“Mollie?” she said, softly. All of a sudden, her throat was tight, and she couldn’t seem to get a whole breath. For her, the fight on the red car was only hours old. That realization started a waterfall of others.
For Mollie, that argument was almost a month past. From Mollie’s perspective, Kate had disappeared after the fight and never come back.
“Mollie,” Kate said, and shook the bed. No answer.
Mollie was a light sleeper. That had been her excuse, anyway, when she’d insisted that Kate needed to start sleeping on the floor. So Kate shook the bed harder, an earthquake for a light sleeper. The bed slid, then thumped against the wall. Too easily to have anyone in it: she wasn’t there. In the middle of the night, she wasn’t there.
Kate flipped on the light.
It blinded at first, but not enough to hide that the bed was empty . . . and so was the room. Dread seeped through her; it was like walking through a spider web. Curtains shivered at the breeze through the open window. It stirred empty envelopes that lay on the dresser, making them crack and whisper.
Brittle, Kate gestured at the window when Julian came in. “She let my bird out.”
“I’m sorry.” Julian leaned against the door, stepping no farther inside.
Picking up one of the envelopes, Kate felt herself fall as keenly as if she’d jumped from the window. Flapping the envelope at Julian, she said. “The movie I told you about? The film’s gone. It’s gone.”
Kate forced herself to keep looking. There was the tiniest, stupidest hope that somehow Mollie was hiding, that none of this was what it seemed.
No shoes beneath the bed, only her little velvet pillow. As she searched the room, wafts of Mollie’s perfume puffed up like ghosts. A great gust of it washed over her when she threw open the armoire.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Kate fell to her knees.
Not only were Mollie’s few things missing, so were Kate’s. Her camera. The music box—with all the money.
But the worst was Handsome. He lay on the floor, unmoving. Torn paper surrounded him, droppings too, and orange peels starting to desiccate. His talons clutched nothing but air.
“How could she do something like this?” Kate whispered. Picking him up carefully, she cradled him to her chest. He wasn’t as cold as she expected, but he was irrevocably still.
There was nothing pretty or delicate about the way Kate cried. Grief undid her, smearing her mouth and splotching her skin.
Everything was supposed to change when she got to Hollywood, but not like this.
It wasn’t supposed to be hard; Mollie wasn’t supposed to hate her. But now everything was lost. Her equipment, her money—her darling Handsome. Her life had come apart like wet tissue. Clutching Handsome, she sobbed.
Julian hesitated, then to himself muttered, “There’s still some red.”
It didn’t make sense to Kate, and it didn’t have to. Julian circled the bed, then slid his crutches beneath it. His hands were gentle, sweeping down her arms. “Bring him here.”
Trying to dry her face with her shoulder, she choked down her tears. “No. No, you said it yourself, everything’s funny when we’re together. What happened on the beach, that wasn’t a spell. You were dead.”
With a brash smile, he tugged on her again. “But I didn’t stay that way.”
Climbing into bed, Kate was reluctant to give Handsome over. “Is that how you do it? Die a little to bring something little back?”
“I think so.” He rubbed his arms briskly, as if he were warming himself to the task. Something flickered across his face, awareness and fear. Swallowing twice, he reached out for Handsome, then said, “Close your eyes, Kate.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes they’re too far gone. They don’t come back right.”
Clinging tighter, Kate said, “What about you? Do you come back wrong too?”
When he trailed his fingers down her arm, it felt like a promise. A reassurance. He met her eyes, his own impossibly sincere. “It’ll be all right. Trust me on this one.”
When Julian’s hands brushed hers, she made herself let go. Tenderly, he settled Handsome in his arms, smoothing the raven’s feathers. He took care with him, making it easier for Kate to close her eyes.
In her own darkness, Kate felt Julian draw a deep breath; she heard it slip from his lips. Emotions knotted in her throat, tightened by passing seconds. He’d raised the turtle almost instantly. This was taking so long; it couldn’t be good. What did he mean, sometimes they were too far gone? What would happen if Handsome was?
