Tell the Wind and Fire(38)

I’d burned the side of my thumb cooking the bacon and eggs, and I took this opportunity to press the burned skin to the metal of the refrigerator sneakily, so nobody would see me do it. Nobody ever guessed how much effort looking effortless took.

“I’ll walk to school,” I said. I always got up in time to do that, because only four people fit in the car without being cramped, and dropping me off meant making an extra stop.

“You don’t have to,” said Jarvis. He always offered me a lift, as if it was his job to look after me, as if I was Marie. He was always so kind, and it made me nervous: I always wondered when his kindness might run out.

“I want to,” I told him.

I wasn’t lying. I usually walked, and Ethan usually met me on the way.

Ethan could not come by my place much, because my father got upset when he saw him. He got upset at the very name of Stryker. I couldn’t blame him, not really: I knew as well as he did what anybody on the Light Council could do to us, let alone what Mark or Charles Stryker could do.

I gave everyone a round of kisses and goodbyes and walked out into the sunshine. It was a bright morning, but sharp around the edges. The sun was a golden disc so high up in the sky that it made sense that its warmth had not reached the city yet. I pulled my coat tighter around myself and walked on, watching the glitter of sunlight on the tin roofs of warehouses and faraway spires alike.

I smiled when the long black car purred up to the curb and stood waiting, like a cat expecting to be petted. The richest cars were the narrowest, in a classic style built to show off that they had no need for engines now that they had Light magic, with no thought for packing a family or a car seat inside the vehicle. This was an impractical and gleaming black sliver of a car.

Usually Ethan walked to meet me, but now and then he took a car if it was cold or he’d overslept and was afraid that he would miss me. He was a child of luxury: he never needed to think twice about taking one of the cars, in the same way normal people never needed to think about grabbing a cup out of a kitchen cabinet. There were always plenty, and it was no big deal.

Talk about someone effortlessly brightening up a morning. I stood with my cold hands in my pockets and beamed at the darkened windows of the car.

Then the window rolled down, and Mark Stryker was looking at me. I looked past him and saw his face in a weaker mold. Charles Stryker. Both Ethan’s father and his terrifying uncle had come for me. That meant they had something specific in mind—they only came hunting in pairs on matters of utmost importance.

“Lucie,” Mark said mildly, “jump in the car, would you? We’d like a word about the sans-merci.”





CHAPTER NINE


driver in the Stryker livery, electric blue lines on a background of lambent gold like the sun’s rays in reverse, unfolded himself from the front seat and opened the door for me. Neither Mark nor Charles Stryker could be expected to sully their hands with car doors.

I crushed my impulse to flee like a scared animal. There was nowhere I could run where they would not chase me down.

Instead I got reluctantly into the car. The leather was so expensive, it did not squeak as the skirt of my school uniform slid over it. I sank backward into the seat and felt enveloped by the whole dark car, carried off like a maiden in a story, never to be seen again.

I found myself twisting my hands in my lap, barely even able to look at the men I was facing, and realized I was sitting as if I was at a job interview or worse: as if I was suspected of a crime.

Even if they knew I was guilty, that was no reason to act guilty.

I looked up. Charles was leaning forward and looking tense, because he was the clumsy one. Mark was sitting back, his face relaxed.

The windows of this car, I remembered, were black and opaque as jet from the outside. It was very dark in the car, a little stuffy, smelling like the ghost of expensive cologne. The only light was that shimmering around all our rings. The Strykers had glowing, lucent jewels, the best money could buy. Next to them, mine looked like glass.

Charles coughed. “We wanted to talk to you about the recent trouble. With Ethan.”

“I won’t breathe a word about—” I stopped before I said Carwyn’s name, but I should not have spoken at all. It betrayed nervousness. “About anything.”

“No, Lucie, of course not,” said Charles. “You’re a good girl,” he added anxiously, as if to appease me.

“We all know that,” Mark slid in.

The statement hung in the air, like a sword over my head. I waited for it to fall.

“The charge laid against Ethan is a very serious one,” said Charles Stryker, rubbing the loose skin over his knuckles. “The guards who apprehended him have been dealt with, and the guards in this city have been told it was a case of mistaken identity. But the fact remains that he was charged, and now there is the civil unrest of the cages being torn down, and your name is being thrown around by some very unsavory people. Of course we do not believe that you are in any way involved with the thugs who launched the attack on Green-Wood Cemetery. They are using your name and fame for their own purposes and may plan to do worse. Who knows what sinister intentions the sans-merci harbor toward you, but do not worry, Lucie. The Light Council will protect you.”