1503951200

by Camille Griep

  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.”

  I drop into the armchair, shoving my balled-up fists into my eyes. The door doesn’t make a sound as Pi leaves. I have lost the last remnant of my blood family. I can hardly breathe.

  It takes a few hours, but eventually, I drain myself of tears. Though this morning has been painful, nothing has fundamentally changed. I will get myself together, and follow the rest of the plan: I’ve got one shot to convince Nelle to do things my way, or take out the Bishop before she singlehandedly destroys New Charity.

  I head upstairs to get a bag together. I don’t have time to mess with refueling the generator, so I take a cold shower and put on clean clothes. I pack a few extra shirts, the leftover cigarettes, and head downstairs to grab some tuna and a couple of bottles of wine. The pack is heavy. Too heavy. But I don’t have far to go, a short hike over the ridge to the bramble house. I’m about ready to head out to the barn when I see a box on the kitchen counter. I had somehow missed it when I was talking to Pi. It’s white and square and says “Cressyda” in large black letters.

  I lift the lid and, inside, a card is lying atop my dad’s revolver. I open it:

  S,

  Your father left this among his things, but I think the day has come for it to be in the hands of a Turner once more. Should the time be right, remember to only point this when you intend to kill. Find the truth. Aim straight.

  —J

  It takes me longer than it should to parse the signature. Sheriff Jayne? Watching out for me the whole time? Did she know? Did she suspect the Bishop, too? Or was she so consumed by grief and blinded by Pi’s bias that she hadn’t thought things through until last night?

  None of the details matter now that I know the Sheriff is on my side. Events have been set in motion. We have propelled ourselves forward toward the truth. For a better New Charity. For a better City. For a better us.

  I stash the gun in a mesh pocket on the outside of my pack and thread my arms through the straps. Taking one last look at the living room, I pull the front door closed behind me. Still facing inside, I don’t notice anything amiss until I hear Troy’s voice. He’s saying no over and over.

  I turn to find my face full of guns. The Governor, a few goons, and a few junior Sheriff’s deputies. And Troy. He looks at me and the gun on the side of the bulging backpack. He squeezes his eyes shut.

  His face is all anguish, his voice barely a whisper. “Syd, you promised.”

  “I know how this looks. But you have to believe me.”

  “I told you, son,” the Governor says, turning to Troy. “She’s a liar like all the rest of them. She left New Charity once. Now we’ll give her some assistance on her way out.”

  “No.” I scramble for the door handle to get back inside. “I’m not leaving. I can’t.”

  “On the contrary.” The Governor nods at Troy, who closes his eyes and tries to steady his hands.

  Somewhere in the bristle of barrels, the safety on a pistol goes click.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cas

  The morning after the goodwill dinner dawned bright and clear. I was in the kitchen of the Acolyte apartment, sweeping away shards of glass lodged underneath the cabinets. Worried the Bishop might show up again, I took some solace in the sounds of the women downstairs, prepping for the weekend services, baking cookies, and chopping vegetables for soup.

  More than anything, though, I was sick that Syd—my oldest friend save Len—didn’t believe me, couldn’t. What else had I missed by blindly following the Bishop and the Sanctuary? The Bishop’s plan to make over the world was mad, and he had to be stopped. But I needed proof that he’d started his culling with Cal. If Syd couldn’t hear me, the people of New Charity wouldn’t either. His curse had already eroded my credibility, and I had to show rather than tell.

  I heard Len taking the stairs by leaps and bounds before I saw the door fly open. He bent over to catch his breath, panting. As green around the gills as he looked, I debated admitting I’d finished his hidden flask in order to sleep. I poured him a glass of water.

  “No time. We have to go,” he managed between gasps. “It’s Syd.”

  “She’s not going to listen to me, Len.”

  “No, it’s the Governor. He’s giving her to the Survivors.”

  “Are you still drunk or something? What do you mean? Who told you this?”

  “I got locked up for disturbing the peace last night. Not Jayne. One of her lackeys. While Troy was bailing me out, I heard him saying he was going to do a job for the Governor this morning. I followed them to the house, but when I saw . . . I got here as fast as I could.”

  I shoved the water toward him. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least for now.”

  He looked at me askance. “What?”

  “Just while we figure out what to do next, is all.”

  “Dammit, Cas, you’re not hearing me. Syd’s not getting kicked out, she’s—”

  “That’s right,” the Governor said, strolling in the open door with Troy, ashen and morose, close on his heels. “She is our insurance, so to speak.”