Anxiety stretched the knot from her throat to her belly. She couldn’t trade a boy for a bird. It was wrong; she couldn’t do it. As she opened her eyes, two things happened. Julian fell back on the bed, motionless. And Handsome flapped his wings and hopped away.
“Nevermore!” he croaked, his black eyes gleaming once again.
Sixteen
Clutching the steering wheel, Amelia veered around a horse cart and honked at a pair of surveyors standing in the middle of the street. A black scarf bound her hat to her head, and her kid gloves were worn to a sheen. Her grip was white knuckled, her jaw set hard.
Thirty days ago, she’d rarely seen the inside of an automobile, let alone piloted one. Now she careened through Los Angeles with a cool stare and an absolute disdain for anyone who got in her way.
“The sidewalks are for pedestrians, dear,” Nathaniel murmured under his breath.
Amelia cut a look at him. “Don’t tell me how to drive. You’re the one who ran the Jeffery off the road.”
Truth be told, neither of them was a good driver. Even when they had to make do with a victoria, they let the horses wander too far and run too fast. Spoiled by magic, they were people made for slicking across distances by will alone.
Everything else—automobiles, streetcars, trains— moved too slowly.
Hurtling around a corner, Amelia said, “What shall we raise it to?”
“A thousand. Much more than that and we’ll end up with pretenders and liars in our suite.”
Every week for the past month, they’d run ads in all the newspapers in print in Los Angeles. That hadn’t been their first choice; they’d begged for a reporter to take down a story. They’d even offered a miniature to photograph, a cameo portrait of Kate that Nathaniel had painted on her sixteenth birthday.
“I’m sorry, folks,” the editor said. “But there’s nothing to write about here. The whole city’s built on runaways. You can stand down at the train station and watch ’em roll in by the hour.”
So they’d advertised instead, at first for any information on the whereabouts of their daughter. Possibly masquerading as a boy, last seen in a plum suit. They got plenty of notes about actual boys—boys working in a hat factory, boys running packages across town. But nothing about Kate at all.
Then they added Julian to the listing. After a flurry of letters and telegrams, Zora and Amelia discovered that their children had run to the same city and that all four parents had lost their gifts at the same time. Perhaps it was coincidence, but it certainly seemed more.
Armed with an address and a directive from Zora to check on Julian, Amelia and Nathaniel presented themselves at Bartow’s Ordinary.
“Haven’t seen the poor mite in a while,” Mrs. Bartow told them. “I thought he might be keeping odd hours, but when he didn’t pick up his laundry . . .”
Plenty of people had seen Julian. They followed his trail through the neighborhood but always came back to the Ordinary. Since he’d paid rent for a month, they decided to check back for a month. Either he was truly gone or just . . . away. On a jaunt. Or an adventure.
Or so they hoped.
“I’ve got a good feeling,” Amelia said abruptly.
Nathaniel combed his fingers through his hair. A few threads of silver shot through the dark waves. Enough to make him distinguished, which was far too close to respectable for his taste. Stretching out to pet the back of Amelia’s neck, he nodded agreeab
ly, even though he didn’t agree.
People who disappeared usually did so for a reason: either they were dead or they didn’t wish to be found. There was no pleasure in admitting that, even to himself. No pleasure in hoping that his only child had taken after her parents and fled in the night.
The newspaper building loomed. With car horn blaring, Amelia cut across traffic to claim one of the few open parking spots along the sidewalk. Bouncing off the steering wheel, Amelia jerked the car out of gear and cut the power.
Since that was always how she parked, it never occurred to her that there might be a less emphatic way of doing it. Plucking her handbag off the floor, she shook it at Nathaniel. “I’ve got a good feeling about today, monster.”
Nathaniel caught her chin and tipped her head back for a rough kiss. Her mouth tasted ever the same, and he soothed himself on the part of her lips.
Lingering a moment, he stroked her jaw with his thumb, then murmured, “I hope it comes to something.”
