I peel away the sheet, exposing the kid’s moon-pale flesh. Emilie looks asleep, her eyes closed, her little rosebud mouth slightly parted. I lift her, cradling her against my pounding heart and lean over the gunwale. I hesitate, but then loosen my grip and her body rolls away and splashes into the steel gray water.
Her hair spreads and dances around her like dripping honey. Her pink pajamas create a bright, incongruous spot in the silver mist. But then the water grabs hold of her and tugs her under. We watch until the surface of the water is once again smooth and gray.
Cadence muffles her sobs in her coat collar as she starts the motor and makes a tight U-turn back toward the dock. None of us say a word.
The cold air slaps my face, coaxing tears from me. I squeeze the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes, but only manage to get myself under control when we’re mooring the boat.
The three of us stare at the dock but don’t make a move to get out.
Damp trails glitter on Cadence’s cheeks. Even Bastian is bawling. I grip his shoulder and squeeze. Then I slide my arms around Cadence’s waist and reel her in, inhaling her warmth, reveling in the sound of her beating heart. I hold her tight, to keep her, and myself, from shattering.
34
Cadence
It’s been five days since we fed Emilie to the lake. Five days since we all retreated into our own heads, trying to deal with the little girl’s death, yet knowing we can’t hide from the Quatrefoil’s dark magic forever.
Five quiet days.
Classes were canceled, and half the student body fled Brume the moment Geoffrey announced the new viral outbreak. Those who stayed have mostly remained indoors, holing themselves up behind fogged windows, watching the cloud cover pour snow so thick it looks like clumps of down.
Or at least, that’s what I did.
I’ve been traveling between my bed, window seat, and kitchen, trying not to think of the little girl floating among the fish.
The first three days, I managed to avoid Papa, but by the fourth day, he found me scraping mayo onto a piece of bread and forced me to talk. I told him how he treated Slate wasn’t fair, that it was shameful. He reminded me that Slate was an extortionist and that I shouldn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth.
“Stop it, Papa.”
“Stop what? Protecting my little girl? I see the way he looks at you, Cadence, and I don’t like it one bit.”
I’d gone back to slathering my bread in mayo, anger making white globs of sauce splatter the countertop.
“I’ve had an eye on the boy for a long time now,ma chérie. I know all about his devious ways. He doesn’t care about you. He sees you as prey. Do you know how many women he’s charmed into his bed just to leave them hurting and alone when he runs off with their grandmother’s engagement ring or their great aunt’s pearls? He sleeps with women for their jewels and wallets.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, Cadence. Think about it. What kind of man opens a sarcophagus to steal from a corpse? Not an honest one.”
My skin prickled with annoyance. He was simply badmouthing Slate to keep me away. Well, it wouldn’t work. Gritting my teeth, I slapped slivers of tomatoes and shredded smoked chicken between my bread slices, then crushed the sandwich together and left my father alone in the kitchen.
The sandwich remained on my nightstand untouched. The same way Slate’s last two text messages—Hey, how are you holding up? In the mood for dinner?—remained unanswered.
In the back of my mind, I kept hearing Slate tell Geoffroy,When all of this is over, I’m out of here. And Papa’s accusation sank deeper and deeper under my skin.
I phoned Alma, who’d trudged through knee-high snow to comfort me. The minute she’d arrived, I told her about my conversation with my father. From her ruffled brow, I sensed her hesitation to dismiss his claims.
“I don’t know. I like him. He’s funny. And hot. And certainly intriguing. But some people are good at hiding their game. And if he extorts people for a living . . . well, then, maybe your dad’s right.”
I’d called her over for comfort, not for her to gang up on me. But Alma thinks the world of Papa. His words hold weight for her. Enough weight for her to question her own opinions.
“You can take the boy off the streets, but you can’t take the streets off the boy, sweetie.”
I knew she was watching out for me, but that just made me simmer harder.
“Remember when he stole my ring at the New Year’s Eve party?”
“He gave it right back.”
