Dark Star (23 page)

Frowning in confusion, I was about to speak—and then my mother appeared, yanking me away from Leon and into her arms. “Oh, thank God,” she murmured.

“And here I was thinking you might thank me,” the man said.

Mom ignored him, hugging me tightly against her. For just a moment, I Knew her feelings as strongly as if they had been my own: the choking fear that finally ebbed, that rush of relief at seeing me safe. Then her grip loosened, and she lifted her hands to my shoulders, stepping back to inspect the wound on my neck. Her mouth tightened.

I gazed down at my coat. The thick cotton padding had served as a peculiar sort of armor, though it was slashed open in places, tufts of white spilling out. The fabric was matted with blood where the Harrower had grazed the skin above my collarbone, but I didn’t think the wound was deep. “I’m okay,” I said.

Beside us, the man spoke again. “I wouldn’t fret. I expect the damage isn’t permanent.” His voice lowered, that hint of amusement returning. “Fierce, though, isn’t she? All full of … fire.”

Mom shot him a warning glare, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me. His lips were upturned, his gaze intent. As our eyes met, something clicked into place. I tensed, recalling a flash of silver, the feel of a cold hand in mine. He appeared to be only a man—but he hadn’t been a man, Beneath. “You’re a Harrower,” I said.

“You needn’t worry. I’ve made my peace with the human community. You can call me Shane.”

“He’s neutral,” Leon explained, moving beside me. His hand hovered near my shoulder. “Supposedly.”

“I prefer misunderstood.” The Harrower smiled again, an easy grin that left me a little bewildered. “I’m completely at your service, angel. Your mum and this fellow here came begging.”

“I believe we came threatening,” Leon retorted.

“Semantics.”

Mom lifted a hand, cutting off their argument. She turned to Leon, her mouth a thin line. “I can’t get a hold of Ryan. I need you to go find him. Let him know the situation. We have some things to take care of.”

He gave her a short nod and headed away, disappearing down the street.

The situation. I wondered if that meant Anna Berkeley. Or—

A jolt of panic coursed through me. I grabbed my mother’s arm. “Iris. I forgot—Iris was with me. Beneath.”

“I sent her home.” Mom’s voice was quiet, but I heard a note of anger in it, carefully restrained. “They brought her out first.”

“You were the problem,” Shane said. “You were drawn into a deeper level. Any further and we wouldn’t have been able to find you. And it’s lucky we reached you when we did. I expect you wouldn’t be nearly so pretty if you came in several pieces.” Before I could think of some response to that, he turned to Mom. “That’s two favors you owe me now, and don’t think I’m likely to forget.”

She put one hand on her hip and shook her head. “I’m already overlooking the fact that my kid was attacked in your club.”

Shane made a tch noise. “Outside my club, actually. And I notified the proper authorities.”

Mom twitched. It was a good thing she wasn’t near a streetlamp, or I had the feeling Shane would have shortly come into very close contact with it.

“So that’s why I have Detective Wyle breathing down my neck. You know, for someone who wants to keep all his internal organs internal, you could learn a bit more about diplomacy.”

“Like rescuing your daughter twice now, maybe? Don’t worry, from what I’ve seen of the good detective, the part of your anatomy that interests him is somewhat lower down.”

Mom made a noise suspiciously like a growl.

“But let me give you a bit of free advice,” Shane continued. “A token of my goodwill. On the subject of necks: you’re going to have to get to work if you want to save his. He’s running headlong into a threat he is ill-prepared to face.”

“I’ve warned him already.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t think a warning will suffice.” He switched his gaze to me. “Nice seeing you again, little Dark Star. Keep looking for that light.” Then he turned down the street, disappearing into the swirl of snow.

I watched him go. Dark Star. He’d called me that before, outside the Drought and Deluge. Not quite the bright shining star your mum is, he’d said. She wasn’t shining now. Her stance was rigid, her face grim. Worry had fled, and a deep fury had replaced it.

I swallowed. I’d broken my promise. “Mom—”

“Not now.” She grabbed hold of my sleeve, tugging none too gently. Ignoring my protests, she steered me down the street, toward her car, then ushered me inside. A faint dusting of snow lay on the windshield. I waited for her to speak, to lecture me, or threaten to snap me in two like a soda cracker, but she just breathed, tapped her fingers on the dashboard, and started the car.