***
Curled against Julian’s body, Kate kept an arm thrown over him. She splayed her fingers over his heart, waiting for its first beat.
He hadn’t come back yet, not after a minute, not after an hour. She’d fed and watered Handsome, let him outside to stretch his wings, then returned to her vigil at Julian’s side.
Sharing a bed with a boy should have been a monumental occasion, and in a way, it was. The first night she’d slept with the dead. She studied his profile and slipped her hand into his.
As sentinel, it was her sacred duty to keep him safe through the night. Though sleep tried to tempt her, she kept herself awake with pinches and long drinks of water. And then, when he grew cold and stiff, fear made for excellent waking company.
Morning dawned, and he still lay there—too peaceful. His golden hair fell in waves from his brow. His lashes were dark fans on his skin. His lips, drawn with an ornate line, were gray, nearly blue.
He’d told her to trust him, and she did, truly she did. She was starting to think he had trusted himself too much.
“I’m the worst person in the world,” she said, pressing her face to his cold shoulder.
In reply, Julian sat up. Heaving, his shoulders flexed and his joints cracked. He sounded like dry kindling. An awful, rattling sound filled the room. He clawed for breath, wheezing and choking. He left dark streaks on his own throat, clutching at it with bloodless fingers.
Terror shot through Kate. She clambered up after him, trying to catch him and hold him. Her thoughts raced— would she know if he was too far gone? How long would he have to lie dead before she could truly judge him finished? And what would she do if he was? What if she made a mistake and accidentally had him buried alive?
As he quaked against her, she held her breath. It kept her from tearing up again, but nothing kept her from hating herself. She loved Handsome with all her heart, but it had been wrong to let Julian die for him.
“It’s all right,” she said, unconvinced herself. She rubbed him briskly; she kept her brow pressed against his temple. He still felt stiff. It was terrible, like holding a cold, leather doll. “Julian, you’re all right. I’m here.”
Julian clutched at her, contorting himself to look at her. An eerie film clung to his eyes. He opened his mouth, but instead of words, an awful sound came out. Like the settling of a house or the moan of a tree about to break, it shuddered through him and raised the hair on the back of her neck.
“It’s okay,” Kate said, but it came out as barely a squeak. Stroking his hair, his face, she willed him better. She demanded it, from the universe, or the sky, or the elements.
Why not the elements? If they were born of aether, and aether was breath, then he should breathe! He should be well!
Clasping a hand to Kate’s face, Julian pressed a little too hard, tangled too roughly with her hair. But he blinked, and the haze faded. Not all at once, but gradually. As warmth spread through him, his flesh softened. Blue lips shifted to rose pink again; a dewy blush sprang up in his cheeks.
“Julian, can you say something? Can you hear me?”
For a long moment, he stared. Then, as his fingers slipped from her hair, he croaked, “Course I can hear you. You’re right in my face.”
Overwhelmed in every sense, Kate snapped. She pushed him back onto the bed, because it wouldn’t do to drag him to his one good foot to shake him.
Throwing a leg over, she sat across his hips and truly leaned down in his face. She clasped his head with both hands and peered down at him furiously.
“You can’t ever do that again. Promise me.”
“Promise you what?” Julian said; his lips still moved a little slowly, but his eyes widened without effort. “Is there a reason you’re sitting on me?”
“Because you were dead all night!” Shifting forward, Kate looped her arms around his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He was warm again; his heart pounded on, and she could feel it in her own veins.
“Why don’t you ever make sense, Kate?”
Letting out a frustrated yelp, Kate collapsed on top of him. Her hair flowed over his face; his breath slipped hot against her skin. Turning to press against his neck, she sighed. Everything was right again. It had to stay that way.
Reordering her thoughts, she tried to explain herself as clearly as she possibly could, even though he’d probably argue with her anyway. “I was afraid. And now I’m happy. I’m inappropriate, and I don’t care. I want you to promise you won’t do it again.”
Julian raised his hands helplessly, then dropped them on her back. Petting her, he said, “I promise.”
