House of Slide: Wilds, Part I Page 7
“Where’s Harding?” he demanded, tightening his hand on his knife, an overt threat.
I would have shrugged, but my shoulders were under the ground. “I told you. He escaped I believe with the help of a Cool one. I don’t recall the events exactly.”
“I thought you left to find him.”
I shook my head. At least I could do that. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I decided to go home.”
Jarvais stared at me, at the open cut on my chest. “You let him cut you? That’s more clumsy than usual. Maybe you were distracted by a woman. I heard that you were dancing with someone at the wedding last night. That’s why you ignored the summons. Who is she?”
I scowled at him. “Next time you decide to destroy a House, you’re welcome to find the heir and his guardian yourself. Featherbane isn’t pleasant. I’m having regrets towards all the people I killed using it. It’s very unlike me.”
“Featherbane?” Jarvais frowned thoughtfully. For all his annoying bordering on evil attributes, stupid was not one of them. “How did you get here if you were infected?”
“I had a most delirious ride on my motorbike, and then I interrupted the Hunter’s wedding night. I think I’m running out of my slip-out-of-the-fingers-of-death cards.”
Jarvais studied me, squatting on his heels over me, holding the knife like he would really like to slice it through my neck before he stood and turned away from me. “And the woman?”
“She’s a Hunter’s sister. Her brother requested that I keep her out of trouble. Any other questions about my love life? Perhaps you want pointers on how to keep a woman satisfied.”
He smiled, sheathing his knife. “That’s never been an interest of mine. I’ll return later. Maybe you can introduce her to me.”
I grunted and closed my eyes, wishing he was a bad dream. He did not belong in any world involving my Helen. Not my Helen. I couldn’t think about her like that, not when she was so close to me that I could taste her. No, that was the rain on my lips. She tasted like rain. I let drops of water fall on my face, into my eyes, until I dreamed of burning and lightning.
Dear eldest brother,
I appreciate the mango juice. I licked the paper and came away with an ink stained tongue, but ink has its own deliciousness, particularly mixed with mango and the taste of a mysterious southern hemisphere. That’s half the world you occupy with one single statement: the southern hemisphere. I could do that too, I guess. My days are relegated to not much of interest in the Northern hemisphere… I feel more expansive already. One should always live expansively, unless you’re right on the equator and then what would you be?
Looking is not the same as seeing? Of course not. Overseeing, overlooking, season and look son, good seeing, good looking, sea worthy, look worthy, it’s all topsy turvy different any which way you look at or see it. Look and see here! And here.
I received my worst grade so far last week, albeit was an A, it was a very crooked one. Mrs. Heppelmeir should practice her handwriting. My best A came from Mr. Zimble. I like his name; it practically rings in the mouth. He hands it to you with a nod and an, “Excellent work miss so-and-so”. We’re all excellent, it’s true. What else would you get in a school seething with perfectionist daughters of Houses who strive to overachieve the other overachievers? Stalemate. Perfection. Stale perfection. Doesn’t that sound appetizing? We’re having a practice ball this coming weekend. They’re importing boys for the occasion. We will be a stunning spectacle of stale perfection. So sad you can’t make it, except you’ll be tangoing in Argentina. A shocking, stunning spectacle of Wild abandon. Send me a photo.
Your always appropriate if slightly apropos sister
Dearest sibling,
Whatever about you is apropos, I would do nothing about. Apropos is far too hard to come by whichever hemisphere you navigate, or circumnavigate if you have the misfortune of being relegated entirely to the equator. That would be an interesting rune binding. I might have to develop it in my spare time.
So much of business is the waiting of it. So much of life really, a few bangs then what? The what keeps me awake sometimes. So many possibilities, so few knowns, the unknowability of it keeps me fascinated. The interim, the dead space between here and there doesn’t intrigue me but the further reaches of the what, the purposes of it tantalize me. There ought to be some purpose, but I don’t know if happiness, the heaven state would hold my interest.
