Ice Country(50)

I laugh. “So…not a guy,” I say. “Except for the hair.”

“Short hair don’t hafta be a guy,” she snaps.

“Nay, I didn’t mean—I’m not saying—” I’ve never been this rattled talking to a woman before. When I was courting the witch I was as smooth as butter, at least up until the point where she cheated on me and threw me out on my arse.

“What’re you sayin’?” she asks, once more laying the pressure on hard.

My face is hotter than fire country. “I’m saying I like it. Your hair. I like your hair. I like everything.” Buff chuckles. I realize my voice has risen like the temperature on the way down the mountain. Our private conversation is no longer private.

A hard voice says, “I think you’ve said enough.”

Feve has spoken.

Buff chuckles again. “More than enough,” he adds.





Chapter Nineteen





Not much happens for a day.

The dungeon’s not so bad, mostly because my cell’s right next to Skye’s, and she’s been pretty set on sitting near our shared hole, so I get glimpses of her all the time. A strong shoulder. A slender neck. Did I mention her lips?

A few times I think I’m doing something wrong by paying her so much attention, because I should be focused on finding Jolie—which I am—but it’s kind of hard to find your sister when you’re locked in a tiny cell. So I figure anything to pass the time is fair game—at least until Wes breaks us out.

Which he will.

Of that I’m certain.

Well, mostly certain.

When I think it’s near the end of the day, Big brings us each a thin metal dish of something gruel-like, but even under the torchlight it’s hard to identify what it is. It tastes like a mixture of dirt and bark, so maybe that’s what it is, seasoned with yellow snow and fried up in a big old pot, made special for prisoners. Wanting to stay strong, I eat it anyway.

Skye messes with Big on the way out. “Hey, Big,” she says.

“Eat your food!” he says.

“I will. It’s just, there’s this nasty searin’ fungus goin’ ’round and I been wonderin’ if you know anythin’ ’bout it.”

What’s she up to?

Big stops sharply. “I’m the one who told ya about it, Woman. When I tossed you in ’ere.”

“Was it you?” Skye says, false question in her voice.

“Yah!”

“Oh, I guess I forgot.” Skye’s voice echoes off the walls.

“What about the fungus?” Big asks, a hint of something that I think is fear in his tone.

“Is that a spot of it on your chest?” Skye says, pointing.

Even under the dim light, I can see Big’s face go white. “Where?” he says, frantically searching with his fingers.

“Above that big ol’ crater you call a bellybutton,” she says.

Big’s fingers find the spot, run across his sweaty skin. “Just a mole,” he says, relief evident in the way he breathes out as he says it.

“Good,” Skye says. “I was worried.”

“Now eat your food!” Big repeats, stomping through the doors.

“What was that all about?” I ask Skye.

“Nothin’,” she says. “Just havin’ a bit of fun. When we were brought in, the big fella was goin’ on and on ’bout this flesh eatin’ fungus that’s been goin’ ’round. Seems the only thing he’s scared of. Just wanted to put that fear to the test.”





~~~





There’s not much else to do other than talking, sometimes as a group, sometimes broken up into separate conversations. A coupla of times I move to the front of my cell, stick my head out the bars, look up and down the row, hoping to get another look at one of the others—okay, okay, Skye mostly—but none of them are ever doing the same. Well, except for Buff, who seems to be doing the same thing, except his eyes are always on the cell I suspect belongs to the song-voiced one they call Wilde.

When I make a rude gesture he slinks back into his cell.

So I just sit there, arms draped over the bars, waiting. For Wes. For anybody.

I picture how it’ll be when we’re reunited with Jolie, how her smile will fill up my heart, how she’ll wrap her arms around me and I’ll swing her in a circle.

There’s movement to my left, from the cell next to mine. The girl sticks her head out. Skye’s sister, Siena. She glances my way, smiles a rather pretty smile, and then leans as far to the edge in the other direction as possible, as if I might have the Cold and share it with her. I frown, perplexed as to her strange anti-me behavior, but then a pair of strong arms reaches out from the cell beyond hers. She’s barely able to reach them, to grasp them, to hold them. There’s something so tender, so longing, so loving in the simple touch I witness, between Siena and Circ, that I feel a yearning in my own heart. Not for anyone in particular, certainly not for any of my exes, not even for Skye—although she has captured my interest—but just for a connection to someone like the one I see between Skye’s sister and the Heater boy.