There was only a row of small, dingy buildings, their doors and windows as black as mounds of dirt. Farther down, she could see a cluster of thatched-roof houses, rising out of the stubbly grass like broken teeth. There was the faint, distant sound of water breaking on rocks.
The wind picked up, and it seemed to blow right through Effy’s coat and thick woolen sweater, lashing her hair around her face. She could taste the sea salt in it, grit gathering on her bottom lip. She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tremendous pain was sharpening in the center of her forehead, right between her brows.
There was only the wind and the cold and the dark, stretching out all around her, solid and endless. There would be no other trains before morning, and what would she do until then? Maybe no one was coming at all. Perhaps the whole project had been a farce, a joke played at a naive first-year’s expense.
Or, worse: a ruse to lure a young girl to a faraway and dangerous place she’d never come back from.
Everyone had said there was something off about the whole affair. Something strange. Rhia had warned her; even Master Corbenic had warned her. And yet she had flung herself toward it like a sparrow against a windowpane, oblivious to the sheen of glass.
A panicked sob rose in her throat. Through the glaze of unshed tears, she could see a rectangular blur in the distance. She shuffled closer and it took shape: a telephone booth.
Effy picked her trunk back up and dragged it with her into the booth. With shaking fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a few coins, cramming them into the slot.
She hesitated before dialing. One part of her wanted to slam the phone down; the other was desperate just to hear a familiar voice. So she dialed the only number that she knew by heart.
“Hello?”
That familiar voice split through the silence. “Mother?”
“Effy? Is that you? Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in Saltney,” she managed thickly. “In the Bottom Hundred.”
She could almost see the little pinch of her mother’s brow. “Well, what in the name of all Saints are you doing there?”
At that, a strange hollow opened up in Effy’s chest. She shouldn’t have called.
“There’s this project I’m doing,” she said. “For the estate of Emrys Myrddin. A bunch of architecture students sent in designs, and they picked mine.”
There was a stretch of silence. Effy could almost see her mother curled up in her armchair, one sip of gin still left in her glass. “Well, then why are you crying?”
Effy’s throat felt very tight. “I’m at the train station. I don’t know if anyone is going to pick me up, and I don’t have a number to call . . .”
Her mother drew a quick, sharp breath. And then: the sound of ice clinking as she poured herself a new glass. “You didn’t think to get a phone number before you went to some no-name town—what, six hours south of Draefen? I can’t listen to this right now, Effy. It’s just bad decision after bad decision with you.”
“I know.” Effy’s hand tensed around the receiver. “I’m sorry. Can you ask Grandfather if he can—”
“You can’t always expect someone to bail you out,” her mother cut in. “I’m not going to ask Grandfather to drive six hours into the Bottom Hundred in the dark. Listen to yourself.”
But Effy could only hear the muffled sound of the sea.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job as your mother,” she went on. “At a certain point I have to let you sink or swim.”
Effy’s cheeks were slippery with tears. The phone kept almost sliding out of her grip. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to wake Grandfather. I just don’t know what to do.”
“First you have to calm down,” her mother said briskly. “I can’t talk to you when you’re behaving like this. When you’re having one of your episodes. Are you seeing things?”
“No,” Effy said. Outside, the darkness pulsed and seethed.
“Do you have your medication?”
“Yes.”
“Then take it. All right? Call me when you’ve calmed down.”
Effy nodded, even though she knew her mother couldn’t see. But she held on to the phone until there was a soft click on the other end and her mother’s breathing was gone.
She let the phone slide out of her grasp, dangling on its cord. She pried open her purse and dug for the small glass bottle, uncapped it and poured out a single pill. It was the rosy color of an unopened flower bud, dead before it would ever bloom.