Aronson had declared the evening a dinner party. All five of the sentinel children were there — Caro, Finn, Holly, Jack, and Kate — as were Milka, Angie and Kay, and Droit, Elliot, and Lorencz. The dinner was loud and cheerfully argumentative, and by its end I felt shattered by all the noise and activity. When we retired to Aronson’s library, I dropped into a chair and begged out of the board and card games being arranged, hiding myself behind the Sun-Herald.
I was drowsing over an article about estate taxes when Jack and Caro flanked my chair. Jack was young for a sentinel, only twelve and small for his age. Caro was fourteen, a lovely young woman with thick black curly hair and large dark eyes.
“Come on out to the hall,” Jack whispered. “We want to show you something. Alone.”
I looked at their eager faces, set the newspaper down, and reached for my crutches.
“Did you find him?” I asked, keeping my voice low. I’d asked the children to search for Cardinal Croix whenever they crossed the Line. Aronson didn’t know about it, and it pained me to act behind his back, but it would pain me more to abandon the cardinal entirely.
“No. This is something else. An experiment.” Jack grinned. “You’ll like it.”
“If it works,” Caro cautioned.
I hauled myself to my feet and followed them into the hall. They led me far from the library door and helped me sit on the stairs leading up to the second floor.
“All right.” Jack sat cross-legged on the floor in front of me. “Don’t be scared.”
“’I’ll try,” I promised. His eyes unfocused as he looked at the Line that I’d never be able to see. Sickly white bale began to coalesce around his hands. I glanced at Caro. She was watching what he was doing, her eyes also on the invisible Line between here and hell.
His hands began to move. I looked down as he started to shape bale around my injured leg. It was repulsively slimy, but I forced myself to sit still and watch. I’d never seen a sentinel shape bale around somebody else before; most sentinels couldn’t even shape bale around themselves.
The five children could, with ease. That was one of the skills that had made them so valuable to the Vigilance, and so frightening. They’d learned it directly from Yzyrchye, the ruthless, insane, and completely alien Sovereign of Hell. We all nervously wondered what else Yzyrchye might have slipped into their minds while they’d been in its care — trying to find out was part of the reason I was allowed to work as their counselor.
Bale coiled around my leg in jointed segments as Jack shaped it over my knee and the top half of my leg. I touched the glowing substance, then yanked my fingers back with disgust. The bale looked like a crab’s shell, but it was unpleasantly spongy to the touch.
“There.” Jack looked up at Caro, who nodded. “Try to stand.”
“Without the crutches?”
They nodded. I grabbed the banister and pulled myself up.
“Wait.” Caro leaned forward, adding more bale around the back of my leg. “There. I think that’ll hold.”
I loosened my grip. The bale held me upright like a splint.
“Can you walk?”
“I’m sure I could,” I said, looking down with revolted fascination, “but walking isn’t the problem. I need to keep my weight off my leg so I don’t tear out my stitches. The bale needs to provide more structural support.”
“What if we splinted it up both sides, so you could keep your leg kind of bent, like on the crutches?” Caro gestured.
“That doesn’t sound very comfortable.” The problem was interesting despite the way the bale made my skin crawl. I was glad I had a layer of fabric between it and my flesh. “How would I sit down?”
“Or take a piss,” Jack agreed, grinning. “I guess that’s why crutches go under your arm. But we could make bale do that, too.”
“It needs to be flexible enough to let you sit, and it has to lock tight when you want to stand for a while,” Caro said, her dark eyes narrowing with concentration. The warm material slid and shifted around me like something alive.
“If we jointed it in overlapping plates…” Caro muttered.
“They could lock when they’re on top of each other,” Jack agreed, the bale unthreading and reweaving itself in a new formation.
“How long have you been practicing this?” I asked, trying to distract myself. That Jack would put his mind to the problem didn’t surprise me, but I hadn’t expected Caro to have the patience for this kind of experimentation.
“It’s kind of a secret,” Jack apologized. “You won’t tell, will you?”
“I keep my patients’ secrets.”
“Are we still your patients when we’re not in the hospital?”
I smiled. Jack was very rules-oriented.
“Sometimes. As long as you’re addressing me in my role as an alienist rather than as Nobilis Aronson’s house guest.”
