The Iron Thorn - Caitlin Kittredge [134]
I did not tell them how my Weird reacted to even the slightest touch. To feel the Engine flowing through me, the vast and breathless power of its pistons and gears … what would that power do?
I didn’t think about it, and I didn’t say it. I kept my tale short and sparse, because talking about the Folk left a foul taste on my tongue.
When I was finished, Dean gave a low whistle. “That’s a burden to lay on you, Aoife. True enough.”
“It’s … unbelievable,” Cal said. “And impossible.”
“Impossible just means they ain’t thought of a name for it yet,” Dean answered. “What it is, is dangerous.”
“I’m going back,” I told them. “With or without all of you.” I was decided. I had never been so decided before.
“I’m just telling it like it is,” Dean said. “Think on the danger before you go running back into the iron jaws of that place, will you? For me?”
“You saw what can happen,” I said. “Tremaine isn’t a good person, but I made a bargain. My family has a history with the Folk, and I have the Weird, and it means I have the history now. The duty.”
I stood up. The tea had flushed me, warmed me, and dulled the ache of losing Conrad. I had to move now, before I became a cripple again.
“You can help me or you can stay here. I won’t blame you either way. But I’m going back to Lovecraft.”
The Peter Pan jitney depot on the outskirts of Arkham was pockmarked with rust, chrome rubbed off, glass shattered. No one else sat on the damp bench inside the shelter. I was the only one, the old carpetbag I’d found in the wardrobe stuffed with my school clothes and my father’s journal, plus the invigorator and Tremaine’s goggles.
I hadn’t taken much. I wore the sturdy boots and woolen coat and the red dress. I didn’t need anything else.
In the end, I’d elected to leave early in the morning, silent and alone. Cal and Dean needn’t be part of this. It was my bargain to uphold and my burden to bear.
I’d slept not at all. I kept thinking of Conrad, of how it was all gone now—the smile, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand on my shoulder. His simple tricks, the last, anguished glimpse of him before he dropped the knife and ran from my dormitory room.
I had to pack it away and move on because I wasn’t a simple schoolgirl any longer, one who had the luxury of flinging herself across her bed and crying.
I had a duty. My father had lost his brother too. He hadn’t let it stop him. I wouldn’t be the weak link in the Grayson bloodline.
The crows flapped overhead, one alighting on the shelter’s roof. It cocked its head, danced to the left, stared at me with its glass bead eyes.
“Why don’t you go fly back to Tremaine and tell him I’m doing as he asks?” I snapped at it.
“She wouldn’t.” Dean’s voice startled me, his appearance out of the ever-present fog like a camera lens clicking.
I kicked at the carpetbag with my toe. It was indescribably ugly, great orange cabbage roses on a hunter green background. “How can you know?”
“The crows don’t serve the Folk.” Dean sat next to me and performed the ritual of tapping and lighting a Lucky. He clicked his lighter shut and nodded to the crow. “They’re psychopomps. Guardians protecting the ways between the lands. Iron, Mist and Thorn, they all got doorways.”
“I don’t see why they’re always bothering me,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean took a drag. “Then why are you at the jitney stop, sweetheart?”
I shot him a glare. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
He picked up my hand and pressed his lips against the back, the briefest of touches, but it shattered the fragile dam I’d built around the events of the previous day. I moved into his arms silently, and let his body warm mine while the fog swirled.
“You’re alone?” I said.
“Nah.” Dean exhaled. Tobacco smoke made a halo around our heads. “The kid’s coming too. I left him with time to say goodbye to Bethina.”
“Good. I hope he goes back to her when this is over.” I checked the schedule for the dozenth time. There were still quarters of hours yet before any jitney