Aster didn’t trust herself to look at Clementine, afraid her sister would see the truth in her eyes. Green Creek was not a “nice place.” Its “traditions” existed to keep them all under control. But she knew Lily and Marigold were acting sunny for her sister’s sake, as a kindness, and Aster let them. The auction would be the least of Clem’s worries, anyway.
Clementine asked a few more questions, but they were all met with the same vague answers and false glamor. It was, Aster realized dryly, a perfect introduction to the sundown girl’s world. Shining on the outside with the promise of sweetness while the inside went soft with rot.
Aster picked at her food. Even after seven years at the welcome house, she never took a meal for granted, but this morning she had no appetite.
At last, some of the daybreak girls came by and cleared their dishes away. One of them let a glass slip from her hand. It shattered crisply on the floor.
“Beg your pardon,” the girl said quickly, eyes lowered as she hurried to clean up the mess. But Violet caught her by the wrist before she could get started.
“You fool. Leave it for now,” she ordered, showing teeth. “You’ll only make more of a scene. Rest assured Mother Fleur will hear about this.”
“But—”
Violet’s brow arched. “Talking back, too, are we?”
The girl scampered off before she could make more trouble for herself. Violet turned back to Clementine, all smiles once more.
“Now, Clementine, it is your birthday, after all, so the girls and I each got you a little something. Aster, why don’t you go first?” she said, businesslike.
Aster dragged her gaze up from the broken glass at her feet. This was the one part of the morning she actually had been looking forward to. She’d spent the past week working on a bracelet for her sister. She’d used spare thread from her sewing kit and a hairpin for the clasp. The bracelet had the same brown-black-white pattern of a diamondback rattletail.
“Look familiar?” Aster asked, pulling the bracelet out of her pocket. For the first time that day, her smile felt real.
Clementine’s eyes lit up with recognition. “You know it does! I’ll never forget those colors as long as I live.”
“Wait…” Sage began uncertainly. “I remember you telling us once that you got bit by a snake when you were little, Clementine, right? Is that what this is about?”
Aster nodded. It was ten years ago, long before they’d come to the welcome house. When they’d still lived in the tenant miners’ camp. Death had prowled from house to house like a coyote on the hunt, and some nights Aster’s hunger had been so vicious she’d chewed on the collar of her nightgown for relief. But at least then she and Clementine had been free.
One evening they’d been sitting outside while their mother swept the porch, and Clementine, who’d wandered into the grass to play, had disturbed a rattletail in the brush. It sank its fangs into her ankle—but, somehow, thank the dead, she had survived.
“You weren’t supposed to survive that,” Aster said. “But you did, and you’re here—” She swallowed. She hadn’t planned this. “And that means everything to me.” She clasped the bracelet around Clementine’s wrist, hands shaking, then kissed her forehead. “You survive something like that, you can survive anything, hear?”
Violet cleared her throat. Probably she was upset that Aster hadn’t kept to the script.
Too damn bad, Aster thought. Someone had to be honest with Clementine. This work wasn’t to be enjoyed. It was to be endured.
Sage shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, I got one of my friends on the kitchen crew to bake up a batch of sweet potato cookies,” she said. “I know they’re your favorite, so…” She handed over a lumpy bundle wrapped in old newspaper. Marigold and Lily went next, Marigold offering a sketch of Clementine with Aster, while Lily gave her a broken pocket watch a brag had once left behind. Clementine thanked them all, her face split with a grin. It was the most she’d ever gotten for any birthday. Every so often she glanced down at her bracelet, though, her smile slipping, and Aster wondered if it hadn’t been a mistake not to play along like the others.
Then it was Violet’s turn.
“My present comes on behalf of Mother Fleur,” she said, and she handed Clementine a small brown bottle. “Sweet Thistle.”
Now all the girls were smiling. “That’s the real gift,” Marigold murmured.
“Liquid gold,” Lily said, nodding along with her.
