“There’s no time anyway,” she said. She wrapped an arm around Rook’s waist, and a quick gust of air lifted them from the floor and blew through the attic, demolishing cobwebs and knocking over some figurines on a table by the window. As the dust settled, Drift guided them to the rafters near the dark peak of the attic roof. There, in the shadows, a wide shelf jutted from the wall. It looked like it had been built to take advantage of the empty space at the top of the attic and could only be reached with a ladder. There were a couple of boxes stacked on the shelf, and beside them, just enough space for two desperate exiles.
Drift quickly deposited Rook on the shelf and, with a last gust of wind, settled in beside her. Rook crammed her body as far back against the wall as possible to hide herself from view. Though she was scared, she had the presence of mind to reach for Drift’s hand. Fingers clasped, Drift put her other hand over her nose to hold back any sneezes that might come from kicking up all the dust.
They sat side by side, suspended above disaster, as the attic door swung open and the Red Watchers came into the room.
“I HOPE YOU’LL EXCUSE THE mess,” Mr. Baroman said as he entered the attic behind the Watchers. His voice sounded strained to Rook, though she couldn’t see his face from her position up on the shelf.
“Do you mind if we look in some of these bigger boxes?” one of the men asked, though his companions were less polite. Rook heard them already moving things around, sliding boxes across the floor and sifting through their contents.
Looking for hidden exiles.
Rook squeezed her eyes shut and begged them to be quick, to not look up. She begged the wood shelf not to creak, and for Mr. Baroman not to break down and decide to confess that he’d been helping exiles.
Minutes crawled by, until Rook’s fingers ached from clutching Drift’s so tightly, and her legs were cramped from keeping them tucked up against her chest. But she didn’t dare move a muscle. If they were seen, it was all over.
“Nothing here,” the woman said at last, sounding disappointed. “I’m sorry we’ve wasted your time, Mr. Baroman, but you understand we had to check. We’re searching all the parts of town where the girls have been spotted before. We thought we’d sweep the area again, just to be sure.”
“Don’t worry, we’re going to find them,” one of the men added, and there was no need to see his face to tell he was furious. “We’ll double our patrols and pull in more volunteers from the citizenry. We have to catch them before they let loose another creature from the Wasteland.”
“Disgusting, ungrateful little monsters,” said the other man, and Rook had the distinct feeling that if he’d been on the street he would have spat after uttering the words. “They come to this world, wreck our city, and then run amok with their freakish magic, ripping creatures from the Wasteland to terrorize poor folk who can’t defend themselves. You can bet they’re having a great laugh at us all right now, wherever they are, seeing the damage their ‘pranks’ caused.”
Rook wanted to cover her ears, but she couldn’t risk moving, so there was no way to block out the words.
The Red Watchers and the city constables—and who knew how many others?—thought Fox was a creature from the Wasteland she’d let in on purpose to torment the people of Regara. Search parties were sweeping the streets and shops looking for them. The situation was so much worse than they had known.
“Rubbing it in our faces is what they’re doing,” the woman said bitterly. “This city used to be a wonder with all its magic. You know I loved the way those skyship docks were lit up at night, tall towers sparkling like they were covered in stars. I’d take my children outside to watch the ships fly in from all over the world. Now the magic’s nearly gone, except what these exiles have. Something so precious, and look how they use it! Why can’t they put their magic to work for us and restore some of what we lost?”
“Ah, but it’s been proven the children don’t have the strength to refill the animus crystals with magic,” Mr. Baroman offered hesitantly. “Only the adult wizards from Vora had that power.”
“Maybe they’ll learn it someday,” one of the men said ominously. “Maybe we’ll make them. In the meantime, we’re going to catch these exiles instead of just talking about it. We’ve taken up enough of Mr. Baroman’s time—we need to be going.”
“Oh, not at all, not at all,” Mr. Baroman said, his wheezy voice drifting in with the sound of more boxes being shifted. “I understand you must be thorough in your search. Why don’t I show you that pine-forest clock we were talking about earlier before you leave? Ma’am, didn’t you mention that your aunt likes squirrels? I think she’d really enjoy what this clock has to offer.”
There were murmurs of agreement and the sound of footsteps headed toward the attic door. Mr. Baroman kept up the friendly chatter with the Watchers all the way down the stairs, until Rook heard the sound of a door closing, and the voices cut off. For a moment, she couldn’t make her body uncurl from the shelf, until she felt Drift’s hand at the small of her back.
“I think it’s safe now,” she said, and before Rook could answer, a breath of air lifted her from the shelf. Rook forced her stiff limbs to straighten as Drift guided them down. When her feet touched the ground, Rook’s legs gave out, and she sank to her knees on the dusty attic floor.
Drift knelt beside her and, without saying a word, pulled her into a tight hug. Rook buried her face in Drift’s shoulder. For the next few minutes, the only sound in the attic was their unsteady breathing.
Eventually, the downstairs door opened again, and there came the sound of a single pair of quiet footsteps. Rook tensed, but it was only Mr. Baroman this time. He peeked into the attic and saw the two of them on the floor. His aged, wrinkled face softened with relief.
