Page 6

“Do many people end up here by accident?” I ask, and Cave glances at me. “Or on purpose?”

He looks ahead again. “Both,” he says, his voice deep and raspy, like he hasn’t used it in a while. From what I’ve been told, I’m guessing he probably doesn’t.

A shed comes into view in the trees, and as we get closer, I can hear a radio crackle. The doors are open, and as Cave slows down at the entrance, he lets my hand go, and we walk in.

It’s warm inside. There is a workbench running the length of the wall, and tools hanging from the wall above it. A man sits on an upturned crate with a radio and screwdriver in his hands, and he glances up as we enter. He has dark eyes, and his jacket is covered in little trinkets, but I can’t make out what exactly they are at this distance. His eyes scan over me, lingering on my face, and I can see the questions forming. He then looks past me at Cave, and a silent conversation passes between them. Then the man looks back at me.

“Cipher,” he says simply.

“Valli,” I reply.

“Coffee?” he asks. Just when I thought things couldn’t get weirder, the Scarecrow brings me to meet someone who doesn’t even question why I look like a human punching bag.

“Please, that would be great.”

He stands, moving to a small setup on the far end of the bench, while I look at Cave, who stands in the doorway with one hand braced on the frame. Interesting. Does everyone have their own territory? Why will he not come inside?

Breaking eye contact with Cave, I look back at Cipher. “I need to get back home. I have a shift starting at nine and no phone.”

“I can take you,” Cipher says, holding out the mug.

“Thank you, I appreciate that since I have no idea where I am.”

Cipher simply nods, and I peer back over at Cave, whose eyes are still on me. “Thank you for saving me last night. I might not be alive right now if you hadn’t shown up.”

His jaw moves, and he straightens up, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step back. I think he is about to leave, but he doesn’t.

“I have no roots, yet I hold my ground. I have no walls, yet nothing gets past me. I stand in the open, and still I keep what matters safe.” He pauses. “What am I?”

We stare at each other. I’m really shit at riddles. “I don’t know. A scarecrow?”

Cave nods and disappears. I turn back to where Cipher is staring at me. “Does he always just talk in riddles?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone ever answer?”

“Sometimes.”

There is a slightly awkward silence before he speaks again. “You ready?”

I nod, drink the last of my coffee, then hand him the empty cup. He places it on the workbench and heads outside. I follow behind him and around the side of the shed to where a motorbike waits.

It’s old, though it looks like newer parts have been added. The mirror is attached by what I am certain is a cable tie. Cipher hands me a helmet, and I take it while praying the bike doesn’t fall apart.

“It runs,” he says, reading my mind.

“I live in West Thornfield. How far away is that?”

“Forty minutes,” he says without even having to think about it.

I weigh my options, but walking isn’t one of them. I’ll never get to work on time, and my boss will fire me—and I refuse to let my sister go without. Pulling on the helmet as Cipher swings onto the bike, I watch it start on the first try, which surprises me. I slide behind him and find somewhere to put my hands; he chuckles and grabs my arms, wrapping them around his waist.

The bike moves out of the trees and onto a path, and before I can take in more of my surroundings, we are at the front gates and flying down the bridge.

The ride back is cold. I keep my arms locked tight around Cipher’s waist, and for half the ride I keep my eyes closed as last night replays vividly in my mind. The man in the alley, the smell of cigarette smoke, being thrown into the trunk. By the time the streets become familiar, the worst of the flashbacks have subsided.

Cipher slows at one stage to get directions and then easily finds my street and cuts the engine in front of my house. I get off and pull the helmet from my head, standing for a moment in front of my house. The paint is chipped around the window frames, the front step is still cracked from before my parents died, and the lamp beside the window is on. It means Rowan is home, and my stomach churns at the thought of what I’m about to walk into.