The Sisters of Reckoning

by Charlotte Nicole Davis

  Aster looked back and forth between them warily. This just sounded to her like a convenient way to give Derrick time to slip off and snitch to the law. But judging from the look on his face, Derrick seemed equally uneasy with Violet’s plan.

  “This welcome house is my responsibility,” he said quietly. “If anything happens to it, I’m going to lose what little respect I have.”

  “And that’s more important than these girls’ lives, is it?” Aster bit back.

  “No, of course not, I’m just saying … I’m no good to you if my family strips me of my power.”

  The McClennons could demote Derrick to an errand boy, and he would still have more power than anyone else Aster had ever met. She was about to say as much, but Violet spoke first.

  “Give me a little credit, Derrick,” Violet said. “I can help you spin this in your favor. This will be an opportunity for you to show some real passion and initiative, for once—and when your uncle asks for solutions, we’re going to make sure you have some that work for us.”

  Derrick and Aster shared a doubtful look. Aster sighed and beckoned Violet closer, away from the McClennon boy. They turned their backs to him.

  “Look, Violet, I’m trusting you,” Aster said, soft enough that Derrick wouldn’t hear. “If you’re wrong about him—”

  “I’m not,” she promised. “Derrick’s not a coward, Aster, he’s just cautious—and he has reason to be. Like he said, he knows his family better than anyone else. But we’re going to use that to our advantage, so we can’t let him be implicated in this, hear?” She gave Aster’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve got this under control, I promise.”

  Well, if there was one thing Violet was good at, it was keeping people under control. Aster sighed.

  “Fine,” she conceded. “You two hurry up and get out of here, then. I’ll wait until midnight to start the fire, but not a minute longer. I need to have plenty of time to get out of the city before daybreak.”

  “That’ll work,” Violet said to Derrick, who was pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “If I may ask you just once more to reconsider—”

  “You may not. Go on now,” Aster said.

  Violet hurried into the washroom to get changed back into her clothes, leaving Derrick and Aster alone. Aster prowled back and forth impatiently, refusing to look at him, though she could sense he had more to say. He even seemed to open his mouth to speak, but Aster fixed him with a glare, and he pressed his lips together so tightly they disappeared. The rain on the roof pattered against the tense silence. At last Violet returned, saving them both, and Derrick stood up hurriedly and helped her into her coat.

  “I’ve written down instructions for how to reach us by voltragraph,” Violet said, pressing a piece of paper into Aster’s hand. “You’ll have to use an alias of course—‘Sunny,’ I was thinking.” She smiled, brushing her thumb against Aster’s new favor, then drew Aster into another hug. “Promise you’ll be in touch as soon as possible, hear? It’s so good to have you back, Aster.”

  Aster felt a hitch in her chest as she hugged Violet back. “You, too, Vi. Wander well.”

  Then Aster and Derrick faced each other. Derrick said nothing more to try to dissuade her, only holding out his own hand in a peace offering. A thin theomite ring glinted on his third finger—one all too similar to his brother Baxter’s. Aster narrowed her eyes before accepting his hand and shaking it slowly. His grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Thank you, Aster,” he said.

  She furrowed her brow. “For what? Burning down your welcome house?”

  He managed half a grin. “No—for giving me your trust. You won’t regret it.”

  “See that I don’t.”

  Shaking hands with a McClennon, she thought, letting go.

  She couldn’t believe it had come to this.

  6

  Once Violet and Derrick had gone and enough time had passed, Aster crept downstairs to the reception room, careful to keep quiet so as not to draw attention from the raveners still on patrol. The gentle summer rain outside had stopped—good for committing arson, but bad for hiding the sounds of footsteps. Once Aster started the fire, she was hoping the raveners would simply be too distracted to notice her stealing away.

  But she couldn’t afford to let them catch her before then.

