The Glass Arrow(42)

“That’s what I was hoping for,” I say weakly.

“Mr. Greer says you’re going to come play at my house. We can play on the wall screen if you want. Or a demolition game. I’m good at that.”

“I’m sure you are.” I’m standing rigid. Every bone in my body seems to be perfectly aligned.

“I’m nine,” he says suddenly. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” I say.

“Do you like elk? It’s my favorite.”

Even though I’ve just eaten, my stomach lurches with hunger pains. It’s been some time since I’ve had any kind of real meat. I’m nearly salivating just thinking about it.

“It’s fine,” I answer.

“Do you like dog fights?”

I cringe. “Not at all.”

He frowns at this, and his face reddens. His eyes grow even beadier, like black beans. I’m surprised at how quickly he becomes angry.

“You’ve got to like it. Mr. Greer says you’ll like whatever I say.”

“Mr. Greer lied,” I say sharply. I am not about to be talked to this way by a nine-year-old, I don’t care who his father is.

“Mr. Greer never lies,” says Mr. Greer. I turn towards him for the first time, and there is a strange, satisfied glow in his brown eyes. “Amir, play with your toy for a while, I’m going to speak with the girl.”

“But…”

“Go play, Amir.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, and he collapses back onto the floor. He grabs the horse in a pouty way, and begins slamming it about.

“So Mayor Ryker didn’t want to see me for himself?” I say quietly, trying to control the edge in my tone. Mr. Greer is sitting on a red velvet chair, and in the dim lighting from the small lamp on the table beside him, he looks positively evil. He motions for me to step closer. I don’t want to, but my guard is still nearby, and if I don’t play along, the Watcher will surely be summoned.

I take a step towards him.

“Closer, girl. Your name is Clover, is that right?” His voice has a rasp that makes my spine tingle.

I take one more step forward, and balance lightly on the balls of my feet in case I need to back away quickly.

“I am called Clover,” I say.

“But that’s not what you like to be called, is it?”

“It’s not my name.”

“And what is your name?”

It’s a simple answer, but for some reason it feels far too personal.

“What’s it matter to you?” I say.

“You’re right.” He places a hand on my waist. I slap it away, harder than he expects, I think. He laughs. “It matters very little, as long as you come when called.”

I say nothing, just glare at him, burning holes right through his hidden face.

“The answer to your previous question is no, Mayor Ryker does not need to see you for himself. He’s already got four other girls, three of them First Rounders.”

I don’t hide my revulsion. “Sounds like he’s got more than his fair share. Why does he need me?”

“He doesn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Greer laughs again and attempts to run his hand down my side.

“Don’t,” I snap.

“I mean that you aren’t for him.”

My gut clenches as I picture myself becoming the property of this man. I’ve never heard of a Magnate buying someone for their servant.

“I’m not for you,” I say.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Quick as a rattler, he grabs my hand and pulls me forward, and I nearly fall onto his lap. In the struggle I dislodge the scarf from his face. He releases me, and I jerk back to a stand. The Watcher is very close now. A warning hand is placed atop his wire.

As Mr. Greer is replacing his covering, the edge of the raised scar on his right cheek draws a gasp to my lips.

“Problems?” asks the Governess. She’s standing behind me, gripping my shoulders so hard I wince.

“No problems, Azalea,” he says after a moment of strained silence. “Clover and I were just discussing the terms of this transaction.”

“Ah,” says the Governess. “Some tea, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

No one says anything for what seems like a long time. The Governess releases my arms. “I did tell you she was spirited, did I not?” She laughs at herself, a little too hard.

“Which is why she was chosen,” says Mr. Greer. She quiets at his tone.

“I need to talk to you,” I say to the Governess. I don’t really, but I need to get away from this man. The scar on his cheek’s got me spooked; it reminds me of the thugs that snatched me from the mountains.

“Later.” Her cheeks quiver a little before she turns back to our visitors.

“I don’t feel good,” I say.

With a fake smile she smooths down my hair, the way my ma used to do. When I pull back she holds my head in place with her tight grasp.

“You feel just fine,” she says. But there’s a flash of pity in her eyes. “Shall I go start the paperwork?”

Mr. Greer nods and gives a dismissive grunt, and with nothing more to say, the Governess retreats through the entrance, followed by her Pip assistant. The room is full of girls and suitors, but I’m all alone. Mr. Greer watches me the way fox watches a rabbit.