Teachers don’t have to have impeccable handwriting. In fact, the worse it is, the more challenging to decipher. I approve of an education that includes deciphering among its tenets. As for Mr. Zing, if there isn’t a musical instrument with that name, there should be. If he didn’t object we could assemble an instrument out of him. Some donate their bodies to science, how much greater to donate it to art?
Stale perfection sounds like the whisperings of madness tinged with resignation. Cheer up. Even in perfection there is room for diversity, vibrance, individuality. I’ve met enough Heads, the epitomization of all things Wild, to know that there is no death in perfection, only in self-mutilation for the purpose of conformity.
I’ve enclosed yucca fronds. They are beautifully spiny.
Your elder
Chapter 6
Helen
I didn’t want to wake up, not when I could burrow deeper into the soft warmth of heavenly down and stay insulated from everything that I didn’t want to face. I opened my eyes a slit to see sunshine then rolled over, slipping back into hazy dreams of pleasant things like lemon shortbread and rosemary tea, but finally, I opened my eyes and they stayed open. A buzzing warmth filled my limbs as I blinked at the ceiling hung with vines. I heard footsteps crossing the floor above me while birds chirped outside the window.
Where was I?
I sat up, throwing back the heavy duvet before I jerked it back over me, covering my nudity. Where were my clothes? They should have trailed across the floor like they were when I’d taken them off, but the floor was bare other than the pots of plants, and so was I, completely naked in the Hybrid’s bed. I swallowed as I tried to stay calm, but the wind was already picking up outside the window. I took a deep breath as I forced myself to push the blanket back so that I could stand up, naked, in someone else’s room.
It all came back as I stood there, goosebumps popping up on my arms. I looked at the bed, white duvet calling to me, but I couldn’t forget. My brother’s wedding party, his wife, Cami, and of course, the Hybrid who must have leaned me, making me unthinking enough to fall mindlessly to sleep. I dug my nails into my hands as I struggled to stay calm, to breathe deeply enough that I wouldn’t panic. I was in a foreign country, without my father’s consent, having failed miserably at finding my brother before it was too late. It hardly mattered that the Hybrid had leaned me for whatever irrational reason. I’d failed.
I glared at the bed and a dresser while plants dangled from the ceiling in corners, growing over each other in cheerful chaos. I slammed open drawers, looking for my clothes. All I saw were a few t-shirts, a pair of pants ripped beyond belief and a long sleeved men’s shirt in pale blue. I pulled on the shirt, fumbling with the buttons as my hands trembled and the wind outside the house howled. I ripped the legs off the pants, enjoying the sound of shredding fabric.
Once the holes were no longer part of the pants, I pulled them on, trying not to notice how tight it felt in the hips while the waist gapped. I let the jeans settle around me, fighting back the sneer as I recalled the girls who wore that sort of thing, girls who would have tied the men’s shirts to reveal smooth bellies and worn short shorts to show off tan legs so that men would like them. Girls like Camilla, who crashed parties so that she could tangle up the hearts of Hotbloods. Girls who danced with strangers and let them kiss them when they didn’t even know their last names.
I sighed and leaned against the dresser, while the anger leached out of me. I was only human, and I’d been alone for too long. Losing Satan hurt. Kissing Matthew didn’t. It was simple self-medication
for the wound to my heart. I had to go home and really pursue an appropriate alliance. I’d stopped going to the balls and musical evenings where Sons gathered. I’d focused on my education, medicine, but if I’d been so easily seduced by a Hybrid who hadn’t really tried to seduce me, not if he’d sent me to his bed without him then I clearly needed companionship.
I shook my head as I forced myself to leave the room, out into the hall where I might bump into my brother or his wife. It didn’t matter what I wore in this house full of people I would probably never see again. I stopped outside the door in the hall, the feel of the rug under my feet rough, jarring. Whoever had taken my clothes hadn’t left my shoes.
I had to leave, to go home and stop all of this insanity, but first, I had to find my clothes.