  Aster’s feet cramped in her boots as she tiptoed down the hallway, sneaking past the empty bedrooms. She always carried matches in her satchel, but she still needed to find fuel for her fire—the batting inside the furniture, maybe, or painter’s paper, if there was any left over. It was essential to control the burn, at least at first. She couldn’t be reckless about this, or she was going to get herself killed.

  Aster swallowed the fear creeping back up her throat. Without Violet at her side she was getting jumpy again, startling at a glint of gold in the dark and at her own shadowed reflection in a mirror. Everything about this place—the narrow hallways closing in around her, the carpet that swallowed up her footsteps, the hot, heavy air thick with the smells of polish and paint—made Aster feel as if she were trapped like a fly in honey.

  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …

  She reached the reception room.

  The furniture was still covered with white sheets, the perimeter of the floor lined with paint-spattered paper. A bar stood in the back of the room, glasses sparkling on the wall behind it. Had it already been stocked with alcohol? Enough to start a fire, maybe?

  It was worth checking.

  Aster ducked down low as she approached the bar, careful to keep below the sight line of the windows. Sure enough, once she was safely behind the counter, she spotted rows of gleaming bottles of beer and liquor. She silently thanked the dead as she surveyed her options. She needed the strong stuff—Zee had taught her that much when he’d first showed them all the ways to build a fire. Alcohol was something you only used in an emergency, he’d told them. It could be hard to put that kind of fire out. He wouldn’t approve of this application of his advice, Aster suspected. But what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

  Finally Aster found what she was looking for—firetongue whiskey, made from grain from the Goldsea. Folks said it was strong enough to burn the skin off a baby’s backside.

  It would certainly do the trick tonight.

  “Ah. Here we go,” Aster said to herself, unable to help a grin as she took a jug in each hand.

  Armed with the firetongue, she crept back out from behind the bar and built the heart of her fire: paper piled on top of wooden chairs. Then she doused it with firetongue and poured trails of the whiskey across the floor. She splashed the walls, soaked the rugs, doused the piano and the grandfather clock and the claw-footed pool table. When she ran out of alcohol, she went back behind the bar for more, helping herself to a shot for courage before setting out again. It set her head spinning.

  Thanks for the drink, you bastard, Aster thought delightedly. She couldn’t help picturing the look on McClennon’s face when he saw that his million-eagle welcome house had been burned to the ground. Working undercover had denied Aster certain pleasures. There was a kind of rush that you could only get from taking a rich man’s shine.

  Finally the whole first floor smelled so strongly of whiskey that the inside of Aster’s nose burned with every breath. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck. Excitement coursed through her blood. She was filled with such a heady rush that she might as well have been drunk on the firetongue beneath her feet.

  But she wasn’t out of this yet. She could celebrate once she was safe.

  Aster backed towards the stairs. Her plan was to leave the same way she’d come in. She’d drop the match and race upstairs before the fire had a chance to reach the second floor, and then she’d sneak out through the window. But she’d have to be quick. She remembered the fire safety lessons back at Green Creek—it was the smoke that would kill you, not the flame, and the smoke took only moments to bloom.

  Aster pulled the bo
ok of matches from her satchel. Peeled a single match free.

  You better be sure about this, Lucker, Aster thought to herself.

  She asked herself one last time if it was arrogance to think she knew better than the Lady Ghosts. But it wasn’t that she thought the Ladies’ way of doing things was wrong—no, of course not. Only that it wasn’t enough. The landmasters were upping the ante. Aster had to do the same. Just as there was a time and a place for caution, there was a time and a place for risk.

  And it was here, and it was now.

  Heart hitching, Aster crouched on the bottom step and struck the match. It flared to life with the warning hiss of a snake in the grass. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nose. Aster leaned forward, wetting her lips. Dropped the hungry flame to the floor.

  Whoosh!

  The fire leapt up and forward with terrifying speed. Racing across the floor, licking up the walls, engulfing the furniture she’d soaked in firetongue. Aster stumbled backwards on the first step. The dry heat immediately scorched her exposed skin. Fear shot through her. She regained her footing and sprinted up the stairs, the black smoke chasing her.

