When Victoria stood up, Deryn’s breath caught in her chest.
No, please, no…
“You know what, Moss? Screw being ashamed. Abusers thrive in silence and in the shame of their victims. So let me add to the stories.” Victoria took a breath, and Deryn’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. “Even when he was bedridden, Moreau still used to throw the occasional bottle at me. One night, he hit me square in the head. The glass broke over my temple. A concussion and ten stitches. And I stayed. Had I known that there were services available, counseling, anonymity, support, help…” Victoria’s voice stuttered for a moment. “I’d have sought them out. But there was nothing. There’s still nothing, Moss. And if you’re not going to be a solution, step aside and don’t be such a useless prick.”
The crowd laughed, but it was subdued. And then Greg stood up.
“Ah… Hi… Um… I’m Greg Gangson. My husband beat me for years before Councilwoman Crowhart helped me finally get him out of my house. No, I don’t know if I’d have gone to a shelter…” Greg wiped his eyes, and Deryn could see shock on the faces of people sitting around him as he went on. “But I sure as hell could’ve used some advice, is all I want to say. We didn’t even have a sheriff on the island till a few years ago. And if Ms. Allende here builds the center for survivors, more than one business owner on the island will come together to help—food, supplies. I’ll get in line to do just that. As for being a victim… Mrs. Crowhart, screw that asshole, Moreau. You said it best. Fuck being ashamed.”
The auditorium fell silent yet again as Deryn’s heart hammered in her ears.
“You see, Mr. Moss? You can be oh so very local and such good drinking company, and yet it seems like the people you’re drinking with aren’t the ones who need the most help… Or, since we have seen quite a few ex-wives and partners standing up here today, some of your closest drinking buddies are the ones people would run from and toward the shelter. So, since I answered your question, how about you answer mine? Is that why you don’t want me to build a center for survivor of abuse? Because the abusers are your closest friends?”
And now the crowd was on its feet, cheering and jeering. Deryn realized that despite Judge Astor gaveling incessantly, the debate would not go forward. There was no restoring order. No matter what sentiments people held before coming to this gathering, they were now firmly anti-Moss.
She took the side door and stepped into the dark of the late afternoon, the air cold and snow falling yet again. Deryn lifted her eyes and wondered when she became attuned to the scent of Dragons. When did she even realize that the island had such a distinct scent at all? Salt and coffee from Seren’s shop and pinetrees. And something so intrinsically Dragons. As she looked around, an old hut by the pier beckoned for some reason. It used to be a small warehouse for the fishermen, then someone bought it with plans to make it into a café, but those plans fell by the wayside somehow.
Deryn listened carefully to the noises coming from the town hall and thought she might as well take a quick peek. It didn’t sound like the shouting was over just yet, and she was already too overwhelmed by the noise. She jogged down to the beach, the snow and sand feeling strange under her boots. Among several huts bracketing the pier on one side, this one looked completely unremarkable. And totally wasted. Its neighbors were taken by a souvenir shop and some kind of crystal-hawking enterprise, which, for an island with a history such as their own, was par for the course. From talking to Pru, she knew that witchy stuff sold rather well.
She looked into the dark windows of the empty little shop. Little, dark, and empty was indeed all she saw. A bakery would not look out of place in this space, she thought. The popularity of the pier with tourists and locals alike, the proximity to Market Square and the Tavern, and especially Crow’s Brew?—
Deryn shook her head at the direction her mind had taken. Why the hell was she even thinking about bakeries and spaces and proximities to foot traffic? Foolish. She wasn’t staying. She had wonBake Your Heart Outyet again; she’d have months of publicity, and then any of the big names would have a new adventure for her. Last time she was asked if she would agree to become the host of the show once the current one retired, and she saw just yesterday the announcement that this would be his last season. Her agent had called her three times and emailed probably the same amount. She knew what the question would be. She’d said “maybe” when asked the first time. Career-wise, this would be the chance of a lifetime.
Deryn sighed and headed to Seren’s Jeep parked by the Brew. With the action at the town hall still in full swing, she helped herself to the keys her sister always left in the ignition, smiling at the simplicity of the small town as she revved the engine. She did have the good grace to drop a voice note in the family chat.
Deryn aka Handsomer Twin: Taking your ride, twin. See y’all tomorrow. Gonna head to the Astronomy for a bit, don’t wait up, Ceri.
She did not plan to stay the night at Paloma’s. She had given her word, and as much as it made her chest constrict, she was keeping it. Paloma had pitied her that one time, as pathetic as she had probably looked. But no more.
Deryn sped up, the forest passing in a long blur by her window. She didn’t want to think about Paloma. Well, no, that wasn’t true, since she was driving up to Viridescent Cliff to wait for Paloma. No, she didn’t want to think how Paloma would be done with her with the election result just around the corner. How could she explain to Paloma everything that she held inside? How to even begin?
Deryn parked in the staff parking lot and winked at the guard.
“Gonna head up. All good out here?”
He nodded, smiling.
“Shame you’re not headed downstairs. My wife damn near broke my fingers snatching those muffins you made two days ago.”
Deryn laughed.
“Listen, you got that woman pregnant. With twins! Being one, I know how much we eat and how much trouble we are. The least you can do is deliver the goods I send.”
He bowed deeply.
“You are a princess of a woman, Deryn. I’m forever a hero to my wife. Thank you.”
“I assume since the debate hasn’t finished, the queen has not returned?”
Deryn looked up at the dark penthouse suites.
The guard shook his head.
“No, but my buddy texted that she rocked that show and should be on her way back soon. They wrapped it up some time ago.”
He winked at her, and Deryn poked her tongue at him before making her way to the elevator. She saw him activate the permission for her to go all the way up. She waved as the elevator doors closed.
Deryn entered the suite and turned the lights on as she went. She poured herself a drink from the enormous bar in the living room, opting for Paloma’s Japanese whiskey. She knew it was damn stupid because she didn’t even like the stuff, but it reminded her of the woman’s taste?—