“I’ll call you Doctor Axton when I’m your patient, then,” Jack decided. “So you know.”
“I’m not a doctor, Jack. I never finished my studies.”
“So? You work at the hospital.” Caro wrapped the bale around my side and I cringed as it brushed my ribs beneath my shirt. “C’mon, Jack, hurry up before someone comes looking.”
“All right, I am!” Jack wrapped the bale all the way around the bottom half of my leg. “Anyway, Doctor, we’ve been practicing at the Vigilance. Magister Carel’s helping us figure out what we can do. We learned lots of new tricks but she said it has to be a secret.”
I kept my expression placid, although the news sent a jolt of alarm through me.
“Who else knows what you’re doing?”
“Sometimes she lets other people watch — sentinels, I guess.” Caro shrugged. “They always wear masks. It’s creepy, but she says it’s to keep them out of trouble.”
I shivered again as the bale crept under my arm in a crutch-like half-moon.
“She said if we can shape bale around ourselves, we can probably shape it around others, too. So we thought we’d try something useful. What about that?” Jack stood, glancing over his shoulder. Nobody was looking for us yet.
I rested my arm on the bale and looked down. Caro had created a strange, ribbed-looking grip for my hand to rest on. I took a step and felt the bale hold. It was more comfortable than the crutch, shaped specifically to wrap around my body — except that I detested the way it felt against my skin.
“How do I sit?” I asked, repressing my aversion for the sake of science.
“Lean on your right leg and stretch a little to unhinge the plates,” Jack instructed. I did so and felt the bale break into separate segments. I sat down.
“A few of the plates are uncomfortable,” I said, pointing out the problem areas. Jack and Caro reshaped them until I nodded.
“Now try locking them again,” Caro instructed. I stood and tried to stretch enough to slide the plates back against each other again. It took four tries before I succeeded, and by that time my wound was starting to throb.
“It works!” Jack’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm.
“Yes. How long can you hold it?” I asked, sitting back down. I reached down to rub my leg, then snatched my fingers back when they touched bale.
“Holly fixed some bale to last all night once, but she said it was so hard she couldn’t think about anything else,” Caro said. “Magister Carel thinks we’ll all be able to fix bale someday. Not many people can, you know.”
“Have you told Nobilis Aronson about any of this?” I asked, as casually as possible.
“Uh-uh. And you can’t tell him either,” Jack said, alarmed. “You promised!”
“I won’t volunteer the information.” I touched the bale again. It felt a bit like cancerous lung tissue, despite its rigidity. “You’d better let this go before he comes out and sees it.”
The bale unthreaded and wisped into nothingness. I rubbed my hand over my shirt and pants, half-expecting to feel a slimy residue. All I felt was the irregular bulge of my bandages.
“If you want, we could try making it under your clothes, so other people couldn’t see it, and then you’d be able to walk around without the crutches,” Jack suggested.
“No, thank you,” I demurred. “I don’t like the way bale feels against my skin.”
“We probably couldn’t hold it much longer than an hour or so anyway,” Caro shrugged.
“There’s one more thing…” Jack began, then hesitated. Caro looked at him and nodded. “I was thinking … we could try to fix the wound itself? You know … the way we grow claws and things….”
I stared.
“Wait. Isn’t your balearmor — external?”
“Not all of it. I mean, mostly, but we have to fasten it to something….” Jack’s voice died off. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
I collected myself.
“Yes. Yes, of course, it makes perfect sense. I just hadn’t … You’ve never been asked to demonstrate any experiments in a warehouse, have you?”
“No. Just in the Orderhouse.”
“We don’t really know if we could make your skin grow back together,” Caro added, her voice low. “Carapace and claws and things have to hook to bone to work. Finn tried to seal up a cut and kind of got a bandage, but it didn’t actually heal anything. But we figure, it’s mostly the same thing —“
“Caro. Jack. Please be extremely careful when you work bale in or around your body or anybody else’s. Our bodies are very complicated, and it doesn’t take much interference to ruin them.” I gestured to my leg as an example.
“We’re always careful,” she assured me. I wasn’t comforted. I needed to arrange an anatomy demonstration for them, I decided. Aronson wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t like the idea of the children experimenting blindly on themselves, either. Better for them to learn what goes where, first. Maybe the next time I had a body in my cellar….
