going like that? People like Charlie and those teachers wanted me to believe in a version of myself I never even liked. Infestations are terrifying, but the magic, the amulets—they feel right. I feel strong. Unboxed. And I knew what I’d be getting into, knew that since I was little. If everything feels right, no one has any right to try making me leave. I’m supported. I might follow Clae’s lead a lot, but I know without a doubt that if I had non-Sweeper trouble he’d be there for me. He trusts me to have his back when we’re going after a monster. He trusts me to keep him alive in the future.
The last thought startled her. She came to a stop halfway down the stairs and stared blankly at the scuffed wall.
He thinks I’m important enough that he can trust me with his life.
It took a while to wrap her head around it, but the more she thought, the more certain she was. The bravest man in all the city relied on her more than anyone else. What a horrifying conclusion. At the same time, though, it made her chest swell with pride.
“I’m worth being here,” she declared.
No one was around to hear it, but it was enough assurance for her. She kept walking with a new spring in her step.
Laura arrived at the Sweeper shop to a surprise. A number of people could be seen through the large windows, black shapes flitting back and forth. With a jolt she thought some group had finally decided to go after Clae, but the movement was slow, more the milling of a crowd than a more deliberate motion. With no sound or sight of trouble, Laura opened the door and peered in. Policemen filled the room, a pack of fourteen and mostly young, who chattered and laughed at bad jokes.
Clae stood guard in front of the Kin, eyes flicking suspiciously. When a woman snooped too close he took one strong step forward, spooking her into retreat. Okane had resumed his position plastered to the back corner, motionless and silent. Neither noticed Laura’s entrance through the noise.
She hauled her bike into the shop and wheeled it toward the usual wall. It took a while for some people to realize she was trying to get through, but they moved aside eventually. With the bike parked, Laura headed to the counter. The movement caught Clae’s attention, so his head swiveled about and he gave her a fearsome look that made her step falter. Once he recognized her, the anger drained from his face and he deflated.
“You finally showed up.”
“Don’t complain,” Laura grumbled, still rattled but slapping on a brave face. He trusts me. “I’m on time. What’s going on?”
“I told you before, police of a certain rank have to follow Sweepers for a while to understand us better. Get the idea of what we do. Happens every few months. We just need to lead them around.”
“All these people are here for Pit duty?” Laura looked over the unruly group, trying to imagine them all filtering through the walkways of the interior.
“All these and two more. We’ve got some up-and-coming politician sent over, along with a guest of his.”
“A politician?”
“He’s aiming to get into the City Council, so Douglas thinks he should get some education.”
“Douglas” referred to Victoria Douglas, the same woman Clae had recommended to the reporter at the August infestation. Douglas reigned over the City Council, in a minor position but still one where she could push hardest for Sweeper benefits. The most Laura had seen of her was a picture in the newspaper—from that she knew Victoria Douglas was an old woman with severe wrinkles and white hair tightly curled. Laura was a little wary of dealing with her ilk.
After another five minutes the door swung open again, and two people entered. A young man came first: Laura judged him to be shortly out of university, with blond hair and strikingly blue eyes. His new brown suit fit perfectly. The tall woman beside him sported red hair, a fashionable dress, and a familiar face. It took a moment but Laura recognized her, and Clae did as well in the same moment.
“Oh, hell, it’s that reporter.”
The same reporter from the August infestation. She looked almost a completely different person outside of the police uniform. Her eyes roved, drinking in the room as if it were a castle instead of a shop. Her fingers twitched toward her bag and presumably her notebook. Laura was relieved to see she’d gotten away from the police, but wasn�
�t sure if her presence would be a good thing here.
With everyone gathered, Clae tried to bring them under control.
“All right, shut up.” He clapped his hands for emphasis, but, these people being unused to Clae’s authority, the babble went on.
“Hey!” Laura cried. Some people looked over, but the majority remained ignorant until Clae brought his foot down with a loud thunk and a shriek.
“Shrew! Peep!”
Everyone jumped. Once all startled eyes were on them, Clae sneered.
“Right, first rule. When I say shut up, you shut up.”
Silence. Okane sneezed and ducked down in mortification. Clae paid him no mind, but it lessened the tension in the air.