The hall was empty, clean, bare of any adornment besides the odd sculptures that looked badly done. I searched the house, knowing that I’d heard someone in the room above me, hopefully someone who could tell me where I could find the Hybrid.
I hesitated outside of the room right above the one I’d slept in, frozen when I heard my brother’s laugh, a real laugh that made me stumble backwards, blinking away tears. My brother had really decided to abandon the House. He’d found a home, a life with a Hotblood so alien to everything I loved and understood.
I ran down the stairs, soundless on my bare feet, through the kitchen and out the back door. I had to get out, to be in control for a few minutes before I forced myself to get on a plane and go home, to face my father’s disapproval and let the knowledge of my failure sink into my bones.
I slipped out of the door into the embrace of the cool morning breeze. I stood on the top step with my eyes closed, letting the breeze swirl my hair while clouds raced above me.
I let myself breathe, deep breaths while I tried to clear the adrenaline from my system. I had to accept the loss of Saturn. I had to accept the reality of my position as Daughter, next in line after my father.
After I had myself mostly under control, I let myself look at the lawn and garden appalled at the mess scattered across the yard from the Hotblood party. After a Wild gathering there was no sign of it afterwards, but this lawn had discarded plates, clothes and shoes. As I searched the yard, I noticed a shadow under the oak tree, a slight figure that had me walking across the yard as my banked anger flared furiously to life. I didn’t notice the glass until I stepped on it. I ignored the burning, but my smooth pace was interrupted as the fragment embedded deeper into my foot.
The sharp sting subsided to a throb by the time I made it to the tree, forcing my hands to remain uncurled and the words when I reached him, to come out a purr instead of a snarl.
“You have a death wish.”
Matthew sat against the bark of the tree with his head resting on his knees until my voice made him raise his head, eyes larger than they had seemed the night before, filled with a world of weariness.
“Good morning. I’d lend you my knife, but I’d hate to give you ideas.” He smiled at me, a smile that made my stomach twist and my anger fade away.
I fought to hold onto that anger. He must have leaned me or I’d want to strangle him, not soften and comply.
“I’m afraid I’m already filled to the brim with all sorts of ideas.” I had to remember that he’d stolen my clothes and done whatever else I couldn’t remember when he came for them.
He said glancing pointedly at my foot, “You shouldn’t step on broken glass.”
“Whether I step on glass or drink it, it’s none of your business. Tell me what benevolent cause excuses the theft of my clothing, not to mention the inappropriate manner in which you lured me into your bed.” I lifted my chin, refusing to look embarrassed by the fact that I hadn’t made it very difficult for him. “My shoes wouldn’t even fit you yet you are responsible for the glass in my foot.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, a hand that bore fresh signs of bruising beneath the sallow skin, but he grinned at me while his eyes drank me in. “You’re more beautiful in my clothes than I am. I believe you’re trying to damage my ego.”
I fought back my blush. I was not trying to look cute. Clearly, or I would have brushed my hair and washed my face, and put on some lipstick so I didn’t look half dead. I licked my lips. “You’re not allowed to flirt with me when I’m wearing your clothes. It’s entirely inappropriate.” I took a step closer to him and touched his hand. “You should put a compress on it to help with the bruising. Do you have any comfrey in your garden?” I forced my hand down to my side and studied the wreck of a yard around me. I’d noticed a garden area last night that had looked like it might contain your basic herb remedies.
I took a step away from him then pulled up as he caught my hand in his. “Helen.” His voice was only a whisper, but it pierced my heart like soggy tissue. “Why do you think that I leaned you to sleep?”
“In your bed? I don’t know. I don’t know what happened after I was unconscious either. I haven’t had the pleasure of associating with Hybrids before. Tell me. Why did you?”
“Are you sure it was only one night? You could have been sleeping for weeks for all you know, months.” His eyes looked so tired, with heavy eyelids that needed to close, to rest while I wrapped my arms around him and… No! I swallowed and stepped away from him, fighting the feelings that weren’t mine, that couldn’t be mine.
