Page 30 of Juniper Unraveling

Abel’s eyes light up, and though the dimples in his cheeks aren’t as deep as usual, they’re a welcomed sight.

I pull the cake from my sleeve, where I tucked it, and break off a piece, handing it to him. “Don’t let anyone see you. It’s just our secret.”

He nods, accepting the cake through the fence, and hides behind his bunny to eat it. One thing about my brother, he’s always been stealthy about food. When my mom made fig jam, she often found a half empty jar in Abel’s bed blankets, where he snuck it away to at night.

When he finishes the small bit of cake, I offer another piece. And another, until the cake is finally gone.

I stroke his thumb and kiss his little fingers poked through the fence. “Is Doctor Davis nice to you, Abel?”

“Him nice. But sometimes him not.”

Frowning, I swallow the lump in my throat and dare myself to ask the question burning a hole in my head. “Has he … hurt you?”

Abel tucks the bunny up under his chin and casts his gaze from mine.

“Abel? Does he hurt you?”

His eyes almost cross as he focuses all his attention on my finger in front of him, and he picks at my nail there. “Sometimes, him turn the lights off and tell me scary things.”

I squeeze the chain links, mentally willing myself to keep the anger in check. “Does he hit you?”

“Not him. Da other man. Him tells me I’m bad.” His lips curl to a pout and tremble, as if he might cry again, but he doesn’t. “Him says he’s tell Deebis dat I’m bad and for to lock me in the monster room.”

Heat fills my cheeks as the anger rises to my face, stiffening my jaw. “The monster room?”

He points to the left, and I follow the path of his finger toward the Ragers pacing behind the fence. “It’s where dem sleep.” Clutching the bunny tight, he shakes his head with a shine to his eyes. “I telled him I won’t cry anymore.”

“No. Don’t cry Abel. Every day, I’m going to come visit you. Every day. You meet me here after you eat, okay?” I muster a smile, in spite of the urge to implode. “You meet me right here. I’ll try to bring a gift again, if I can. Okay?”

“Okay, Nenny. I meet you here.”

I press my finger to my lips and poke it through the fence, as the horn blares that supper has ended. “I love you.”

Abel does the same, pressing his finger to mine. “Yuv you.”

Chapter 10

Wren

A soft tickle at my temple draws me from sleep, and I open my eyes to Six pushing the strands of hair from my face. Between us, our hands are still clasped together, as when we fell asleep.

His face is stoic, unreadable, as he studies me, but the sunlight filtering in from behind frames him in a soft glowing halo.

A knock tightens my muscles, but it’s not at my bedroom door. It’s from below. Voices bleed through the floor, one of them Papa’s, and I lift my head to listen, rapping it on the underside of the bed.

“Ouch. Shit.” I rub at the ache and glance back to Six with remorse for cursing. Remaining still and quiet, I hear Papa’s mumbling through the floorboards. Talking to someone.

I twist back around to Six and place my fingers over my closed lips for him to stay quiet and still.

He nods, pulling my pillow and clasping it to his chest, while I slide out from under the bed. Padding quietly across the room, I crack the door and stare down through the bannister, to where I can see the front entrance.

Two Legion soldiers, dressed completely in black, stand at either side of Arty, one of the guards from the gate, who’s dressed casually. He’s a pudgy man, with thinning hair and tired eyes, and looks small and insignificant beside the other two, but he’s the one who does the talking, as the other soldiers lift their gazes, scanning the interior of the house. There’s a vague familiarity to one of them—a stout blond who stands stiff as a board with his chin angled high. All Legion soldiers carry themselves with a certain proud arrogance, but his is almost haughty, reminding me of the boys I run into at the market sometimes.

They like to tease me. Call me a freak. Savage. I don’t attend their schools, so to them, I’m different, and different is frowned upon here.

One asked me to accompany him to Third Street a while back, a block made up of brand new, empty homes in the Phase Three neighborhood. When I refused, he ended up butt-hurt about it and knocked me backward into one of the fruit stands behind me, spilling all of the potatoes I’d collected onto the ground. He and his friends have been cruel to me ever since.

“If you see anything, be sure to let me know right away,” Arty says, removing his worn cap and rubbing his skull. “I know you got Wren to worry about.”