But now he’s not just the man who broke my arm or gave me a black eye weeks ago. He’s a murderer.
“It’s going to be okay,” Farren whispers.
I look down at her, pressed against a wall of towels, my hands caging her in. So close. So stunning. “How did you know I needed to hear that?”
She gives me a small smile. “Because I see all of you. Right?” Then she squeezes my forearm. “The quicker the better. I feel it this way,” Farren says as she opens the door and pulls me toward the right. A place I’m all too familiar with. My room? Why would the gold be in my room?
Farren and I slip inside and immediately I think she can tell where we are. My trophies and metals adorn a bookcase. The championship bowl from last racing season crowds an entire shelf. Otherwise my room is a large expanse of order and plainness. It feels uninhabited, cleaning solution wafting through the air.
“A good representation of you?” Farren teases.
“Maybe an old me,” I say on reflex until the truth of that statement knocks me sideways. I refuse to live in this cage ever again.
Farren closes her eyes, feeling for gold. I join her and we both move toward my closet.
I open the door and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. But something, a sixth sense, nudges to go inside. I slide my clothes out of the way. In the deep recesses is a trunk with all my old baby things. Mom never threw any of that stuff out. A silver lock that wasn’t there before holds the chest closed. I craft it open and like we’ve found treasure I crack open the lid. The gold sits before us: disheveled pieces of Farren’s shield, broken by brute force. But it’s maybe one-tenth of what lay on that cavern floor.
“They must have scattered it,” Farren says, a mix of relieved and anxious. “At least we found some of it.”
“And what do you think you’ve found?” a harsh voice says from behind us. And I know that voice, I know that voice like it’s my own, having lived with the sound bearing down on me my whole childhood. I turn around to my father standing in the doorway.
Mom’s plan seems to have failed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOURWHEN YOU DON’T KNOW WHO THE MONSTER IS
FARREN
“What’s this?” Mr. Murphy asks, confusion written across his face. “Why are you here?”
He really didn’t think we’d come? Thought we’d sit back and do nothing? “We’ve come to take it back,” I answer, settling into a fighting stance as James tenses beside me. “Nity’s babies will die without this.”
“This?” His eyes widen at the piece of gold I hold. “That’s gold?” Mr. Murphy asks.Asks, as if he doesn’t know. I hesitate. Something’s off.
“Of course it’s gold,” James says, but even he sounds bewildered. “You had your scalers steal it for you.”
“Iwhat?”
I sheath my forearm in gold. I don’t like how this conversation is turning, but all my senses prickle with warning, telling me not to trust this attempt to disarm us.
Mr. Murphy backsteps. “Gold-crafting?” he says, again with that questioning tone. I don’t understand. Why does he keep reacting this way?
Before I can open my mouth, James sends the rest of the gold to hook around his father’s chest, clamping him against the bedroom wall.
Mr. Murphy’s eyes go wild. His fists clench and I know he’s crafting, or trying to. For once in his life, he can’t manipulate metal. “Release me,” he commands. “Son, release me.”
James slowly shakes his head. “You can drop the act.”
“Act?” his father spits. “Explain this right now, James. Right now.”
James glances at me. “I don’t know,” I whisper. But no matter what I’m still grateful he’s trapped against the wall. That he isn’t going to hurt us.
The door bangs open then, and James’s mother rushes in. “What’s going on? What was that sound?” Her gaze flicks from her son, to her husband trapped in gold, to my arm, wrapped in it.
“Aine. So, this was the plan?” Mr. Murphy growls as he struggles against his brace.
“Come on, kids. Come on.” James’s mom waves us out of the room, her pale green skirts billowing.
With one look James and I follow.