  Shit! Shit! Shit—

  Aster tried to hold in a cough, but it forced its way out of her throat, and once she started, she couldn’t stop. She fell to her hands and knees when she reached the second floor, desperate to keep her head below the swelling smoke. The roar of the fire beat against her ears, its heat closing around her like a fist. She could hear the raveners shouting outside, but she couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered beyond getting out of here.

  For a brief, terrifying moment, Aster thought she’d forgotten which room was Violet’s. It was impossible to tell the doors apart in the dark. But then she came across the door they’d left open, and she crawled into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

  Aster didn’t waste any time. She scrambled back up to her feet, ran for the window, and slid it open. Sucked in a grateful gulp of the cool, clear night air. Then she climbed out onto the scaffolding, shimmied down the side, and jumped down into the grass. In her hurry, she landed poorly, and her ankle rolled beneath her. She bit back a yelp of pain.

  “It’s no use, we have to send for help!” one of the raveners barked out to his partner, his voice frighteningly close. Aster froze. In her hurry to escape, she had damn near forgotten about them. But then she spotted their silhouettes, both running towards the front gate at unnatural speed. As soon as they were out of sight, Aster splashed the soot from her face with puddled rainwater, tied the dustkerchief over her nose and chin, and made for the back fence, her gait lopsided as she favored her right ankle.

  Sure would’ve been nice to have another cart full of hay to land in, she thought ruefully, remembering the last time she’d jumped out a welcome house window. But even though her ankle was throbbing and her throat was raw, adrenaline surged through her body, making the pain seem to disappear. She climbed up and over the fence, hardly noticing the bite of the metal against her palms.

  It wasn’t until she was safely on the other side that Aster gave herself a moment to take it all in.

  She turned and faced the burning welcome house, listening to the timber buckle and pop in the heat, watching the thick column of smoke rise gray against the black sky. The building had gone up so much faster than she’d expected. It was now fully engulfed in flames that blazed hot and bright as the maw of a blacksmith’s furnace. What change had she forged tonight? How many girls had they spared how much suffering? It was only one welcome house in a country with dozens, but still. Aster’s chest swelled with sudden elation. A grin split her face. McClennon probably thought he had seen the last of her. He probably had been a little relieved, despite himself.

  Well, now he would know better. They all would.

  Then the peal of the firemen’s bells rang out in the distance, and the spell was broken. Aster snapped into focus, knowing she needed to disappear.

  But it sounded like the firemen were coming from the same direction as where she’d hitched her horse—and the law would be with them, too, no doubt. The horse would be safe, but she wouldn’t be, if she went back that way. What would the law think when they saw her fleeing the area, a dustblood in the wrong part of town, her face covered like a criminal’s?

  Aster bit her lip, weighing the risks, then disappeared down the darkened alleyway as fast as she could manage.

  The bells continued to ring as more firemen’s carriages headed towards the burning welcome house. Aster’s favor burned beneath her dustkerchief as if in sympathy. Once she’d put enough distance between herself and the welcome house she reemerged on a busy street, where people stopped on the sidewalk and turned their faces up towards the smoke rising over the skyline. If it distracted folks from her presence, so much the better. She had only a little farther before she reached one of the bridges that would take her out of Northrock, and as far as Aster was concerned, she couldn’t get there soon enough. Her work here was done.

  The bite in Aster’s throat dulled as she slowly regained her breath. What would Priscilla say once Aster told her what she’d done? Would she cast her out of the Graveyard? Suddenly it seemed like a possibility Aster had to consider. Stealing Violet out from under McClennon’s nose would have perhaps been forgivable, but burning down a welcome house—

  I’ll explain everything to her. She’ll see that it had to be done. She’ll come around. She has to.

  But if she didn’t?

  Aster’s excitement cooled, hardened, sank in her stomach. She swallowed, wiping away the sting of sweat from her eye. Her sister and their friends were all in Ferron, and Violet was with the McClennons. If the Ladies cast Aster out, she would have nowhere left to turn.

