I glowered at his fingers, idly tapping the house while he waited, barring my exit.
I knew why he wanted me to wear one, why his sightline stayed carefully above my shoulders on a deliberately avoidant, upward trajectory. My chest — the first thing people noticed about me. But there were no double-layered sports bras to squash it down today, and I knew, if my curves could make a simple scoop neck provocative, Ash’s doll-sized top must have looked obscene. Too much stretching. Too much cleavage. But what was I supposed to do about it?
The chilly early-morning air raised goosebumps along my arms, which I folded indignantly over my chest, not helping the situation.
“Ember. We need to leave.”
“Leland. I know that.” I glanced over my shoulder at Ash’s room where my clothes were on her floor. “But this . . .” With a frown down at my waist, I pinched the hem of the black tube top he refused to look at. “My clothes from yesterday. That’s what I have.”
Leland nodded to an armoire in the living room. “You checked the drawers? Your mother was supposed to — ”
“Leave me turmeric?” I asked. “Because that’s what I found. I checked everywhere, okay, and there’s nothing. My mother left me nothing.”
He must have believed me because he dropped it and Summoned a large beige sweatshirt. It wasn’t until I pulled it over my head that I realized it wasn’t something he Created but rather itbelongedto him — a piece from his pocket realm, which I gathered because it fell practically to my knees, his wintery pine scent all over it.
“I don’t want this,” I said, starting to take it off.
“Please leave it,” he said impatiently.
I don’t know why, but I dropped the fabric I was in the middleof bunching up over my hips and listened.
Softer, he added, “If you want to wear what you had on yesterday, and you get me your clothes, I can Refresh them. But I don’t know your wardrobe well enough to cast it yet. Not without closely looking at your clothes. Possibly touching them.”
My face answered that one for me. The clothes I’d feverishly sweat through? Out of the question. “Why not just stab me and get this day over with?” I asked, sounding hostile.
“Ihatedthat,” he responded, forceful and loud.
Seeing how I jumped at his volume, Leland dragged his hands down his face, tempering himself. “Ember. I didn’t want to stab you. I had an hour. It was in my best interest to meet that. And it was in your best interest to arrive sedated, without the Echelons having a chance to see how badly you don’t want to be here.”
I was used to things washing over me, not feeling them. But for whatever reason, Leland brought out a fire in me. I lost all ability to hold my tongue. “And abandoning me on a bench? I woke up paralyzed, Leland!” I pointed at where I’d woken up, alone on the porch, only — the bench from yesterday was gone. I wondered if it had been a Creation of his. And why he’d felt the need to Vanish it.
“I had to get Trist. You needed a Healer.”
I rejected this. “I saw your backpack. You had a hundred syringes in there. You have an entire pocket realm but not one potion that could’ve treated me?”
“Yes.” The impatient edge to his voice thickened. “I do. But a potion would take longer than a Healer. And you would’ve woken up — coming out of paralysis — alone with the person who stabbed you. Is that what you would’ve wanted?” He waited a beat for my answer. “That’s what I thought.”
“Just — ” I sighed. “Tell me what today is. Where are we going? Why are you here at the crack of dawn?” I rubbed my arm where he’d inserted the needle. “And how many sedatives did you bringwith you?”
Leland let out a breath of frustration. “I’m not going to sedate you. Not if you cooperate. We’re going to the Circle of Seven for your Blessing. Jaxan wants it done before the rest of the Echelons wake up.”
“Fine,” I said, and gestured for him to get out of the way so we could get going.
I didn’t let on that I’d caught what he said. What he shouldn’t have let slip.Jaxanwants it done.Jaxan, and notthe Echelon Jaxan D’Oron. Yesterday, Leland had called the Echelons by their titles in front of Trist. I hadn’t, because I forgot. Because I have no allegiances here, and I don’t care about their politics. But Leland? I chewed on this piece of information as we left for the portstop, not sure what to make of it.
* * *
I braced a hand against a wispy tree stem, drawing my shoulders to my ears to hide my face from Leland. I thought I’d been embarrassed about the roar that had growled from my stomach for a full five minutes, but that was nothing compared to my current situation, our journey to the Circle of Seven screeched to a halt as I dry-heaved over a plant.
We’d arrived by way of the portstops — there was a ten-minute walk from Helen’s to downtown Hartik’s Hollow, followed by a short port to Conventicles Crossing (Everden’s largest porting hub). Then a final portstop brought us here, to the outer fringe of the forest.
Portstops, glittering silver and gold rings embedded in the streets like manhole covers, were generally how witches got around. I’d say they should come with a warning, but I’d been given one when Leland had offered me the anti-nausea tablet that I’d refused to take from him.
The forest, a moving green blur due to my motion sickness,looked not too different from the way porting had. Spinning, whirling, twisting, lights changing too fast to know if the colors whooshing by were yellow or green. If this was how it felt to portshortdistances, maybe itwasa good thing Leland knocked me out before bringing me to Everden. Maybe.
I felt Leland’s glare and snapped back to the situation at hand. “Stop,” I moaned as a new wave of nausea doubled me over. Stop staring at me. Stop being here. Just . . . stop it.
“Why are you throwing up air?” he asked harshly. “Trist told you to eat something.”