Aster said nothing, though her neck burned.
“I’m sure you’ve heard us all talk about Sweet Thistle before, Clementine,” Violet continued, “but words don’t really do justice to the feeling it gives you. It’s like letting your mind sink into a warm bath. Outside the welcome house there’re people clawing at each other for just a taste, but now that you’re a sundown girl you’ll get it every night. The cap is an eyedropper, see? One drop under the tongue will do. Mother Fleur will refill it for you every week.”
Aster had only ever used her Sweet Thistle once, on her Lucky Night. She could understand why some girls liked it, but it left her limbs sluggish and her mind foggy in a way that had only made her feel more helpless, and the crushing hollowness it left the next morning had been worse than any natural hunger. Another dose would have sated it, but Aster knew that if she gave in, she’d be lost to Sweet Thistle for good. Even girls like Violet, who had only been taking it for a year, became fatigued and forgetful from its influence, and many of the older girls’ minds had melted away completely.
Aster hated the thought of Clementine ending up like that.
“Thank you, Violet,” Clementine said quietly. “Really—thank you all. This has been my best day at Green Creek, and if every day as a sundown girl goes something like this … lucky really is the right word.”
She unscrewed the top of the bottle, running it under her nose.
“Oh, not yet,” Violet said. “Save it for tonight.”
“Oh—sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. We’re all happy for you. Aren’t we, Aster?” Violet asked.
Aster let out a breath through her teeth. “Delighted.”
* * *
After breakfast Aster and Clementine took the presents up to Clementine’s bedroom. Clem carefully laid the cookies and sketch on the bureau, and put the pocket watch in her jewelry box alongside all the glinting necklaces and earrings Mother Fleur had given her. Now that they were alone, it was as if Clementine let a mask slip away. Her smile was genuine, but it was tired. She ran her finger over the bracelet Aster had given her.
“Thanks again,” she said. “You know, it means everything to me to have you here, too.” Then she paused. “What should I expect tonight? Really? I know you’re not allowed to talk about it, and you don’t have to now, but I just—I want to know.”
Aster looked over her shoulder, making sure the door was closed behind them. But still she hesitated. She’d never seen the good in planting fear in Clementine’s mind. Not when she could do nothing to help her. Aster wondered, again, if Violet had the right of it.
But Violet lied. Mother Fleur lied.
Everyone lied. That was how girls ended up in welcome houses to begin with, sent there by parents who’d been desperate enough to believe it would be better than the life they could provide.
Aster finally met Clementine’s eye. “None of us can really know what to expect on any given night,” she said. “That’s just as true for me now as it was when I turned sixteen. But listen, I meant what I said, Clem. You’ve always been stronger than anything they’ve thrown at us. Stronger than me, too, because you still find a way to be your same sunny self no matter what.” Aster managed a smile, even though she felt dangerously close to tears. “So if you feel yourself getting scared … just think of a song, hear? It doesn’t have to be your favorite song. In fact, it’s better if it isn’t. Just pick one you know in your bones, and think of nothing else. That’s what I do.”
Clementine nodded. “Okay. Rig
ht, okay.” She exhaled and wrapped Aster in a hug. “Thanks.”
Aster squeezed her tightly. “I’ll be just downstairs the whole time.”
“Okay.”
Clementine let go, laughing a little self-consciously. “Anyway, I better get down to the reception room for the auction. Wander well.”
“Wander well,” Aster replied solemnly. She followed her sister out of the bedroom and into the hallway, where they would part ways. Aster had to head back to her own bedroom to prepare it for the next brag. The next time she saw Clementine, the worst of this night would be behind them.
And then we’ll be on the same side of things again, Aster thought.
She wouldn’t have to keep secrets from Clementine anymore, wouldn’t be separated from her. They could talk like they used to. Find things to laugh about. Steal their happiness where they could. That was how they won.
