“It’s just down the road.”
Éléonore shook her head. “You never know. I don’t have a good feeling about this. Take a gun just in case.”
Charlotte took a rifle from the wall, chambered a round, and hugged Éléonore.
“I’ll be back.”
“Of course.”
Charlotte went outside, crossed the lawn, and got into the truck. The truck had belonged to Rose, and she had finally learned to drive it last year. It lacked the elegance of the Adrianglian phaetons, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
She turned the key. The engine started. There was something about Richard’s face that called to her. She wasn’t sure if it was the handsome masculine lines or the fiery intensity in his eyes. Or maybe it was because he thought she was beautiful. Whatever it was, she had become invested in his survival. She wanted to see him open his eyes again and hear him speak. Most of all, she wanted him to safely recover.
Five hundred was a small price to pay for that.
TWO
ÉLÉONORE checked Richard’s pulse. It was even. Charlotte was a miracle worker, and the poor girl had no idea. Most people in her place would be rolling around in money. None was more desperate than a mother with a sick child or a husband with a dying wife. They’d give you their last dollar. But Charlotte healed them all for a pittance and acted like she was nothing special.
They had done something to her in the Weird. She was like a bird who’d had her wings broken once, and wasn’t willing to take the risk and try flying again. She fought against wealth and recognition on purpose, as if she was hiding. She never said from who or why. Éléonore sighed. Well, she, for one, was content to let her have a safe corner of the Edge to hide in.
A knock made her turn. Daisy and Tulip stood in the doorway.
“I’ve got a call from work,” Daisy said. “They want me to come in. Is it okay if I bring Tulip by tonight instead? Do you think Charlotte would mind?”
“I don’t think she would. Go on. Work’s more important.” Éléonore smiled.
“Thank you,” Daisy said.
“Thank you,” Tulip echoed.
She was such a sweet, shy girl. “Don’t worry. Charlotte will clear your face right up.”
“Do we need you to move the stones?” Daisy asked.
That’s what living in the Broken does to you, Éléonore thought. Daisy had no clue how basic magic worked and wanted nothing to do with it. “No, the stones only prevent someone from coming in. Once you’re in, you can move them or just step over them to go out.”
“Thank you!” Daisy said again. The girls went out. Éléonore heard the screen door slam shut.
She checked the time. Charlotte had been gone for twenty minutes. She couldn’t cross the boundary into the Broken. Her magic was too strong, so she would likely just wait at the end of the road, before the boundary, until Luke came through and delivered the blood.
A hint of anxiety squirmed through her, an unpleasant premonition that left unease in its wake. She couldn’t tell if it was her magic warning her or if she’d become paranoid in her old age. It was terrible to get old. But then the alternative wasn’t much better. Besides, Charlotte would sit in the truck with the doors locked. She had a rifle, what little good it would do her. Not that the girl wouldn’t defend herself, but she didn’t have that steel-hard core Éléonore’s granddaughter did. Rose’s resolve carried her through life’s rough waters. Charlotte had weathered some storms, but she lacked that primal viciousness of a born Edger. That’s what made her so special, and that’s why she liked her so much, Éléonore reflected. She too hadn’t been born in East Laporte. Charlotte’s presence reminded her of a different time and a gentler place.
Éléonore brushed Richard’s hair from his face. “Who is Sophie, Richard?”
He didn’t answer. It could’ve been anyone, a wife, a lover, a sister. Éléonore knew very little about him. She’d only met him once, but he’d made an impression. It was the way he carried himself with quiet dignity. His brother was all flash, charm, and jokes, but Richard had that sardonic, sharp wit. He didn’t speak much, but occasionally he said clever things with a completely straight face . . .
“Mrs. Drayton!” The scream rang out, high-pitched and vibrating with sheer terror. Tulip.
Éléonore ran to the door. Tulip stood at the wards, her face skewed by fear into a distorted mask. “Mrs. Drayton! They have Daisy!”
Éléonore hurried across the lawn. Move faster, legs. “Who? Who has Daisy?”
“Men.” Tulip waved her arms. “With guns and horses.”
A long, ululating howl rolled through the Edge. The tiny hairs on the back of Éléonore’s neck stood up. She grabbed a stone and pulled Tulip into the protective circle. “Inside, now!”
Tulip ran for the door. Éléonore replaced the stone and hurried after her, across the grass, onto the porch steps.
The sound of hoofbeats made her spin. A rider came down the road. His head was shaved. He wore black leather, and as he rode, the sun glinted off the long chain shackles hanging from his saddle.
Slavers.
The realization lashed her like a whip. Éléonore dashed across the porch into the house, shut the door, and locked it.
Tulips stared at her with huge eyes. “What’s going on?”