“Thank you,” Kate said.
“You’re not inappropriate, by the way.” He blew at her hair, trying to get it off his face. “You’re indecent.”
“Thank you.” Kate nestled down, patting him. “Shhh, I’m trying to sleep now.”
Jerking his head up, Julian managed to flounder beneath her weight as he exclaimed, “On me?”
“Shhh,” she repeated, and drifted off with a smile.
***
The nap only lasted until Mr. Riggsby came for the rent.
He pounded on the door, jolting both of them into motion. As Kate scrambled to straighten the mess in the armoire, Mr. Riggsby called through the door, “Noon is not first thing in the morning!”
“Who is it?” she called back, stuffing dirtied papers into the trash bin.
“You know who it is!”
Kate tried to hurry. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but could I borrow a dollar? Maybe he’ll take that as a deposit. The rent’s ten a month, and I ought to have a pay packet waiting for me at The Pike.”
“Ten dollars?” Julian boggled at her. “For this dump?”
“None of the boarding houses would take us,” Kate snapped. “No animals, and no actors! For two people and a bird, it’s a steal!”
Eyes trained on the door, Julian considered that for a moment, then shook his head. “Forget it. Come with me. Maybe I can sweet-talk Mrs. Bartow into letting Handsome stay.”
Brightening, Kate shoved the rest of the filthy paper into the bin. “Really?”
Mr. Riggsby pounded the door again. “I can hear you! I’m coming in there!”
Julian pulled his crutches from under the bed. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Do you have a fire escape?”
“Yes, but you can’t . . .” Kate started, then watched in amazement as Julian pushed the window open and hoisted himself through it. Turning back to look at her, he waved his hand. “Come on.”
The door rattled, then a ring of keys jingled. Grabbing her hat and her shoes, Kate flung herself after Julian. They were only one flight up, and Julian had already lowered the ladder.
“How are you going to get down?” she asked.
Thrusting the crutches at her, he said, “Watch this.”
Julian pulled his sleeves over his hands, then grabbed the ladder’s iron frame. Holding tight, he dropped down, catching one of the rungs with his foot. Once he had his
balance, he bounced his way down, the fire escape protesting every jump. Hopping to the ground, he looked up. “Throw me the crutches.”
Dropping them, as well as her hat and shoes, Kate scrambled down the ladder. Soft flecks of rust fluttered around them, mixed with fine concrete dust.
“Trying to kill me?” Julian asked. He hooked her hat with the foot of his crutch and tossed it toward her.
Stuffing her hair under the hat, Kate snorted. “Trying to knock some sense into you. Handsome!”
“Yeah, I am,” Julian said. Then he turned to look for a familiar black beast on the rooftops or the wires. It occurred to him that he didn’t know how he was supposed to tell one crow from another, so he called, “Handsome, come on!”
When the bird swept down to land on Julian’s shoulder, Kate blinked. “I can’t believe he did that.”
Wincing, Julian started down the street. “Me either. Those claws hurt!”
The street sloped downhill, and instead of hopping along, Julian could take long swings between his crutches. Clapping her hat to her head, Kate ran after him.
Mr. Riggsby stuck his head out the window and yelled after them, “Don’t come back. You or your sister! Or your cousin. Your entire family is banned!”
“I feel bad,” Kate said. “My whole family is banned from The Ems, and it’s all my fault.”
Julian burst out laughing, then suddenly cursed. A street vendor rolled her cart onto the sidewalk in front of them, its umbrella swinging gaily in the wind.
It happened sometimes, when he got going too fast, that Julian couldn’t slow himself down without crashing.
It was fine when he was chasing his brothers around the yard. But colliding with a steaming metal cart, sprawling into traffic—that wouldn’t be fine.
Better into a brick wall, he decided, and veered that way. Then something blinked. No, it flickered. Like a hand passing in front of a flame. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t on his feet anymore. He was on the ground, sprawled on the sidewalk with his crutches neatly by his side.
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