“When I heard the attic door, I thought you two might have been up here hiding,” Mr. Baroman said, shuffling over to them. He had thin, gnarled brown fingers, and his white beard was clipped close to his chin in the style of his homeland, the kingdom of Targrell across the sea. “But I wasn’t sure your magic would keep you safe.”
“We have the worst luck in the world, showing up just when the Red Watchers come for a visit,” Drift said. Her voice quavered, but she smiled at Mr. Baroman. “Good thing for us you got rid of them as quick as you did.”
Rook nodded in agreement. She was so grateful Mr. Baroman hadn’t betrayed them. All he would have had to do was say that exiles were hiding in his shop, and she and Drift would have been taken away. Instead, he had gone out of his way to protect them. She never would have expected someone from Regara to do so much for an exile, especially after hearing the hateful words of the Red Watchers.
“Are the two of you all right?” Mr. Baroman asked. “The news came in from Gray Town early this morning that a monster had gotten loose from the Wasteland, but when the constables started passing out sketches of your faces, I feared the worst. What happened out there?”
“It wasn’t a monster, and it wasn’t from the Wasteland,” Drift said. “We found another exile, a boy who can transform into a giant fox.”
Mr. Baroman’s eyes widened in surprise, and he made a little tutting noise. “I can see why that gave the constables a fright,” he said.
Afraid? The constables? They were the ones with pistols pointed at a ten-year-old boy, Rook wanted to shout, but she kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t Mr. Baroman’s fault.
“There’s no need to worry,” Drift assured him. “The boy was never going to hurt anyone, and he’s staying with us now, so he’ll be safe. We came to see you because of this.” She pulled out the pouch containing Mr. Kelmin’s money and reluctantly handed it to Mr. Baroman. “Can you tell Mr. Kelmin and his grandson that we’re very sorry we couldn’t complete the job, and we’d be more than happy to try again if they give us another chance?”
Mr. Baroman took the pouch. “Thank you for returning the mone
y,” he said gravely, “but I’m afraid Mr. Kelmin and his grandson have already found another means of leaving the city in secret—a sympathetic merchant who’s going to give them free passage on her ship. I will have just enough time to send the coins to them before they depart.”
So that was it, Rook thought, her hopes slipping away. They wouldn’t be able to help the Kelmins or keep the money. The whole job had been a disaster from start to finish.
Seeing her face, Mr. Baroman’s expression softened. “You did what was right,” he said. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy to give this back, but the important thing right now is that the two of you remain safe. You should return to your home and stay there for the time being.”
Rook would have loved nothing better, but she shook her head. “We can’t,” she said. “We have three of us to feed now, and we’re out of money.”
“Is there any chance you have another job for us?” Drift asked. “We need clients now more than ever.”
Mr. Baroman’s face creased in a look of distress. “My dear, I don’t think you understand,” he said. “The constables and the Red Watchers—they know your faces. They know your powers. Word of this incident is spreading through Regara as we speak. Any clients I might have been able to contact for you…well, there’s a good chance that…once they hear that you’re being hunted…” His words trailed off into uncomfortable silence, but Rook understood all too well.
“No one will hire us after this,” she said quietly. “They’ll be too afraid.”
Drift reached for Rook’s hand, but Rook pulled away. “This uproar will all die down after a few days,” Drift insisted, trying to be reassuring.
Mr. Baroman shook his head. “I wish I could agree with you, but the authorities seem very determined to track you down. I’m afraid they see your magic as a threat.”
“Then maybe it’s time we leave,” Rook said quietly. They could start over in another city where no one knew their faces or their magic.
“Rook, are you sure?” Drift asked, though she didn’t sound opposed to the idea.
Rook shrugged. “It won’t be easy,” she admitted. If they tried to get jobs, any employer they approached was bound to ask questions. Questions about their parents, about where they lived and why they needed work. No matter where they went in the world, people would be on the lookout for escaped exiles. Up until now, their situation with Mr. Baroman had been the safest, best opportunity to make money.
“It may not be so terrible to start over,” Mr. Baroman said, giving Rook a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Not everyone in the world is out to hunt and hate exiles.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Rook muttered.
Mr. Baroman pursed his lips, looking unhappy. “Well, if you need money immediately…I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this, but I did receive a message just before the Red Watchers arrived, from a client who expressed interest in your services. I’m not sure how she’ll feel after this upheaval, but if you want, I could reach out and see if she still wishes to hire you.”
Drift’s face brightened. “That might be just what we need,” she said. “One last job, and then we can start over in a new city. Sure, it’s a risk, but it’s also a chance for a new beginning.”
Rook nodded slowly. “No matter what, we need the money,” she said. “Where does the woman want to go?”
“She didn’t say where, and she didn’t mention what she was running from,” Mr. Baroman replied. “She just said it was urgent that she leave the city and offered to pay double your normal asking price if you could meet her immediately.”
“Double?” Drift said breathlessly. “Did you hear that, Rook?”
Rook heard. It was exactly what they needed, enough money to keep the three of them comfortably fed until they could make a new life for themselves.
Which also made it seem too good to be true.