“Moving on. You’re here to follow the Sweepers today. I’m Clae Sinclair, head Sweeper. That means from eight to four, I am your god. You will not defy me. Defy me and I will become tattletale to your boss, that’s not below me. Feel free to imagine the outcome.”
A few policemen went pale, but the suit man remained unruffled.
“These are my apprentices, Miss Kramer”—eyes turned to Laura, and she straightened up under the attention—“and Mr. Sinclair.”
Laura turned to follow his gesture. Okane stared back, flabbergasted. This was the first time he’d been referred to with this surname. It sounded very strange.
“They are also gods. If you have questions and I’m busy, ask them. Otherwise don’t bother them.” Clae glared at the reporter, who returned a brazen smile. “What we’re doing today is the same thing we do every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I take it you know how amulets function?”
“Um.” A policewoman who looked barely sixteen raised a shaky hand. “No, not really.”
That opened the proverbial floodgates, and Clae preached the functions and fallbacks of amulets. While he spoke, Laura ghosted around the counter to join Okane. Together they watched their audience’s expressions, all the way up to the flicker of shock as Clae went for the jugular.
“Now, did your chief or boss tell you about how the wall propaganda’s a bunch of bull?”
“Excuse me?” said the policewoman.
“Bull. Lies. Slander.” Clae waved a hand. “You all are here because the chief or Council has hand-selected you to be one of the ‘chosen.’ To know the truth of our city.”
“But we all know the truth,” said a policeman. “The walls—”
“Walls don’t do anything. Think about it. Really think about it. If Amicae, the friendly city, had actually come up with a foolproof way to prevent the spread of infestations, why wouldn’t we have shared that? Why is every other city in Orien plagued by monsters? I see you looking at each other. I see you coming up with theories on why we’d possibly keep such a secret, but the truth is that there is no secret. Amicae has no defense against monsters. The walls are useless against them, just as our ancestors’ castles were useless, and the natives who understood its every working were useless against it. The only thing capable of driving off an infestation is weaponized magic, which is only created by Sweepers. And yes, that’s another bitter dose of reality: Sweepers have nothing to do with mobsters. We are not the MARU, and never have been. We’re here to clean up the mess that the Council refuses to prevent, and minimize damage.”
“But we’d know,” said the policeman. “If something that big was loose in Amicae, we’d have heard about it!”
“That’s where your role comes in.” Clae strode forward, slow, each thud of his boots against the floor menacing with the hiss of the Kin behind him. “As the chosen, it’s your job to keep this knowledge from the public. You seal off the crime scene. You escort away any and all potential witnesses, and if there are witnesses for any reason, you take care of them by any means necessary. Some witnesses comply without much force. Others are marked as terrorists and thrown in jail for attempting to make this public knowledge. Still others have to escape to the Fifth Quarter or seek asylum with the mobs. Isn’t that a thorn in your side? That the mobsters do more to save your fellow citizens than you do.”
He stopped in front of the reporter. Her hands had steadied over her bag and she looked back at him coolly, unflinchingly.
“As a reporter you’ve been recruited here, probably because you’re too nosy and you’d find out about this anyway. Congratulations. You studied to find the truth and you’ve got it, but now you’ll get to spend your days helping them keep it all hidden. Your role is camouflage. When a child has an amulet that runs out of power and an infestation takes root in it, you get to write about how the parents unwittingly disrespected a mob boss and got their just deserts. Or maybe you write how their gas system malfunctioned and the whole of the house was lost in the blaze. Write how a child ran away from home to explore other cities. It’s all been done.”
Finally he turned to the man in the suit, and here his eyes absolutely glittered with malice.
“And you, new blood of the Council. It’s your responsibility to understand everything you perpetrate. Every decree and every lie, you must understand the death counts and damage that comes with it. This is the burden you’ve chosen, and this is something you can’t ever ignore.”
The man snorted. “I’m aware of your claims, Sweeper.”
