“It did. I walked through that door two hundred years ago, and more.”
Two hundred years. Emma shuddered at the thought. But if the story had told her anything, it was that desperation put people at the mercy of truly flesh-rending bargains. And like the Sister, she had just made another bargain. How much did she know about the messenger? He had not told her much of himself. Or mentioned the consequences of failing to find the information he wanted. Cold trickled through her, as she entertained exactly how stupid she might have been.
The Sister cleared her throat. “You’ve done well, girl. Have you readied everything the cantrip requires?”
“I have.” Emma banished the messenger from her thoughts.
“Then come, we’ll have to be quick.”
They tipped the vervain mixture down Sara’s throat. Her eyelids flickered, and her breathing seemed to ease.
The Sister collapsed into a chair. “To bed with you. I will watch over her.”
Emma lingered at the door. “I never asked, Sister. Why do they call you that?”
“Because I have no name here. Henry is the Librarian, and I am his sister. That is all anyone needs to know.”
“But what was your name, before?”
The Sister glared at the wrinkled hands in her lap. She forced her words through stiff lips, twin spots of shame burning in her cheeks. “I cannot use it now. It was the name of a beautiful woman. I am a ruin.”
Emma looked at her, from her tangled gray hair to the tree-ring lines of her face.
“No,” Emma said stoutly. “You are not a ruin. You are better than beautiful. You are whole.”
She did not stay to watch the effect of her words. She slipped out of the room.
The Sister stayed a week, until Sara was stable. When she went home to the Librarian, Emma missed her. But the fox maidens took over watching Sara in shifts. In the cool of the sickroom, Emma helped Gertie lay out a tarot spread for Sara; she read fromFordyce’s Sermonswith Frances; let the twins braid her hair into mad spirals;sat in companionable silence with Saskia or noisy merriment with Nancy. Every hour made it harder to armor her heart against the fox maidens. She was going to escape and leave them behind. It made no sense to get attached. She had to remind herself that they were of the Night City. And she could not trust the Night City.
But one morning, as Emma returned yawning from changing bandages and sponging wounds with Nancy, a voice stopped her at her bedroom door.
“Hey! New girl.”
Emma turned. Saskia stalked into the light of the corridor’s lamps, holding a pair of boots. She was scowling ferociously.
“You keep tripping.” This, in an accusatory tone. But she was scanning Emma’s face, as though what she saw there mattered.
Emma still wore the boots the Sister had lent her. They did trip her at least twice a night. It warmed her to think that somebody had noticed, and cared.
“Got these in the market,” Saskia growled. A blush was staining her cheeks.
She shoved the new boots into Emma’s hands. Tiny leaves danced around the ankles, embossed by some delicate hand. Emma stroked the silvery leather. They were narrower than the average, just like Emma’s feet. They might have been made for her.
“Are we friends?” she teased, earning herself a truly feral glare from Saskia, who crossed her arms and muttered something about idiot newcomers. Emma grinned at her. “I thought gifts weren’t to be trusted round here.”
“We’ll make it a bargain, then. I give you these… you have to wear them to the Beasts’ Ball at Midwinter. And dance.”
“A ball?”
“We all go. The City puts it on every year for the Lower Houses. Sounds lame, I know, but…”
“No. It sounds perfect, actually.” Emma swallowed back a sudden wave of emotion. She’d never got to sweep into the student ball at Gabriel in a twinkling gown, to run wild in ancient halls with her best friends. She would have danced all night with Julia and Nat. Taken endless photographs on the grand staircase. She would have remembered it always. Perhaps, before she escaped, the Night City could give her this one thing. One night to feel what she’d missed.
“You’ll dance? It’s a bargain, then.” Saskia looked pleased as she turned away.
“Thank you. I mean it. If I can ever—”
Saskia mumbled, “Don’t bother,” and fled.