“I don’t know,” Rook said. “The Red Watchers are combing the city for us, and suddenly a client shows up who wants to pay a lot of money to meet with us. What if it’s a trap?”
Drift fell quiet, thinking it over. “Where does the woman want to meet?” she asked after a moment.
“In Rill Park, at midday tomorrow,” Mr. Baroman said. “Apparently, she lives nearby.”
Rill Park wasn’t a place they used very often. It was the largest public park in the city and drew big crowds in the spring and summer. There were only a few places that were quiet and secluded. One of them was a small grove at the center of the park that was restricted because there were fire hornet nests and thick beds of poison ivy around the trees. They’d used the place as a meeting spot only a handful of times, and Rook had drawn the clients’ door on the trunk of a wide old harringwood tree.
“I don’t like it,” Rook said. “I have a bad feeling.”
“The park is awfully exposed.” Drift nervously ran a hand through her hair. “But do we really have a choice, Rook? We have Fox to think about now. We have to get money somehow.”
Mr. Baroman cleared his throat. “If you need money to last until you can leave the city, I have a bit set aside that I—”
“No,” Rook interrupted. “Thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done, but we can’t take your money.”
The very last thing she wanted was for anyone to offer her charity, even kind old Mr. Baroman. The only reason they let him help them as much as he did was that he had agreed to take a share of the money from each job they did. In Rook’s and Drift’s minds, that was fair. He shared in the risk; he took part of the reward. Rook didn’t want to be more of a burden to this world than she already was.
“You’re very kind to offer,” Drift said, smiling. “If you can get us this last job, it will be more than enough help.”
“If you say so,” Mr. Baroman said reluctantly. He shifted, his back slightly hunched from years of bending over worktables to construct his clocks. “Though are you sure you want to do this?”
“No,” Rook said, “but Drift’s right. We don’t have a choice. We have to take care of ourselves and we have to take care of Fox. He’s one of us.”
Mr. Baroman nodded. “I understand. Do you have enough food to last until I contact the client and get everything set up?”
“Yes,” Rook and Drift said at once, although truthfully, since they’d left Fox home alone, Rook wondered if there would be any food at all when they got back. But that was their problem, not Mr. Baroman’s.
With the plan decided, Rook forced herself to get up off the attic floor. Her legs were cramped from kneeling so long and being curled up on the shelf before that. She limped to the boxes in the corner to find her lost chalk. Outside the attic window, the voices of children laughing and playing in the streets drifted up to her.
What was it like to be a child of this world and not an exile with a magical gift you couldn’t control? What were the normal children of Regara doing right now, at this time of day? Playing kickball or hide-and-seek? What must it be like not to have to worry about where your next dinner was coming from, let alone the next insult?
Disgusting, ungrateful monsters.
The words burned in Rook’s ears. She knew she would remember them for a long time. Yet another reminder that they didn’t belong in this world. They had to find a way to escape it. That was the new life the three of them needed most.
She found her chalk wedged between the boxes—luckily, it hadn’t shattered into a dozen pieces. Drift was saying goodbye to Mr. Baroman and thanking him again for all his help.
“It’s the least I can do,” Mr. Baroman said solemnly. He hesitated, his gaze falling on Rook. “Please let me say again, not everyone in Regara feels the way the Red Watchers do. I’m afraid it will never be easy for the exiles to live in this world, but that’s our fault, not yours. We let ourselves rely too heavily on magic—a power we didn’t earn or fully understand—and now that it
’s gone, we need someone to blame, so we look everywhere but at ourselves. But there are people in this world you can trust. If you give us a chance, we will help you in any way we can.”
For a moment, Rook was speechless. She’d never heard such words from anyone in Regara. Even Drift, who always knew exactly what to say in these situations, could only whisper, “Thank you.”
At least there was one person in the city who was on their side.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED BACK AT the roost, Rook and Drift stepped from the star tunnel into the living room, and Rook’s jaw dropped.
“Oh” was all she managed to say as she tried to figure out what exactly was covering the living room floor. At first glance, she thought it was snow.
She blinked and realized it was actually paper.
Fox was sprawled on his stomach on the rug with Drift’s sketchbook lying open beside him. He had a piece of paper in his hands, and he was folding it with quick, expert twists, fingers moving fast and sure. He’d already removed dozens of the sketchbook’s pages, folding each of them into the same shape.
Birds.
Coming up beside Rook, Drift opened her mouth to speak, but the only sound that emerged was a surprised squeak. Rook crouched at the edge of the rug and picked up a handful of the birds. There were paper cranes, hawks, doves, owls, and other birds she didn’t recognize. Each one was a tiny work of art, as if they were done by someone who’d been practicing paper folding for years.
“This is—” Rook began.
“My paper,” Drift interrupted, sounding as if she was in a daze. “All my paper.”
“Fox,” Rook said, balancing a dove in the palm of her hand, “what is this?”
Fox looked up from his paper folding in surprise, as if he hadn’t been aware that either Rook or Drift was in the room. “Birds,” he said.
In the short time she’d known him, Rook had discovered that when asked a question, Fox always told the truth. He just left out all other vital bits of information.
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