Unless …
Aster spun around. “Clem?” she called, cold at the sudden image of Clementine as empty-eyed as the oldest Good Luck Girls, the girls whose only remaining happiness came in a little brown bottle.
Clementine turned. “Yeah?”
“Don’t—don’t take the Sweet Thistle, okay?” Aster pleaded. “Lie to Mother Fleur if she asks you about it. Your body may belong to them, but your mind doesn’t have to. We can keep each other brave. Same as always.”
Clementine’s brows furrowed in confusion. “But, Violet…”
“Promise me, Clem.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I promise.”
3
Evening had fallen on the Green Creek welcome house, and the sundown girls, true to their names, came alive as they worked the growing nighttime crowd.
Aster was far too worried about Clementine to put any effort into flattering the puffed-up men around her. Instead she clung to the shadows of the reception room, watching as the other girls draped themselves over the parlor furniture and flirted with practiced ease. The mirrored walls reflected the chandelier light infinitely, creating the illusion of stars in a sky, while the deep rugs underfoot dampened all sound to an intimate hush. Iris, one of the oldest women at the welcome house, leaned into the grand piano that dominated the southwest corner of the room and began to play a slinking melody. Aster remembered when they’d first arrived at the welcome house, and how nine-year-old Clementine had been caught sneaking out of bed to try to pick out a lullaby on the creamy white keys. The raveners scoured her mind so viciously that she hadn’t spoken for three days. But then kindly Iris had taken her under her wing. It’s about time I started training one of you to take over this old beast for me, Iris had said. I know it looks like it has teeth, but I promise it won’t bite.
Right about now, Clementine would be greeting whichever brag had bought her at the auction.
Aster fought a fresh wave of queasiness. The air in the room was stifling, adding more heat to her temper. The men must have sensed it because for once, they left her alone. Some of them were connoisseurs of the business, come to see if the Green Creek welcome house lived up to its reputation. Others were wealthy but road-weary travelers just looking for a rack and a roll for the night. And almost all of them had come to the Scab from one of Arketta’s fattened cities along the borders—where they belonged. The Scab had a way of making even big men feel small, what with its towering mountains and its restless dead. Good Luck Girls made them feel big again.
Or at least, they were supposed to.
Aster continued pacing along the edge of the room, tugging up the front of her corset. Her dress, cobalt blue with black lace, barely reached midthigh, leaving her legs to sweat under too-tight fishnet stockings. Her hair frizzed around her silk headband like a thunderhead. Mother Fleur frowned at Aster from her favorite chair, but, mercifully, the housemistress decided not to try her tonight, either.
A particularly loud chord rang out from the piano, and Aster jumped, nerves strung near to the breaking point. Violet, who sat on the nearest couch, cocked her eyebrow up at the brag whose lap she was perched on.
“You look tense, Aster,” she said lazily. “No need to worry. Your sister is just fine.”
“And how would you know that?” Aster asked.
“I got a good look at the brag with her. He’s big as a house. I suspect she’s having a Luckier Night than most.”
“Excuse me?” Aster took a step towards her, fist clenched. Violet’s smile fell clean off her face. But before Aster could say anything more, someone grabbed her wrist from behind with a deathly grip. A feverish chill shot up her arm and spread through her whole body, followed by sudden, crushing dread.
Ravener.
“That’ll do,” he said, his voice slipping down the back of her neck like cold water.
She turned and faced a lean, smartly dressed man, his forest green vest marking him as welcome house help. Aster recognized him as Amos. Like all raveners, his eyes were an ember-orange, set deep in his hawkish face. Meeting his stare only intensified the effect of his bewitchment. Aster’s knees crumpled beneath her. Pain blossomed in her chest. And the fear roared in her skull, building to a scream—
Amos released her mind. A moment later, he released her wrist, too. He had only trapped her for a few seconds, but having your mind ravened was akin to holding your hand to an open flame: a few seconds was more than enough.
