Harvest Moon (23 page)

“What, people don't make bets here?”

“They do—but
not
in the office. I don't think it's entirely appropriate.”

“But—but why not?”

“Yes, Caitlin,” Tain added, smiling as he leaned over the back of a chair. “Why not?”

“Well, for one—”

“Incoming,” Teela said, saving Caitlin from her explanation. They all turned to see Sergeant Kassan—whose fur was notably fluffier—enter the office. “Fur standing on end, eyes orange,” Kaylin murmured to Caitlin.

“Yes, dear. Come sit on my side of the desk. Teela, Tain, I believe he wants to speak with you. And I have some good news for Kaylin, so why don't you go and speak with the Sergeant somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“I want her to be able to hear it.”

 

“Kaylin, dear,” Caitlin said in a tone of voice that suggested it wasn't the first time. “I realize the exit is interesting, but it hasn't changed in the last five minutes, and it's unlikely to change in the next five, either.”

Kaylin reddened and turned back to Caitlin. “I'm sorry,” she said morosely. “But—I want to know where they went. I want to know if they—if they found the people they're looking for. I want to know what happens.”

“We all do. And whatever you did must have impressed Teela. I'd say she's actually fond of you, inasmuch as that's possible for the Barrani. But there are other things you have to think about first. Two of the landlords did mirror me while you were out, and we now have two possible apartments.”

Kaylin looked at the floor between her feet. “I can't
afford
a place. I thought I told you that?”

“And I told you that there would be some budgetary room to help you with the cost of accommodations,” was the firm reply. “If there's no emergency, we'll
leave a bit early tonight, and we'll go to look at the two places.”

Kaylin nodded.

“In the meantime, what have you eaten today?”

 

Kaylin was quiet as they left the building. If there'd been an emergency, it wasn't the kind that required Caitlin's immediate attention; she didn't leave early, but she didn't stay very late, as she put it. She led Kaylin through much, much quieter halls toward the exit, which was still manned by guards. Kaylin recognized one as Clint, the first Hawk she'd actually laid eyes on, if you didn't include the Hawklord.

She stopped in front of him, and turned.

He raised one brow. He was tall, although not as tall as the wingless human who stood to his right. It was the Aerian who had her attention.

“Kaylin?” Caitlin said over her shoulder. “We don't want to be late, dear.”

She startled, nodded, and turned to join Caitlin. Then she turned back. “Clint?”

He raised a brow.

“How much weight can you carry?”

“Pardon?”

“When you fly—how much weight can you take with you?”

His look of confusion cleared, but it was replaced by suspicion. “Why?”

The man to his right had begun to chuckle.

“Kaylin—” Caitlin said, and gently touched her shoulder.

Kaylin's shoulder's dropped slightly, and she reddened. “Never mind,” she murmured. “It was—it was
just a question.” She turned what she hoped looked like a genuine smile on Caitlin and climbed down the stairs.

 

Tanner waited until they were far enough down the street—although still visible—before he burst into laughter, which was, strictly speaking, frowned on for door guards. Clint glared at him.

“You know what she wanted to ask.”

Clint considered accidentally dropping his weapon somewhere in the vicinity of Tanner's foot, which was also frowned on. The Hawks were expected to have
some
dignity in public. “Yes, I
know
what she wanted to ask.”

It was one of the few hazards the Aerian Hawks faced at public events and in public places. For some reason that wasn't immediately obvious to Clint, human children were fascinated by Aerian wings. And the Aerian ability to fly. But Kaylin wasn't exactly a
child…

Tanner was almost finished laughing when Clint glared at him. The glare apparently reset the period of the laughter. “It makes me feel like a pony,” the Aerian grumbled.

“You could always say no.”

“Easy for you to say—they're not asking you. I don't notice you telling the little rats to get lost when they ask you to carry them on your shoulders.”