Silence was heavy between us as we began the drive. There was little traffic. The city felt empty, full of spaces and gaps. A memory of Beneath, I thought. I could see the layer of red shadows edging along the buildings, the places where lights ceased. With my thoughts in disarray, it took me several minutes to realize we were headed in the wrong direction.

“We’re not going home?” I asked.

Mom didn’t look at me. “I’m taking you to the ER.”

“I’m fine,” I said. The wounds on my arm and neck hurt, but the bleeding had stopped.

“This isn’t a discussion.”

At the hospital, our official explanation was that I’d been attacked by a dog, which involved a tetanus shot, several stitches, and Mom assuring the nurses that she’d already contacted Animal Control. She spent most of the visit talking on her cell phone, even when instructed not to, and vanished outside on occasion—so that her calls wouldn’t be overheard, I supposed. A nurse tried to chat with me, but I didn’t feel up to small talk. She patted my arm and told me I’d be better soon. I looked away, toward dark windows lined with frost. I felt like a storm had passed through me, raging and wild, and now I stood in the aftermath, trying to assess the damage. Inside me, something had altered. Something had been pulled loose and rattled around and no longer fit quite right. I closed my eyes and saw Harrowers: stark faces, red teeth. I heard the sharp click of nails.

I wondered how Iris was.

Mom was quiet during the drive home. When I tried to talk, she gave me clipped, one-word answers. I watched the streets blur past. Outside, the snow had stopped, but the clouds were dark and low, cloaking the moon. I felt like crying. I didn’t know why; I hadn’t cried Beneath, not when I’d stood alone in the emptiness, or when the Harrowers had circled me, or even when I’d felt that fierce, terrible certainty that I would die—but I wanted to cry now.

Instead, I asked about Anna Berkeley. Mom confirmed that she’d had Leon and Mr. Alvarez set up Guardian protection, but I could tell by the look on her face that the subject was a mistake.

“I tried to call,” I said. “We had to get to her right away. We wouldn’t have gone out there otherwise.”

“You promised me!” Mom snapped. “I explained the situation to you in the hope that you would be able to make informed decisions. I expected more from you, Audrey. You’re not a Guardian, and neither is Iris. What you did tonight wasn’t brave or clever.”

It hadn’t felt brave or clever—simply necessary. I sighed, rubbing my forehead, and asked, “So, what, I’m grounded again?”

“No. That obviously had no impact.” Her eyes were narrowed, her lips a thin line, and the expression on her face clearly meant she was assessing other options. Like sending me to boarding school on the other side of the planet.

“I guess we’re going back to secrets and cryptic answers, then.”

“What do you want me to say? That it’s all right for you to put yourself at risk? You could have been killed tonight.”

“You could be killed every night,” I shot back.

“Is that what this was about?” she demanded. “Trying to prove something?”

“It was about saving a life!”

She wasn’t even listening to me. “I don’t go out every night because I want to, Audrey. I do it because I have to. Morning Star is who I am. I can’t change that.”

I looked away, toward the haze of streetlights and the glint of new snow. I felt a tear roll down my cheek and brushed it away. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Kin?”

Her eyes flicked toward mine, then away. “This isn’t the time.”

“It’s never the time. I want to know.”

Silence.

“You think I can’t handle it,” I said. “You think I’m still a little kid. Or that I’m too stupid to deal with it.”

“You’re not stupid, Audrey. You just don’t think. There’s a difference.”

And then, just as she’d accused me, I didn’t think about my next words. I just said them.

“I wish I had a father.”

I’d never said that before. I wasn’t sure I’d ever thought it before—but now I’d said it, and I couldn’t take it back. I didn’t even want to. The words just hung there between us.

Mom didn’t hesitate. I heard a slight catch in her voice, but otherwise her tone was steady. “You know what? I wish that too. And it’s just too damn bad, because you don’t. You’re stuck with me.”

I didn’t say anything. I knew I should have. I should have apologized, and told her I was wrong, that I hadn’t meant to say it. But I couldn’t make the words come out. I had meant to say it; I was exhausted and angry, my body sore, my nerves raw, and I wanted to lash out. My throat felt tight.

We’re all we’ve got, Gram used to say. But we do just fine.

