“A scan. Then blood.” He slipped the satchel on his shoulder forward and removed a device that looked like a clear, flat screen filled with fluids that shifted with every motion of his hand. He didn’t touch me, but used the thing a little like a camera, holding it above my head, pausing, then shifting it in front of my face, then in front of my neck, pausing, and so on, all the way to my bare feet.
I didn’t feel anything, didn’t hear anything, didn’t feel anything, but the liquid moved and changed color as the device scanned me from skin to DNA.
“Now blood,” he said after he’d stowed the liquid-screen thing.
Another device, this one the size and shape of a pen. He tapped it against my finger, which hurt a little, held it there until it had sucked up enough blood; then that too was tucked back in the satchel.
“Good day,” he said.
“Good day.” Elwa bustled over and all but pushed him out the door.
“Now,” she said. “Quickly.”
“Quickly what?”
“Shower. Dress,” she commanded. “Go. I will have lunch brought up. Something light. Something delicious.”
“I don’t need new clothes,” I said. “I packed clothes. My clothes.”
She paused and tipped her head so she was looking over her nose at me. “Are they gray?”
“Uh, no.”
“Exactly!” she proclaimed. “Go. Shower. Elwa will take care of everything.”
So I took a quick shower, then hurried back to the bedroom in a towel. I had no intention of putting on the clothes she’d laid out for me.
“This, my darling.” She marched into the room and plucked up the clothes on the bed. She held out the slacks, a lacy tank top, and a pair of my panties.
“I’d prefer to wear my own clothes,” I said.
“These are your clothes. I have shopped for you. Planned for you. There is no need to worry.” She gave me the down-nose look again. “Do not argue, please. I have been running this House for more years than you have been alive, darling, and there is no argument I lose.”
“I thought Oscar Gray ran this House.”
She laughed, a musical tinkle. “He only thinks he runs this House. Poor boy. Here now. Slacks. Before you catch cold.”
She shoved the clothes into my arms and marched out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “I will wait. Ah yes, come in and set the food there.” She said to whomever had just entered the sitting room.
I had to admit, the clothes in my arms were soft and fine. Obviously well-made. And if Elwa was someone who ran the House, she would know what sort of clothes were most appropriate for whatever the hell I had to do next.
I sighed and put on the outfit, which covered up all signs of my life stitches, as long as I kept my hair down. I refused to wear the soft gray shoes set out beside the bed and instead put on my boots. Worn, dusty, they were comfortable, strong, and mine.
“Are you dressed?” she called out. “Come out now, Matilda. Before lunch is cold.”
I was starving. The last thing I’d eaten was a quick sandwich back on the farm. A twinge of homesickness struck me, and I had to take a breath or two before it faded.
I missed the farm, missed my world making sense, missed Grandma and all the stitched-up beasts. I didn’t want to think that it might be a decade before I saw them all again.
Out in the sitting room, Elwa had brought in a table and set it with a lovely gray cloth, against which shone silver cutlery, crisp white china, and sparkling crystal.
It was lunch for royalty, not a country girl.
“What is wrong with your feet?” Elwa exclaimed.
I shot a look at my feet, expecting them to be on fire or covered in spiders or something.
“My boots?”
