What is a frog’s favorite drink?
(Croak-a-cola!)
Croak-a-cola. It’s so . . . stupid. I choke on a sob that comes out of nowhere. He’s drawn the little frog so carefully with his Variant pencils—?Mother would have loved it. And I’d forgotten about the hazelnut shells. Anytime we found an empty nutshell in the garden she’d tell us that a tooth fairy must have left it there. The tears flow over my cheeks, and my breath is hitching because I’m trying to cry without making any noise.
I want her ring back.
I want her back.
I close the notebook and return to my bed, where I lie down and cry straight into my pillow. It feels good, and it hurts, as if something tight and thorny is coming unknotted in my chest. I finally sit up, and I am drying my face with my sleeve when there’s a soft knock on my door. I hastily finish running my sleeve over my cheeks and nose. Then I throw a blanket around my shoulders and, at the last minute, grab my Star from under my pillow.
“Yes?” I open the door only a crack.
Will stands in front of me, dressed all in black. His hair is short again.
“Oh—?are—” He’s taken aback when he looks at my eyes, which must be bloodshot and red-rimmed. “I’m sorry. I can come back later.”
“No.” I attempt a smile and open the door wider. “It’s fine. What do you need?”
He remains in the hall but cocks his head and gives me a long look.
“Do you want to go somewhere with me?” he asks finally. “It’s relatively safe and not entirely allowed.”
I sniffle. I want to be anywhere but alone in this room. “Yes,” I say.
“Get dressed, and I’ll come back for you in ten minutes.” His mouth cracks into a grin. “And I’m glad you’re up for it. Your room happens to be my escape route.”
Chapter Eighteen
I plait my hair around my head, dress in trousers and boots, and pull out the coat I found hanging in my closet earlier in the week. It’s a deep cherry red in a thick-knit wool. Mrs. Cliffton said it was one of hers that was too small, but I know that’s not true: I saw it hanging in Finch’s tailor shop on our first day in town.
I open the door at Will’s light knock, and he steps into my room.
“Too bright. You should take it off,” he says immediately, closing the door behind him. “The coat, I mean,” he clarifies, flushing. “To help us blend in on the road.”
“Oh.” Reluctantly I return it to the closet, running my hand one last time over the red sleeve. Will shuts off the light, so that all we can see is the mottled brightness of the moon, more yellow than white. Then he pulls a pouch from his pocket.
“Embers,” he explains, and dusts some over my head and arms. “No coat needed.”
Next come the Night Vision Variants. He opens the stopper and puts some of the sparkling paste on his fingertips. “Close your eyes?” He steps forward until he’s standing close enough for me to feel his breath. He smoothes the Night Vision over my eyelids. A pleasant thrill shoots through me at the feather-light touch of his fingertips, which lingers even after he applies his own Night Vision and stoppers the vial again.
He climbs onto my window seat, hoists open the window without a sound, and leaps onto the outreaching arm of the tree branch. Then he turns and holds out his hand to me.
I blink at him in wonder, looking around and past him as my eyes adjust to the darkness. I can see everything in a silvery cast, a shade lighter than shadows and outlines, as if the world has been dimly backlit.
Will smiles, and it is as bright as day.
“Are we going to use the Tempests?” I whisper, taking his hand and stepping onto the branch. I have to press up against him so that he can pull my window all but closed again.
“Not yet,” he says, and my disappointment must show, because he adds, “I promise you can try them soon.”
We shimmy down the tree, and I’m glad I spent so much time scaling the oak that towered over Mother’s garden in my backyard. “You really can climb,” he says when I jump from the bottom branch.
“Impressed?” I ask, but hope he’s not so impressed that he won’t try to take my hand again.
We stick to the shadows, and Will finds the shortest part of the garden wall for us to hop over. We head in the direction of town and school. The night air is chilled enough to pull my breath out in white puffs, but the Embers are working nicely. I have a sense of warmth that glows, as cozy as if I were wrapped in a blanket at the foot of a fire.
We move quickly on foot. “Where are we going?” I eventually ask.