“That explains how hungry I am. I could eat foie gras and mongoose,” I said, trying not to look at Matthew where he stood, his hair down over his cheekbones while he stared at me, fingering a knife in his long fingers.
The knife glimmered oddly in the light, the metal not quite gold and not quite silver, a bit like his eyes. I tensed as he came closer before he dropped on his heels beside me. “I would be willing to take out the glass for you.” His voice made everything sound sensual.
“Do you enjoy cutting people?”
“It depends on the person,” he said in a low voice that I strained to hear, like I might miss a syllable otherwise. “Your blood smells sweet, far sweeter than your brother’s. Like violets and wind.”
I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling the muscle of them beneath his shirt, looking down at him until I smelled something. Blood. Rich, heavy blood full of Nether. I pulled away and looked at my hand, stained with red. I fought the bewildering urge to taste it, to smell it, to drown in it. I gasped as I looked up at his face, at the Hybrid with more Nether in his blood than anyone I’d met.
I held my shaking hand out to him, until he took my wrist and pulled me to my knees in front of him, burying my hand in the freshly tilled earth until it had soaked up the blood. After I pulled my hand out of the ground, with dirty fingers, I unbuttoned his shirt until I could see the wound on his shoulder, a line of red that looked poorly healed.
“What happened? You need to take care of this. You should get stitches.” I knew that look on his face, the pain, the exhaustion, the weariness of more than physical exertion. He reminded me of my uncle Grim when he came back from one of his trips.
“You’re touching me. It’s easier for me to lean you if there’s physical contact. That doesn’t make you nervous?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a sneer. He wanted to pull away, to shut me out, to keep the pain in his shoulder and his soul to himself.
I smoothed his hair with my hand, stroking it like I would a testy cat. “If you want me to go, I will as soon as you tell me where my clothes are. I’d hate to disturb someone who clearly needs the healing powers of the mighty oak. Are you bound to it, or is it bound to you?”
He sighed. “I don’t know what happened to your clothes, and no. I don’t have enough Cool to officially bind a tree.”
I frowned at him. “You’re saying another Hunter came into my room while I slept to steal my clothing?” I glared at him. “Tell me before I do something you’ll really hate.”
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I might like whatever you had in mind, particularly if it involved sleep, long, permanent, blissful rest.”
“You shaved.”
He didn’t seem to notice my touch; at least, he didn’t open his eyes. “I showered too. For a long time to get off all the blood.” He sighed. “Harding fell last night. One night, so much death. One less House.”
I swallowed. “You’re a Hunter, a musician. What do you have to do with Houses?” The fact that a House had fallen was too much to process. Harding’s fall meant that neutral territories would shift, that the process of clean up—catching all the members who slipped through the first slaughter—would probably shut down all of my routes home. I could be stuck there for days, weeks even.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
I fought the rising panic that sent the wind swirling around me, tangling my hair. “No. I’m not. I’m not sure of anything other than the fact that I’m completely out of my depth here. I have no idea why I haven’t stabbed you already. I should. That’s the rational thing to do to someone who can lean you to do whatever bizarre and confusing thing you don’t understand. Why did you lean me into your bed? What do you have to do with Carve? How hard will it be for me to get home now?”
He looked at me for a long time, a frown between his dark eyebrows. “I work for Carve. They’re relatives on my Wild side. It might be days, weeks until you’re able to leave. You can look at it as a vacation.”
The world spun, and I found myself unable to breathe, to choke in any of the air that was suddenly too thick, too heavy, too viscous to take into my lungs. I had to go home. I had to clear my head and shut down the ache in my chest and the pain in my heart. As for Matthew, he couldn’t be part of Carve. He couldn’t be related to Jarvais and Camilla with their identical golden hair and brown eyes. Matthew’s skin was wrong, his eyes were wrong, his mouth… too soft and full for the rest of his angular face and jutting cheekbones, a mouth Camilla painted red and made the most of, a mouth Jarvais…