Witch Born(34)
Senna pressed her lips together to keep from shouting. “No. Pogg, do you still have the keys?”
Pogg pushed up so he was sitting like her—he often tried to imitate the actions of humans. He was the last-known Mettlemot, and Senna had seen how much he wanted somewhere to belong. “Fresh fishes betters.”
He made a strange sound halfway between a choke and a gargle. He lifted his face skyward and jerked it up and down, almost as if he were…swallowing. He turned to her, his inner lids sliding back. “Sometimes fishes comes back up.”
Senna swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Pogg, do you still have the keys?”
He turned stiffly toward his small tree house. “Yes. Pogg has keys.”
She followed him to his tree house and waited at the door. Oily dirt grimed every surface. Useless bits and discarded items were lumped together in groups on the floor or arranged inside broken baskets and wooden boxes. Blankets curled over a nest of leaves were the only indicator someone actually lived in the mess.
Once, Pogg had stayed with her in a tree house, slept in a bed. He’d been untidy, but he’d always smelled like the ocean, not fish grease. But since the Witches had returned, he’d taken to living like this. It was almost like he’d given up now that everyone was safe.
Pogg held up two cups filled with dark- and light-colored stones. “Want to play?”
Senna felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t come to visit Pogg since her attack nearly two weeks ago. He probably didn’t even know it had happened. “Not today. I don’t have time.”
He set the cups down with a sad clank. Then he pulled back some of the leaves that made up his bed to reveal a mess of keys on a ring. Holding them in his mouth, he crept on all fours toward her. He gave her a strange look—well, even stranger than normal. Senna crouched before him. “Which one goes to the Council Tree?”
He sat on his haunches and clutched the keys to his chest. “Why Senna wants them?”
“Because I think someone wants to hurt the Witches.”
Pogg made a gurgle that was half warning, half disapproval. He pushed the keys around on his hand, the webbed skin between his fingers crumpled like wet parchment. “This key fors Prenny houses. This keys fors library. This keys fors Witchling house.” He went over a dozen keys, while Senna sat in rapt attention. “Ah…” He held up a large, ornate key. “This key fors Council rooms.”
Senna took the entire ring from him.
“Why needs all?” He leapt for them. “Gives back keys.”
Senna stood and held them out of his reach. “I will as soon as I’m done.”
He jumped, nearly bowling her over.
She stiff-armed him. His skin was cold and rubbery. Despite the hours she’d spent with him, the touch repulsed her. Ashamed of her reaction, she forced herself to hold him more firmly. “The Dark Witch, Pogg, she’s up to something. I have to stop her.”
“Dark Witch,” he hissed through pointy teeth.
Guilt twinged her insides for using the creature’s hate of the Dark Witch against him—for lying to him. But she didn’t think he’d understand that the danger was the same, just from a different source.
Pogg let out a low keening sound. It made her ears hurt.
He was silent a time before he started rocking back and forth. “Pogg finds starfishes in ocean. But Pogg not brings them back.”
A wave of loneliness washed over Senna. Pogg had often brought her dog starfish. “Bruke would have liked them.”
His movements slow and stiff, Pogg went past her, back to the sun-drenched rocks. She couldn’t help but notice how…ragged he looked. “Pogg, why don’t you ask for a fire? A bed? There’s plenty of room.”
Pogg looked over his shoulder at her. Even though Senna had spent a great deal of time with him, his expressions were so alien he was hard to read. “Witches comes back. Not needs Pogg anymore.”
Anger touched her. “Go find Leader Reden or one of the Heads. Tell one of them that you want one of the old tree houses by the entrance. They’ll see to it.”
Pogg continued climbing. He looked so alone.
Senna gripped the ring of keys tight before slipping them into her dress pocket. “Tell Reden you need someone—a Wastrel or a Witchling—to come start your fire every night.” Pogg’s fingers only had two joints. He was hopeless with a flint and steel.
He didn’t respond. Senna promised herself when she returned to the island, she’d play stones with him more often.
She crossed the island in the deepening twilight. Witches and Guardians were still about, repairing fallen trees and patching windows. Senna slipped through them with her head bent and her cowl pulled low over her face. The Council Tree was by the library and the Heads’ trees. All of them seemed empty. At the tree’s base, she waited to make sure she was alone before using the key Pogg had indicated to open the door.