“Claims?” Okane whispered. “He didn’t just—”
“Disregard my words if you want for now, but the rest of the Council will rip out your throat if you don’t step lightly,” said Clae. He turned back to the hushed group. “The burden’s on all of you, now. You are now witnesses to the Council’s great lie. You have two choices. First, to obey their every decree and go on as if nothing has happened. You will not be allowed to share this information to anyone who doesn’t already know. You can’t warn your family. You can’t warn your friends. Your second option? You could talk. Just know that you and whoever you tell won’t be long in this world. Any questions?”
Silence. The reporter raised her hand.
“How many Sweepers are there, sir?” she asked.
“You’re looking at all three of them.”
Eyes turned on them again, wide and horrified, and Laura couldn’t blame them. The only three people capable of destroying infestations, and their combined life span probably couldn’t even match the ages of some police coworkers.
“Now that you’re all aware of the direness of the situation, we’ll bring you out on one of our more routine operations,” said Clae. “Let’s get going.”
The trunk sat behind the counter, out of sight of the visitors. Laura and Okane hefted it up between them. Okane lifted his side with ease, far more coordinated than the first time. He was very different from what he was, back in August; he still leaned toward the kind of clothes he wore before, dark and almost formalwear, but he’d started to wear the brighter kin-treated material, and a red bandana had taken up residence around his neck, while this hair, well groomed at one point, had gotten irreversibly tangled. While he didn’t look so high-class, he did look freer. Laura felt irrationally proud to look at him; foolish, since she’d had little to do with it.
They carried the trunk outside. For once they led the march to the interior. Clae was just behind them, walking backward to address the gaggle bringing up the rear. He didn’t so much as glance where he was going. Either he committed the path to memory, or he’d activated his amulets to better sense theirs.
Now he launched into an explanation of Pit duty, what it was and why they did it. He added more fluff to this explanation than the curt ones he gave the apprentices. When he finished, a policewoman near the front asked about the history of the Pits. Laura would’ve listened in, but the reporter went around Clae to walk alongside her.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m not sure if you’ll recognize me, but we met back in August. I’m Annabelle Kilborn. You can call me Bella if you want, though.”
“I remember you,” said Laura, quirking a small smile. “I wondered if you’d gotten away.”
“My coworker had a getaway car,” said Annabelle. “I
dug into the Council files like you and your boss said. I guess that’s why I got sent here. I didn’t realize how deep this hole went until it was too late.”
“I’m sorry we got you involved like this.”
“Don’t be. I wanted to be involved. Now I just understand why you couldn’t say anything. But!” Annabelle pulled out her notebook and pad. “Now that I’m here, I’m going to work as well as I can in the box I’ve got. I’d say my first project is bringing attention to you anyway. Mind if I ask you for opinions on this job and some political maneuvers?”
“Sure, but I’m not sure how much you can publish.”
“Feel free to be evasive. I’ll edit it if there are loose ends.”
“All right, but if you want to talk politics Clae would be your man. He’s the one who knows all the ins and outs.”
“I’ll be getting his opinion too, but I want to know what you think. Our readers like to hear from the everyday worker, not the big man.”
“So long as you’re careful about what you write. Fire away.”
Annabelle questioned them about some small details (How often do mobsters plant these “monsters”? Are you satisfied with the current abilities of Sweepers? Are you happy with your job benefits? How wide is your network?). Laura answered it all to the best of her ability so Okane didn’t have to speak, and he seemed very happy with this arrangement. They’d almost reached the interior door when politics came up.
“What do you think of the push to eliminate the Sweeper position?”
Laura stumbled and Okane had to scramble to compensate for the movement.
“What?”
“The push to eliminate the Sweeper post,” Annabelle repeated. “The idea to transfer the duties of Sweepers entirely to the police department and cut costs.”
“I know that most people think we’re MARU, but even they weren’t under the chief’s thumb. Since when did this come up?”
“Alexander Wilcox is making that part of his platform for election in the spring.” She nodded back at the man in the suit, who eyed Clae like one would a growling mutt. “The Council has been questioning the wisdom of funding such a small and expensive office, but Victoria Douglas has always hounded them into keeping it. With her retirement on the horizon and new blood coming to power, there may be more indecisiveness and possible elimination. You say the Council knows the dangers, but if they did, would they really have let you dwindle to three people? What happens if this does go through?”
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