“Spare the rod, spoil the child. We don’t spare the rod here. Follow the rules and you’ll have lovely clothes and good, healthy food—even cake. Break the rules and feel the rod.”
Another jab, another blast of fire that turned her vision bright white, then dull gray.
Someone touched her. She didn’t want to be touched, not that way. They probed inside her. It shocked and hurt almost like the rod, and somehow worse.
She threw out all her curses—and she knew plenty. The rod struck again. Again. Again.
She ran, ran and ran, through the dark. Through the tunnels. Someone took her hand, and she gripped it like life. Running, climbing, falling, everything so mixed up and horrible. Pain and fear, pouring rain.
She saw a face, pale against dripping red hair.
“Don’t go! Don’t go!”
But the hand pulled away; the face faded.
She woke crying and calling. Someone held her, and she shoved and pushed. But the hands didn’t slap or probe. They stroked gently down her back, over her hair. And the voice spoke as gently as the hands.
“Hush now. You’re safe. You’re all right. It’s just a bad dream.”
“Is she okay, Sebastian? Is she? Is she going to be okay?”
“She’ll be fine, Mouser. You go get her some water. She had a bad dream.”
“I used to have them.”
“I know. But you’re okay, aren’t you?”
“Bet your butt! I’ll be right back.”
“Try to relax now,” Sebastian told Dorian. “Do you want me to let go?”
“I—no.” Nobody held her or stroked her hair. It felt strange, made her a little ashamed that she liked it, and made the awful less.
“Do you want to tell me about the dream?”
“I don’t know. It’s all mixed up. Everything’s all messed up, all mixed up. And my head feels too big or something.”
“It’s no bigger than it should be, but you knocked it hard. Is there pain?”
“Not really, not like before. I’m so tired.”
She rested her cheek on his chest, heard his heart beating. And her eyes filled and spilled because—in that moment—she felt safe.
“And no wonder, so you rest as long as you need. And here, quick as a mouse, is our Mouser with some water. Sip a little.”
When she did, she looked up at the man who brushed tears from her cheek. She should’ve felt shame that she’d shed them in front of him, but she felt relief.
He looked smart, she thought, looked like somebody who knew lots of stuff. But why was somebody smart living with a bunch of kids? Why was he giving her a place to stay when he didn’t even know her?
“The wheels are turning,” he said, and tapped a finger on the side of her head. “You can’t know the answer to a question if you don’t ask it.”
“I wondered … Why are you helping me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Mostly people don’t help.”
He smiled, but she thought his eyes looked sad. “Only the wrong people don’t help. You’ve met too many wrong people, I think.”
“We help each other.”
Now, when he smiled at Mouser, his eyes smiled, too. “Absolutely. Go on now—you’re a good boy. I need to talk to Dorian for a minute, then she can rest.”
“I can stand guard in case she has another bad dream.”
“A good boy and a good friend. It’s all right. Go out, get some sunshine. It’s a bright summer day.”
“I’ll be back later.”
Sebastian waited until Mouser shut the door. “It might help if you’d tell me about the dream, even if it’s all mixed up. Or if you’ve remembered anything else and want to tell me.”
“What is this place?”
“It’s home for now. A building I came by. A small apartment building once, and now home.”
“Are you rich?”
“Not the way you mean, but we’ve got enough. And there’s more to be had when needed.”
“I ran away, I remember that. My mother hits me all the time, and gets high and brings men in. I ran away from that, and I’m not going back. If you try to make me, I’ll just run again.”
“I don’t believe in making people do things. I especially don’t believe in making children stay with people who hurt them just because they share blood.”
“I’m not a child. I’m thirteen.”
“From my advanced age, that makes you a child. Did you run away to New York or live here already?”