Violet Grenade(46)

My eyes flick toward the sky, afraid to appear too eager, like she said. "Why does he stay here when the girls are mean to him? Aren't there better jobs in Pox?"

Angie doesn't say anything. She just stands there, breathing hard like she's rooted on a land mine, afraid uttering one word will blow us all to kingdom come. Somehow, this is worse than any response. 

"Is it because of the money? Does he need it for something?"

Her hands curl into fists. "If you think that woman is paying him a nickel for his time, you're dead wrong. Now stop asking me things. Ask him yourself if you're so interested."

Angie turns to leave, but then spins back around. She paces toward me and digs her hand in her pocket, pulls out a peppermint. She holds it out and looks away like she couldn't care less if I take it.

But I do … take it.

And when Cain appears through the open door a second later, she shoves another one into my palm.

"For the boy," she says.

Then she's gone, walking toward Black Betty like there's a fire blazing at her back. There are two Dobermans I've never seen before bouncing around the tractor. She brushes them aside, and they bark wildly as she starts the tractor's engine.

"Don't give my dogs the peppermints," she yells over the rumble. "It'll make Kali sick. Damn dog has a sensitive stomach."

I'm not sure why I'd ever give a dog a peppermint, so I stuff them obediently into my pocket and watch as she chugs down the road, dogs chasing behind, her head bobbing in the distance.

I like her, Wilson says cautiously.

Yeah, I think. I do, too.





Chapter Twenty-Eight

A Nod

It's still early morning when Poppet and I gather our things and head toward the staircase. My blood runs hot when I realize I'll never get back the money I came here with from whoever stole it. Madam Karina said once you move to a new floor, you can't return to the old one. Of course, I don't want to come back here. Especially after the Carnations find out Madam Karina made special allowances for Poppet and me to advance. If the harassment was bad before, I can't imagine what it would be like now.

I start to put on my blue wig, but Poppet tells me I shouldn't. "You've turned over a new leaf," she says. "Embrace it." I agree, but I won't throw them away no matter how much she presses. I'm an addict where my armor is concerned. I may be in recovery, but I still need it there.

In case.

So I carry my wigs, jewelry, linens, and Dizzy's shirt in my arms, and together we climb the stairs. We can't help giggling, anticipating this new chapter. I've never seen the Daisies in their natural habitat. Will things run differently there? Will the girls be welcoming?

We reach the second floor and glance around. To our left are two large rooms. One is open and spacious with couches, a radio, and … a television! Two Daisies are sitting cross-legged in front of it, faces leaned forward, cheeks glowing orange and green and blue from the screen. The other room's door is half open, so I can't see much of what's inside. I make out black paint on the walls, but the rest is hidden.

On our right is a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms. We're about to walk down it when Mr. Hodge yells for us to wait. He marches up the stairs, wheezing and turning red around the collar. When he makes it to the top, he grabs his belt buckle and lifts his khaki pants to hoist them over his belly, but they only slide back down.

The man smiles. There's a piece of spinach from breakfast wedged between his upper teeth. "I'll show you ladies to your room. You're Daisies now, and that means you get more of my attention."

"Thank you, Mr. Hodge." Poppet grins up at him. I try, and fail, to do the same.

As he walks us down the hall, I peek inside some of the bedrooms. They aren't much bigger than the ones downstairs, which is to say they're closet-sized. I bet when Madam Karina inherited the house, she put in extra walls to create these miniature rooms.



       
         
       
        

Our room has two twin beds with six inches between them, and one dresser I could touch if I pointed my toes while dreaming. A lamp stands on the dresser-a pitiful shade of green-and the hardwood floor is stained in one corner.

"Go on in, girls." Mr. Hodge is talking to both of us, but I don't miss the way his hand pats Poppet's bottom. She freezes, and when his fingers linger, I slap his hand away without thinking. Mr. Hodge's face turns the color of an eggplant, and he flares his nostrils.

"Better watch your temper, girl," he snaps.

"Better watch your hands," I reply. Then, to ensure he understands never to touch her again, I add, "I know Madam Karina would appreciate it if you did."