“Anyway, if you want, we can try,” Jack said. “And we can keep experimenting with bale crutches. When’s our next session?”
“Tomorrow, if you like. Just let the nobilis know that you’re coming to see me.”
“He always gets nervous when we schedule extra talks with you,” Caro complained. “He’ll think we’re in trouble, or depressed or something.”
“It’s your choice.” I looked from one to the other. “Has Carel asked you to try any other new tricks?”
“Not really. She mostly likes to watch us transform. I think she wants to learn how to do it. She lets us cross the Line, too, and she wants us to tell her about the transients and things. …Uh, we didn’t tell her we were looking for Croix.”
“Thank you.”
“And she wants Milka to call Far, but Milka won’t do it. She says Far’s only supposed to be called to kill someone.”
“I’m glad Milka is setting boundaries.” She was wrong, though. We’d called him once, across the Line, to make a deal, and I’d called him a few times since then, for the sake of research. As far as I knew, I was the only adult he answered, and all we did was talk. I wasn’t sure if that was because he was curious about human customs or a lingering part of the cryptic deal we’d struck across the Line a few months ago, but I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else.
“Has any of you tried to —“ I broke off as the library door opened.
“Axton?” Droit walked into the hall and saw us. “What’s going on?”
“We were just talking.” I picked up my crutches and stood, Jack and Caro both trying to help and doing little more than get in my way.
“Michael wants you to stay the night. We’re moving you out of your cellar tomorrow.”
“Do I have any say in the matter?”
“No.”
Jack and Caro giggled. Droit gave them a cool look, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Get lost. And Caro, no more teaching nine-year-olds how to knuckle a windpipe. Michael got pissy about it.”
Caro muttered under her breath as they left. Just as they reached the doorway, she turned, behind Droit’s back, and pulled a mocking kissy face. Laughing, the two children darted inside the parlor. I blushed, glad that the hall was shadowed.
“I thought I’d ask,” Droit said, strolling over, “whether you wanted your own place or closet space in mine.”
“My own,” I said, backing up and feeling the stairs press against my heels. “Thank you for consulting me on that, at least.” I steeled myself to stand still. Droit wasn’t going to hurt me in his cousin’s hallway. He wasn’t going to hurt me at all. He wasn’t carrying Might, and as long as he was out of its influence, he kept tight control over his violent tendencies. But even though I knew all that, I still felt the familiar panic reaction setting in.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “I was looking forward to studying anatomy with you.”
My mouth went dry. He was standing close enough for me to feel heat radiate from his body. I could tell by the glitter in his eyes that he enjoyed my unease.
“I wish you wouldn’t make those kinds of jokes,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “They make me uncomfortable.”
He reached out, running his hands around my waist and digging his thumbs into my waistband, over the small of my back. I shivered, shifting away. He tugged my belt, pulling me closer. I cringed even as a traitorous heat ran down to my groin.
“Why?” he purred. “You said you were interested. It’s been three weeks since Winter’s Feast. What are you waiting for?”
I looked away, white-knuckling my crutches.
“I told you I wasn’t ready to sleep with you. We’ve hardly had any time to get to know each other since.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm on my cheek and his fingers sliding lower. He smelled like the apple juice Michael stocked for him. His long blond hair brushed my cheek as his fingers brushed me — elsewhere.
“Living with me would give us lots of opportunities to get to know each other.”
“No.”
“No?” He looked straight into my eyes. I glanced away before I could get lost in his emerald gaze. “Why not?”
“Several reasons.” I was finding it hard to breathe, and sweat threatened my grip on the crutches’ handles. I pulled my scattered thoughts together. “First, I have too much self-respect to become somebody’s dependent.”
He laughed.
“Oh? Since when?”
I stared at him a moment, then stumbled as I tried to back up and found the stair behind me. Droit grabbed my arms before I could fall.
“Careful!”
“What are you implying?” I demanded.
“About what?”
“You don’t think I have self-respect?”
“What? No, of course I don’t think that.” He was lying. I shrugged off his grip and he released me with a flash of irritation. “Well, what am I supposed to think? You told me you were looking for protection. That you were only with us so we’d look after you. And the way you let Michael dress you up like a doll and drag you around behind him — what am I supposed to think?”