Tanner shrugged as Clint looked pointedly toward the interior of the Halls. “Yeah, but I know I have the words
big sucker
tattooed across my forehead. What's your excuse? What are you looking for?”

“Who,” Clint replied. “We're about to be relieved. Shift's up five minutes ago.”

“And you're so anxious to get home?”

“Where else?”

Tanner laughed again. “They're not walking quickly,” he offered.

Clint told him where he could go.

Kaylin was embarrassed enough to be silent for a couple of blocks. But Caitlin was so mild and so friendly it was hard to
remain
silent. “It's just—it's their wings. It's that they can fly,” she said, shoving her thumbs into her belt loops. “They're not trapped on the ground.”

“They still have to eat and sleep, which means they still have to work.”

Kaylin nodded. “I know they're mortal. I know they're probably just like normal people, but—” she shrugged “—they can fly.” As if that explained anything. “I don't weigh much,” she added anxiously. “And I wasn't going to—” She reddened.

“You won't be the first person who's asked, dear. I'm sure he wasn't offended.”

“He probably thinks I'm an idiot.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” She stopped walking. “Do you see that building? The one with the coral roof?”

“What, the pink one?”

Caitlin nodded. “Except it's not quite pink.”

It looked pink enough to Kaylin.

“There's an apartment available there. It's not apparently very large. We'll see it, of course. But it's a modern building, and it would be quite safe.”

“What do you mean, modern?”

 

What she meant by modern became clear the instant they approached the front doors. It wasn't the windows—although there were glass windows in the door which looked in on a large, well-lit foyer—and it wasn't
the walk, which was smooth, flat stone; nor was it the plants that had been dropped in the front of the building, near the walkway. It was the door itself.

There was a sigil on the door that glowed faintly.

Caitlin reached out to touch it; nothing happened. “See?” she said. “It's warded. Someone will come to open the door in a minute—we're expected—but no one can enter the building if they don't live here.”

Kaylin was staring with growing unease at the ward itself. “It's magic, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, dear, but so are the mirrors in the office. Most of the doors in the Halls have wards, if you hadn't noticed.”

“I don't—I don't want to touch it,” Kaylin finally said. “Not every day. The other building—is it
as
modern?”

“No. But I do think this is a safer building for a young lady your age.”

Kaylin folded her arms across her chest and tried to dredge up the gratitude she knew she should be feeling. Grimacing, she lifted her hand and placed her palm against the door.

She bit her lip hard enough that it started to bleed when she felt the magic suddenly surge—painfully—up her palm.

Caitlin, watching her, frowned and sighed. “I'll explain things to the landlord.”

 

“I'm sorry.” Kaylin meant it; she felt awful.

Caitlin had been not angry, which would have been bad; she'd been
disappointed
, which was infinitely worse. “You're going to have to live in whichever
apartment we choose,” was the reasonable reply. “You shouldn't feel bad about choosing one that suits you.”

This didn't make Kaylin feel all that much better. She knew she didn't deserve the help she'd been offered, and she didn't understand
why
Caitlin had taken her under her wing. But she didn't want her to stop, either, and only in part because she was a free roof and food. Kaylin had watched her at work, and she'd watched the way the other Hawks reacted to her—even at a distance. It was like she was…family. Their family.

Kaylin could live without family. She'd proved that. She could live with family as well. But losing family was the hardest thing she'd survived, and she never wanted to do it again.

Then why find one at all?
her inner voice said.
What you don't have, you can't lose. It's safer.

But safety was cold.

As if the words were thoughts and some nebulous—and vindictive—god had picked them out of the air, she heard a loud shout from above.

“Kaylin, move!”

 

It wasn't
all
children that had this effect on Clint. It really wasn't.

It was the orphans. The foundlings. The children whose expression screamed
homeless
even if they never said a word. Seeing her in the holding cell that first time, he should have recognized instantly that she was trouble. Well, okay, he'd recognized that—but he should have clearly seen what
kind
of trouble. It was her eyes. Her unchanging human eyes. Yes, there was no variation of color to indicate the shift in her mood—but she
was one human who didn't need it. The width of her eyes was enough.

