“I’m afraid faith in the Old Gods didn’t quite mesh with my previous line of work. But I believe in service. And there’s no better place to serve than here.”
“James said you were helping another sick-den.”
“I was. I just got in. I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier to help. There aren’t enough of us to go around.”
Nate wiped his eyes and nose. “Alden’s dying.”
“Jamie told me. I’m so sorry.” She reached for him, but drew her hand away before it touched his shoulder. “It’s never easy to lose someone you love to the stillness. Is there anything you need? I’d be happy to check him over, but if he’s sleeping peacefully now, it’s probably best to leave him be.”
“I already borrowed a hairbrush. I think it was yours.” Nate craned to look at her, but he couldn’t make out her features in the weak glow of a crank-light in the hallway behind her. Heavy with the sound of Alden struggling to breathe, he sank down the wall.
“You don’t look like you got much brushing done,” she said, so fondly he didn’t mind being teased.
Something about what she’d said snagged at him. He abruptly realized what it was. “I hope you find your friend.”
She sat beside him, groaning on the way down. “What do you mean?”
Nate bit his lip. “The person you’re looking for.”
“Oh.” She made a quiet, strangled sort of noise. “Thank you.” Her sorrow sent a pang of hurt through Nate. Were there other people like this woman looking for Pixel or Sparks? What about Brick and Reed? He pictured their mothers toiling endlessly in the pleasure houses, always wondering what had become of the children who had grown up as brother and sister under the weight of so much hurt.
She tilted her head back against the wall and sighed. “I don’t normally babble to our guests like this. It must be the hour. It’s easier to tell secrets when you’ve been up all night, isn’t it?”
Nate nodded, but he was out of secrets to tell. All of them were raw and open wide, and they hurt so much. Something about her voice unraveled him, and he began to cry, too exhausted to be embarrassed by the tears that shook him.
“Oh dear.” She patted his knee awkwardly. “Should I get your friends?”
“No.” Nate hiccoughed. “They should sleep.”
“James said they were all a little worse for wear. The nice young lady with the curly hair—Sparks?” she asked. “She was here for a bit of time, but we hardly ever see young people. And never children.”
“We’ll leave soon.”
“Oh dear—I didn’t mean that it’s bad. I’m glad for the company. Much better than the usual. Does that sound terrible? Jamie says I shouldn’t talk to our guests. Ever, really.”
“We have to leave.” Nate’s mouth tasted like gravel. His stomach turned. “The Breakers. . .We crossed them. And they’ll be looking for Pixel. And—” A sob caught in his throat. Now it all seemed so impossible. “I don’t know what to do.”
“The Breakers are not welcome here.” Her words lost their warmth. “This is a place of peace. Servants are beholden to the Old Gods and no other power. We have made that very clear.”
A rueful smile tugged at Nate’s lips as he wiped his nose. “Even if you don’t believe in the Old Gods?”
“Even then.”
“You’re not afraid of them?” Now that he understood the foundation of the Breakers—that they were nothing more than an organized, powerful gang—he feared them more. Power and chem drove people to do terrible things, and Agatha was smart enough to use that drive as a weapon. She was out there somewhere with Alden’s Diffuser. It was only a matter of time before she found a way to use it to her advantage.
“I. . .” The woman hummed. She held her robe over her lap. It smelled like sweat. “I respect the fact that they’re dangerous. And vengeful. But I will not let fear rule me.”
Nate sniffled. “Vengeful” was an oddly specific way to describe them, but it suited Agatha. “You know a lot about the Breakers.”
“The people who come here are sick. Oftentimes, they simply want someone to listen. There’s release in that, I suppose. I hear a lot of things others don’t hear.” She gasped. “I’m so sorry. You’re worried about your friend, and I’m telling you stories. I’ve never been any good at bedside manner.”
“Have you known anybody who died?” He sniffled. “People youknow, I mean. I guess a lot of people die here.”
“You’re right. Lots of people die here. Every day.” She hummed a sad sound. “My husband died. He became very ill, and I couldn’t find anyone in the Withers who could help him.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate said, struck by the way she said “the Withers” like it was someplace strange and not her home.
She stood, her back sliding up the wall with a sleepy whisper sound. A beam of sunlight cut through the hall from the living room behind her, lighting a swarm of dust motes like a sky full of stars. Sunrise was so strange. Glowing, soft, and then dazzling all at once. The hallway wasn’t dark anymore. Nate looked up at her, squinting into the light, and pushed his hair behind his ears.