I flushed, shaking as I angled myself up a stair and away from him.
“I told you my original motives, but I thought I made it clear that I’d moved on. I offered you my friendship, General. Nothing else.” I had to fight to get the words out past the roaring of blood in my ears. “You’re the one chasing me. I can get along just fine without you.”
“Sure you can.” He sneered and tapped my crutch. “You would have been gutted like a fish yesterday if we hadn’t shown up to save you. Now, I’ve played my part in your little game — when do you start playing yours?”
My mouth was dry.
“Thank you for saving me from Malkin,” I said in a strangled whisper. “Now please leave me alone.”
I swung my crutches around and began limping up the stairs to Aronson’s guest bedrooms. My back prickled in anticipation of the blow. I hoped he’d use his fists instead of his knives.
“Dammit, Axton!” He was following me. My knees weakened. For a moment I wondered if I should stop and stay within shouting distance of the parlor. Then I forced myself to keep walking. No. I was never going to get over my fears if I kept surrendering to them. When Droit hit me, I’d shout for help, and Aronson and Lorencz would stop him. I might have been wrong about him, but I wasn’t wrong about them.
I reached my room and had to pause to rearrange my crutches. Droit grabbed my wrist when I reached for the door handle.
“Wait! And stop cringing every time I touch you, dammit!”
I swallowed and stood still. He let me go and I gripped my crutch again, hopping around to face him. He glared, his jaw set.
“You want me to go away?”
I took a moment to decide how to answer.
“What I want is for you to respect me the same way you respect Captain Lorencz and your cousin,” I said at last. I reached for the door handle again. He beat me to it, grabbing the handle and holding it still.
“I do.”
“You’re lying.”
“I respect you more than I respect them. You saved my life. You cured Jaspin. You kept Lorencz from breaking up with Elliot. You’re why Michael started collecting kids instead of lizards. You’re smarter than all of us; I know that. So why don’t you think I respect you?”
“Respect is demonstrated through actions, not words.” I looked at his hand. It was the one with the scar in the center, where he’d fended off an assassination attempt. “You don’t bully people you respect, General.”
He snatched his hand from the door handle, an angry flush rising on his high cheekbones.
“You’re awfully demanding for an ex-con who still smells like a sewer.”
I stiffened and bit back my first angry retort. I knew how to hurt him, in a war of words, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I forced myself to meet his eyes.
“Why are you so angry, General?”
“Because I’ve been wasting my time on you!”
“Then I suggest you ask yourself why, when there are so many other people who’d give you exactly what you want.” I pushed the door open, still shaking. Would he hit me now? Was this the moment his self-control would break down? “Good night, General.”
I shut the door behind me, leaving him standing in the hall. His fist slammed against the door and I jumped, a small cry escaping my lips. But that was all he did; one strike and then I heard his fast, angry steps receding down the hallway.
I gasped as my heart and lungs struggled to find a steady rhythm. He was gone. I was safe. This was my room — the room I always stayed in, whenever Michael had me over. The servants had already lit a fire and turned down the bedcovers. My satchel sat on a small side table. I was safe.
I limped to the bed and sat down until my trembling subsided. All right, I thought, setting my crutches against the wall. That hadn’t gone well. What could I salvage from the confrontation?
I’d argued with him. I’d insulted him. That was something. It didn’t salve the ache in my heart, but it meant I was regaining my self-confidence. I’d confronted an authority figure. I’d gotten in the last word. And I hadn’t been hit.
Yes. Good. All of that was true. All of that meant I was getting better. But I still felt scared and sick to my stomach. I leaned over and ran my hands over my head, rythmically stroking the soft nap of my close-cropped hair.
My fault. It was all my fault. I knew what kind of man he was. I’d already written the definitive analysis of his personality, hadn’t I? And I knew what kind of man I was. I knew my attraction was unhealthy. If I’d been counseling anybody else with my history, I would have warned them to stop. Droit was right. I’d been playing a game with him. I’d been repeating ten years of defensive behavioral patterns that had kept me alive in prison.
He hadn’t changed, and apparently I hadn’t, either. But I could. I would. I just had to figure out how I was going to face him tomorrow morning.