“Cadence?” my father yells, the rubber tires of his wheelchair squealing on the first floor landing. “What is it?”
My entire body shakes as I take the stairs two at a time.
“Ma chérie, what is it?”
Gulping down air, I tell him everything that’s happened. It takes me several attempts to get all the words out, and God only knows how he understands any of my crazed rambling above my heavy panting.
He latches onto my palms, his complexion white as toothpaste. “Did you touch it?”
I shake my head, my ponytail flogging my cheeks, strands sticking to my skin that’s coated in a mixture of sweat and tears.
I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. “Is it . . . is it . . . is it coming for me?”
“Non, mon amour.You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.” He tugs on my arm until I fall into his lap. And then he hugs me and kisses my forehead. “Ma Cadence. Shh. You’re safe.”
I scrub my eyes with my sleeve. “What was it?”
He sighs. “The Quatrefoil only knows.” But I sense, from the way the muscles in his arms have hardened, that he has some theories and that none of them are going to be comforting.
“Is it a monster?”
He pushes hair off my damp face. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than the leaf trying to scare you away.”
Is he telling me the truth? Do I even want to know the truth before sleeping? I swallow, my throat aching as violently as my knees. “Can I sleep in your room tonight, Papa?”
“Bien sûr, ma chérie.” He glances toward the front door, which looks like the entrance to a crime scene.
“You promise it’s not coming for me?”
“I promise. It’s not how the pieces work. They only protect themselves. They don’t chase you.”
I breathe in deeply, but it mustn’t be deep enough because my lungs are still tight after my hot shower, and my pulse still gallops when I dive under Papa’s bed covers and drag them all the way to my nose.
15
Slate
Ireach across the bed for Cadence, wanting to feel the heat of her soft skin underneath my fingertips. It’s only when my hand brushes against empty spun-cotton sheets and flops over the edge of the puny mattress that I wake up and realize she’s not here. That she never was.
I inhale deeply. Her smell is everywhere . . . on the sheets, on the goose-down pillow. Powdery and fresh, with a hint of something floral and fruity. It takes over my entire freaking mind.Shit.Now I need a cold shower.
Grabbing a towel and the soap, I shuffle out of my bedroom and down the weakly lit hallway that’s lined with three more numbered doors to the one that bears the sign TOILETTES HOMMES.
As the old plumbing creaks to life, I step under the stinging spray and pop the top off the soap Cadence gave me. A flash of her half-open mouth flares behind my lids. Damn sheets. Sniffing them all night must’ve locked Rainier’s daughter inside my brain the same way the Bloodstone sealed her mother’s ring to my finger. I stare at the stone, which is the same shade as Cadence’s lips, and grumble insults at it under my breath.
Because I can’t get her mouth out of my stupid head, I spin the hot water knob off until icy needles batter my chest, then grit my teeth to avoid squealing like a baby as my skin brightens and burns. Sluggishly, my mind finally clears. Only then do I spin the hot water knob back as far as it will go. It takes forever to heat up. I scrub my skin hard with the soap, the thick white lather streaming down my legs and around my feet. I notice that one of my toes is purple, the same shade as my finger. Brume isn’t good to my extremities.
When I step out of the old enamel stall, I almost regret not air-drying, because the towel I’ve wrapped around my waist smells like Cadence. Not that air-drying would have been an option considering I’m no longer alone.
A guy’s brushing his teeth, while another one’s standing at the urinals. I miss my gargantuan bathroom back in Marseille, possibly more than I miss my brother and cactus, not necessarily in that order.
The guys and I nod to each other in that stiff way one uses when half-naked and among strangers.
The redhead spits toothpaste into the sink. “You’re new to the university?”
Will I ever attend classes? Who the hell knows. I look at my reflection and see the lump on my forehead, feel the throbbing in my toe and finger. Right now, I just need to survive until the middle of the month.
And to think I haven’t gotten to the perilous bit yet.
