Page 39 of When the Sky Breaks

“I mean . . .” Ansel backpedaled, but I put up my hand and cut him off.

“You’re not wrong.”

“Hair is appropriately pulled back but a little disheveled. That’s good,” Ansel said. “That’s what we’re going for. Apron makes you look further along than you are. Now when we get there just do that thing where you put your fist into your back?”

“When my spine hates me?” I dug my fists into my lower back, appreciating the relief as always. “Because, I don’t know, someone cut my corset instead of using the very clearly visible fastenings on the front.”

“You’re okay,” Neal soothed, kissing my head. “Don’t get agitated. It’ll make your fever worse.”

“Just like that!” Ansel enthused. “There’s the pregnant woman about to collapse. That’s what I promised them!”

“This is ridiculous,” Neal muttered.

“Right,” I said, “because I am a pregnant woman about to collapse. Which means this really should require no effort at all.”

“Just try to look sufficiently miserable,” Ansel said.

“I am miserable!”

Milkweed poked his little head out of my pocket and repeated, “I am miserable!”

“At least someone understands.” I chuckled as I tucked him safely up in the patch pocket on the bodice of my riding dress.

It was midday and peak heat when a bizarre, rancid smell began wafting from the fields around us. I pressed my handkerchief to my face and fought down the urge to gag. It worsened, and worsened, for what felt like hours until we suddenly came upon a big black heifer—dead and flayed and rotting in the middle of the path. And cut into the flesh a dozen times, more, was the symbol of a human eye surrounded by an expanding spiral.

We drew up short and Ansel dismounted, nudging the corpse with the toe of his boot.

“That’s not an Inner Court symbol I don’t know about?” I asked. “Right?”

“That’s not a symbol I’ve seen anywhere in four hundred odd years on God’s green earth, lass,” Ansel replied.

“Could it have something to do with the portals?” Neal asked.

Ansel shrugged. “Could. Could be a different problem entirely. The thing with monster hunting is you never quite know ahead of time. We’ll see if there’s more. See if anyone in town has heard of it. Could just be a madman with a hatchet and too much time spent in the midday sun.”

I shuddered, pressed the handkerchief tighter over my face, and rode on.

We got to the city just before dusk. And found eight additional mutilated heifers along the road.

Austin was busy, dirty, and chaotic. Neal pulled me close against his side when we left our horses, and I subconsciously wrapped both arms protectively around my belly. Milkweed popped his little head out of my pocket and nuzzled at my throat, sensing the discomfort.

“I don’t think I like it here,” I murmured.

“We’ll get supplies and head out,” Ansel said. “Only one more week’s ride to Houston.”

“Will that be better?” I asked.

I understood the wisdom of relocation. I understood entirely why Ansel and Glen had pushed my father to get the Court out of Santa Fe. I wanted resources. I wanted guards and a library and people who knew what the hell they were doing. But the journey was wearing, more dangerous than I’d anticipated. And with the added toll from the baby I was fading fast.

“Best hope so, lass,” Ansel replied.

“Ansel?” I asked.

“What is it, lass?”

“Do we have to stay in New York or Edinburgh? Or could we settle in Islay?” I asked. It was a stupid request, juvenile, emotion driven. But I was tired, desperate. I wanted the resources, yes. But I also wanted familiarity—and Glen was nothing if not familiar.

“It’s only a day’s trip to the Court outpost in Edinburgh,” Neal put in.