But that wasn’t true. We had the Kin. We had the St. Croix family. And once, I’d had a father.

And if Mom wouldn’t tell me about him, I’d have to ask someone else.

The following afternoon, I went to St. Paul to find Esther.

She met me in the hall, her eyebrows arched as she looked me over. “What a lovely surprise. We don’t normally see you here on a Thursday. I’ll add another place at dinner.”

“I won’t be long,” I said, keeping my voice even. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

Her gaze met mine, and she gave me a slow, measuring look. Then she nodded. “Let’s go into my sitting room.”

I followed her down the hall, to the room with the delicate floral walls and tidy furniture. She gestured for me to sit, then took the chair across from me.

“I heard about your little escapade yesterday,” she said. “Well done.”

Heat crept up my face. I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or not. “You’re not going to yell at me?”

“We use our abilities to aid others. I won’t lecture you. Thanks to your efforts, the girl has Guardian protection. Your instincts were correct.”

“Someone should try telling my mom that,” I grumbled.

“I imagine someone has. What is it you wanted to speak with me about?”

I took a steadying breath, gripping the arms of the chair. Across from me, Esther’s face was impassive. “I want you to tell me why my mother kept the Kin a secret from me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You think she tells me why she does anything?”

“I think you know. And I think it has something to do with my father. With what happened to him—during the Harrowing. I want you to tell me what happened.” I kept my gaze fixed on hers. Her eyes were very dark, more brown now than gold, taking on an almost reddish hue.

“Lucy won’t appreciate my meddling. She keeps her secrets close.”

“I’m her daughter,” I protested.

“Why have you come to me, then?”

I didn’t answer.

Esther folded her arms and gave me a shrewd look. “It is not a happy story.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

She rose, turning toward the tall, frost-glazed windows that flanked the room. From the back, she looked just like Elspeth, except for the touch of silver in her hair. “I didn’t approve of your mother and Adrian. You should know that.”

I swallowed. She’d grown very closed off, her tone unreadable. “Our Morning Star was never one to listen to anyone,” she said. “She became a Guardian at the age of fifteen, and grew very powerful very quickly. She was reckless. I feared she would be a danger to Adrian. She was certainly a danger to herself.”

She walked to the desk and bent, opening a drawer and retrieving her Nav cards. I watched her hands close over the deck, the absent way she shuffled them. Not like Gram, who had treated her cards with such reverence, letting her fingertips linger along the edges.

“We’re doing a reading?” I asked.

“Hold on to these,” she said, crossing the room and dropping the deck in my hands. “You may as well have them.”

I crinkled my brow in confusion. “You’re giving me your Nav cards?” Kind of pointless, I thought, since I already had Gram’s.

“They were never mine. They belonged to your father. I use them from time to time, but Adrian was the only one in this family with any real talent in Knowing. Until you.”

I shuffled twice and flipped the top card over. Inverted Crescent.

“That was his card, too,” Esther said. I looked up at her.

For a second, I got a sense of him, some memory from Esther— a slow, half smile, laughter echoing. A sort of irrepressible buoyancy. Someone who knew joy.

Esther returned to her seat, crossing her legs and folding her hands together. “You know about Amplification, yes? Iris told you, I suspect.”

I gave a short nod.

“It was Adrian’s greatest gift. Lucy was an exceptional Guardian in her own right, but with him at her side, your mother was nearly unstoppable. She was a force of power unparalleled, at least in Kin history.” Pausing for some sort of effect, she looked at me, then said, “Nearly unstoppable. Until the Harrowing.”

I waited, listening. There was a soft knock on the door, but Esther sent whoever it was away with a curt dismissal. Outside, the last of the light had faded.

“Most Harrowings are organized. We sense them coming. There’s a breach in one of the Circles, or a mass of powerful demons able to push through. They work together, hunting the Kin. Hundreds of them, sometimes more. But this … this was something else. This Harrowing was the work of only one.”

“Verrick,” I said. The word hung in the air before me, as though it had been imprinted on the air.

She nodded slowly. “We don’t know when exactly he came to the Cities. He was here long before any of us realized. Verrick was—different. He rarely went Beneath, kept himself separate from other Harrowers. His human form was without flaw. His aliases were simple, and he took care to avoid notice. In this way, he remained hidden and lay dormant for many years.”