He flew lower over the City than he usually did while on sky patrol, but he'd lost the armor and the visible signs of his profession. He knew she was with Caitlin, and if the girl wasn't familiar enough to be recognized at a distance, Caitlin certainly was.

But it wasn't Kaylin or Caitlin that Clint saw first, and the person he did see he didn't recognize. It didn't matter. He recognized the position the man had taken on the flat of a roof; he lay flush with it, propped up on his elbows, his hands positioned beneath him as if he was sitting. Clint glanced at the street just below the building, and he almost froze.

There, coming into view, were the two women he had set out from the Halls to find: Caitlin. Kaylin. The man on the roof shifted, tightening his position. With a growing sense of certainty and horror, Clint understood who his target was.

“Kaylin, move!”

He folded wings as the assassin on the roof fired and then rolled to his feet to face an Aerian who was hurtling from the air to meet him.

 

Kaylin threw herself forward, tucking her chin and rolling as if she were still in the fiefs and that shouted warning was the very thin divide between life and death. She heard the beating of wings, heard a sudden, sharp whistle of air—and worse, heard the grunt of surprise and pain just behind and above where she'd come to her feet, knees bent. She drew her daggers while turning, and then almost dropped them.

Caitlin was clutching her arm, her eyes wide. Blood
seeped between her fingers. Kaylin glanced quickly around the street; it was empty. She jammed her knives back into her sheath and ran the few steps to Caitlin, where she caught the older woman by the arms and drew her as quickly as possible into the nearest gap between two buildings.

The bolt had winged Caitlin's upper arm. Kaylin hadn't seen the assassin. She hadn't seen him—or her—because she hadn't even been
looking
. “Caitlin?” she whispered.

Caitlin nodded, looking dazed. “I'm fine.”

“Wait here,” Kaylin told her. “I'll run and get help—we're not far—” She stopped speaking for just a minute. She was afraid to leave Caitlin here; she was afraid that they wouldn't make it back if she didn't. She had no sense of the lay of the land anywhere except directly around the Halls of Law themselves.

“Kaylin, I'm fine. It's just my arm,” Caitlin whispered.

But she was white, she was bleeding, and she was trembling. Kaylin held her. Beyond the mouth of the alley she could hear the clash of steel, the sound of raised voices, as if they were a world away. What mattered was here, now.

“I never told you,” Kaylin said.

This understandably confused the older woman, who was still clutching her arm. “Told me what, dear?”

“I—” Kaylin unbuttoned one sleeve and yanked it up to the crook of her elbow, exposing the marks that she always kept hidden. “These,” she said.

Caitlin looked at them. She was still confused. “Tattoos?”

“No. They started to appear on my skin months ago.
On the insides of my arms—both arms, and the insides of my legs. On my back, as well. They all look like this. Like writing. But I can't read them. No one could.”

“No one?”

No one I could show them to
. Kaylin simply nodded. “I didn't understand what they meant. I still don't. But…after they appeared I discovered I could do one useful thing with them that I'd never been able to do without them.”

As if she were talking about the weather, the office, or tea, Caitlin nodded. “Was it a useful or helpful thing?”

Kaylin swallowed. “Let me show you.” The exposed marks on her arm began to glow. In the fading evening light, they looked like some combination of blue and gold; it wasn't enough to see by. But Caitlin looked at the runes as if hypnotized.

“Your hands are very warm,” the older woman said.

Kaylin nodded. “They are.” She reached out and gently pried Caitlin's hand from the wound. Caitlin winced, but didn't struggle or argue; she watched as Kaylin placed her own hand there in its stead. Her eyes rounded.

“Kaylin, what are you doing?”

“I'm—I'm closing it. The wound, I mean.”