“Don’t let me catch you skulking again,” Amos hissed in her ear. “Find a brag, or you’ll get worse.”
His work done, he retreated to his post in the corner of the parlor. There were others like him scattered throughout the house. Raveners drew their power from beyond the Veil, and it made them half like the dead themselves—indifferent to cold or hunger, fatigue or pain. It was said that all men who became raveners lost their souls to that power over time, though Aster suspected anyone drawn to raveners’ work didn’t have much of a soul to begin with. They’re necessary to keep the peace, Violet would’ve said.
The little bootlick was smirking at Aster now. Probably she thought Aster had had this coming. Aster curled her lip and stalked off. She was still shaky, sweating. She needed to clear her head.
The reception room was flanked on either side by two smaller parlors, a gambleman’s room and a saloon that doubled as a dance hall. Aster made the rounds through both, careful to avoid further attention. The walking did little to calm her. Amos might have dredged up an ancient, animal fear, but it had already been just below the surface. It’d been mounting all night.
Aster had always known it was her job to protect Clementine, had always known that meant playing by the rules as best she could and avoiding Mother Fleur’s deadly temper.
So why did she feel like she had failed Clementine completely?
Soon enough, Aster found herself back in the reception room, which was now livelier than ever. She angled towards one of the windows, where it was quieter. She could see nothing in the black square of night, but the pocket of cool air was a welcome relief. The worst of the ravening began to wear off.
Then, just as Aster was about to drag herself back into the crowd, she saw it: one window over, by the foot of the stairs, the velvet curtains jumped.
Far too sharp a movement to be a draft.
Aster narrowed her eyes. The welcome house had its dead, of course. The Veil was always thinner in places of great suffering. But a hallower came through once a month to cast out what spirits he could; there hadn’t been a serious disturbance in years.
Another rustle, more exaggerated this time. No one else seemed to have noticed yet. Aster steeled herself and wandered over to investigate, if only to give herself a distraction from this never-ending night. When she pulled the curtains back, she swallowed a gasp.
Clementine.
Her hair had come undone, and her eyes were wide with panic. She shook feverishly. Aster’s shock robbed her of her words. Clementine pulled the curtains closed before anyone else could see her. Aster turned around quickly, making it look as if she were just leaning against the wall.
“What happened to you?” Aster whispered out of the side of her mouth, looking around them anxiously. She hadn’t even noticed Clem coming down the stairs, but someone else might have. Some of the daybreak girls working the floor were sure to be spies, selling others out in return for Mother Fleur’s goodwill. And a ravener could sense fear just as well as he could control it.
“Aster, the brag I was with—um—he’s—” Aster could barely catch Clem’s voice. “I think I—” Her voice faded entirely.
“What?”
“I said I—I think I killed him.”
Killed? No. Clementine wasn’t capable of such a thing. The brag must have passed out drunk. He could wake at any minute and come looking for her.
Aster started to tell her as much, but Clementine’s words poured out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to do it, Aster, I swear. I hit him over the head with the lamp. He was choking me and I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted him to stop, but now there’s all this blood—”
By the Veil.
“Okay,” Aster said. “Shh, Clem, it’s going to be fine. Just stay quiet for now.”
In fact, her own heart had begun to hammer in her chest. She took another look around through the haze of cigar smoke. Mother Fleur wasn’t paying her any mind, but Violet was watching her with obvious suspicion. Aster had already challenged her twice today. Violet would be dying for an excuse to rat her out.
Look away, Aster pleaded. Just this once, Violet, please, mind your own business.
Violet’s brag took her by the chin and brought her down for a kiss. Violet closed her eyes.
“We have to go,” Aster whispered immediately. “Now.”
They left the window and slipped up the stairs, Clementine sticking close to the shadowed wall. Aster forced herself to remain calm and keep her pace measured, squeezing Clementine’s hand to quell her fear, too. It was only once they reached the hallway that they began to run.
The Good Luck Girls Page 3