  Len came around the counter to stand next to me, his hatred for our father raw and undisguised. I must have still looked confused because Len clarified. “She’s going to be their prisoner.”

  “Oh, you make it sound so nefarious, Len,” the Governor drawled. “The Survivors want assurances that Nelle won’t be harmed. So we’re giving them the Deacon’s niece as a trade. As soon as Nelle turns the power back on for New Charity, we’ll exchange her for Syd, though, as I’ve explained over and over to Troy, I doubt she’ll have any desire to stay.”

  My insides heaved, and I probably turned as green as Len. “You can’t know that.”

  “Oh, but I do,” the Governor said. “You think I don’t know she was behind the stunt with the power plant? Or the party? Spreading dissention? Putting your lives in danger?”

  “She misunderstood when she first came, but it’s different now—”

  The Governor cut me off again. “You’re all coming with me to watch her leave. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll say your good-byes to her for once and for all. When and if she returns, she’ll no longer be welcome in our home, in our lives.”

  “You can trade anyone at all,” Len said. “Why Syd?”

  “You saw at the gate. She’s neither us nor them. They see her as the worst kind of traitor. Someone who could’ve helped them and didn’t.”

  I couldn’t keep myself from inhaling sharply. Of course he’d give them someone they’d want to hurt, someone they’d want access to. I’d been wrong yet again. It wasn’t safer out there for her; in fact, it was probably more dangerous than ever.

  “Please. Reconsider. Send me,” I begged. “You can’t just throw her to the wolves.”

  “This again,” the Governor said. “The lady doth protest too much.”

  Troy had been completely silent, and I shook his arm. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  The Governor waved dismissively. “I’ve already explained to Troy how the girl was using him. Just like she did when they were younger. An older boy, a date to the big dance, another stepping-stone on Syd Turner’s ladder toward a better life. See how far that got her?”

  “How can you think so little of love? Of your own son?”

  “The world is cruel, Casandra. It’s the same thing Nelle is doing to Perry. She thinks we aren’t on to her, but Perry doesn’t have the guts to kidnap a woman like that. We’ll let her get close enough to think she has us, let her turn on the power and try her hand at the Ward. And then we’ll make an example out of her.”

  “You know better,” I said, putting my hand on Troy’s shoulder. “Stand up to him.”

  Troy looked down at his boots.

  “You’ve known Syd forever. Maybe she made some mistakes when she first got here but she’s
not what he says. Do the scraps of his approval really mean that much to you?”

  He glanced up at me, features set and angry, and remained silent.

  “Enough of this,” said the Governor. “They should be escorting her to the gate by now.”

  Everything began to move too fast.

  Syd, and me, and my brothers, we’d come so far together—to a place where we all wanted the same things—or so I’d thought. Setting aside our hurts, we could’ve made those things a reality, lead the way into futures we wanted. For us. For our homes. For each other.

  It should have been a time to reach out for one another, to find a hand to grab. Instead we groped empty air.

  The scene at the gate was heartrending.

  Syd seemed uncharacteristically tiny surrounded by the Governor’s men. She didn’t look like the woman who could take on the world; she looked alone and defeated, flinching at the bright horizon.

  Mama—unwilling to acknowledge Len or me—stood with a group of gossiping New Charitans, even unlikely allies like Becky Purcell’s mother. Becky herself, though, stood with a group on our side, joining Pious in a rousing chorus demanding the Governor reconsider. Demanding he let Syd go.

  The Governor stepped forward, sparing a look back at us. “See what you’ve done? We have never been a town divided.”

  Len let out a dry laugh. “Not since the last time anyway.”

  A few feet from the gate, the circle of deputies and guards parted and we saw Syd’s handcuffs for the first time. The Deacon ran to her and they stood in tears, both apologizing for something without so many words, both visibly terrified. Syd pulled away first, taking a deep breath and assuring the Deacon that she was okay. That she would find a way to make things right. Becky stepped closer and told Syd to keep her chin up, a sentiment repeated by the rest of those gathered in her favor.

  Mama’s side said nothing.

  The Governor nodded to us. Len went first. He, too, apologized to Syd and she again assured him everything would be okay, even though her face was as unconvincing. When it was my turn, I held her as long and as hard as I could. She was crying, her tears wet on the side of my face.