  The bridge was in sight now. A crowd seemed to have gathered on the near side of it. A deepening sting ate away at Aster’s favor as she pushed her way past people. Her favor would start to show through her dustkerchief any minute now. She didn’t have time for whatever this was.

  “Excuse me—pardon me—excuse—” Aster stopped short, her voice dying in her throat.

  A line of lawmen stood across the bridge, barking at anyone who tried to cross or pushing them back with the butts of their rifles.

  “What the rip is going on?” Aster asked under her breath.

  “You didn’t hear?” a woman next to her answered. “You didn’t see? The new welcome house is on fire.”

  “But I—I don’t understand,” Aster stammered, struggling not to let panic slip into her voice. “What does that have to do with the barricade?”

  “Well, they’re saying it was arson. The city is on lockdown.”

  “Lockdown?”

  “That’s right. No one in or out until the perpetrators are caught.”

  7

  Lockdown?

  Aster’s mind spun. It had been one thing for the little towns in the Scab to go on lockdown, setting up checkpoints along the Bone Road, but a place the size of Northrock? How long would it take the law to search the whole city? How long before they gave up?

  Or before they found her?

  At least one thing was for sure: she wasn’t getting out this way. She had to get away from these lawmen, now.

  Aster’s favor twinged with pain, and she brought her hand up to the side of her neck as she ducked down the alleys again, limping on her stiffening ankle. Once she was hidden in the shadows, she crouched down and took a moment to regroup, removing her dustkerchief.

  Now what?

  Every road out of this place probably had a barricade up, but they couldn’t keep a city this size shut down forever. She just had to outlast them.

  But for how long? A day? A week? She didn’t even have anywhere to sleep tonight.

  Aster’s gut sank at the realization. She had a few eagles on her, but certainly not enough to afford lodging at an inn where she could lay low until this lockdown lifted—and even if she could, the law would be going door to door, questioning everyone.
/>   She should have prepared for this. She should have brought more shine, should have secured a hideout, should have—

  Should have listened to the Lady Ghosts.

  Aster ground her teeth. There’d be time for regret later. Right now she had to figure out where she could spend the night. If she tried to sleep rough on the streets, the law was sure to pick her up. She needed someplace they wouldn’t think to look.

  If this were the wilderness, Aster would have known what to do. Zee had taught them how to find shelter and cover their tracks in the mountains. But Northrock? Sneaking around the city was a hell of a lot different than sneaking around the Scab.

  Wait a minute—

  What had been the name of the dustblood girl who’d first told her that? The girl who’d helped her find Violet the night Violet had stolen away to her father’s house?

  Cora.

  Would she remember Aster? And even if she did, would she be willing to help her again? It was one thing to escort a stranger across town, but to protect them from the law while the whole city was on lockdown …

  But Aster was out of options.

  She waited a little while longer for her favor to cool, then, wincing, covered her face once again and set out into the streets. The first time Aster had run into Cora she had been on the opposite end of town, near the warehouses, packing plants, and loading docks that lined the Mercy River: the industrial district, where the majority of Northrock’s dustbloods lived. Cora had explained that she and her friends slept rough in an old mill nearby. Aster just had to find it.

  It took her near an hour just to reach the right neighborhood, ducking in and out of alleys along the way to dodge the law and let her favor rest. The cold and the damp sank into her skin, setting her shivering, the muscles in her legs cramping up as she limped block after block. The industrial district was like a totally different city. Unlike the well-kept parts of town where McClennon had held his rally and built his welcome house, here the broken-down buildings crowded together like too many teeth in a mouth. Uncollected garbage spilled out from the alleys, and burnt-out streetlights left whole city blocks in the shadows. The very air was heavy with the smell of river water and sewage. Smoke from the mills blotted out the stars above. And one name appeared again and again on the face of every factory: CAIN. The man, whoever he was, seemed to own this part of town.