This Savage Song (Monsters of Verity #1)(39)

A strangled sound clawed up his throat.

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this life, with all its farces. He wanted to take up his violin and play and play and play until all the hunger was gone, until he stopped feeling like a monster. He wanted to scream, but then he thought of his sister’s voice turning the city to ash, and bit his tongue until pain filled his mouth in lieu of blood.

“Go on,” urged Emily, nudging him toward the elevator.

And he went, following the trail of blood, like bread crumbs, through the door.





“Rough night?” asked Kate, climbing the bleachers.

Freddie’s head was bowed over a book, but she could see the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

He didn’t look up. “That obvious?”

She dropped her bag. “You look like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” he said dryly, raking a hand through still-damp hair.

He kept his eyes on the book, but never turned the page.

Questions swam through her mind, each one trying to surface, but she held them under. She started rapping her fingers, then remembered Dr. Landry’s observations and forced herself to stop. She was going to bring up the violin, but he didn’t have it with him today. She tried to see what he was reading, or pretending to read, but the words were too small, so she sat there, trying to re-create the feeling she’d had the day before, the comfortable quiet they’d shared. But she couldn’t sit still. Exasperated, she dug her earbuds out and had them halfway to her head when Freddie spoke.

“What did you do?” he asked, turning the page.

Kate tensed a fraction, glad he couldn’t see. “What do you mean?”

Finally, he put the book aside. Plato. What kind of junior read philosophy for fun? “To get kicked out of another gym class.”

“Oh,” she said, touching her abdomen. “I have a terrible stomachache.”

Amusement flickered in his pale gray eyes. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, I hope I’m not coming down with something,” she said, slumping back against the bleachers with a smirk. “But you know what they say.”

“What do they say?”

“Fresh air is the best medicine.”

It would be too generous to call his expression a smile, but it was warm enough. She tucked her hair behind her ear and felt his gaze go straight to the scar. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed, but it was the first time he asked. “What happened?”

Weakness invites a knife. But the words rose up before she could stop them. “Car accident.”

Freddie didn’t automatically say sorry, as if it were his fault. (She hated when people did that). He only nodded and ran a thumb over the black lines on his wrist. “I guess we all have our marks.”

She reached out and brushed her fingers over the nearest tally, feeling him tense under the touch. “How many days sober?”

He pulled gently free. “Enough,” he said, tugging the cuff down to cover the skin.

The questions rattled in her head.

Who are you?

What are you hiding?

Why are you hiding it?

They were trying to get out, and she was about to let them, when Freddie spoke.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Kate sat forward. “Yes.” The word had come out faster than she’d planned, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes found hers, and there was something heavy about his gaze. Like she could feel it weighing on her. “What is it?” she pressed.

He leaned in. “I’ve never seen a forest up close.” And then, before she could say anything, he was pulling her down the bleacher steps and toward the trees.

“They smell like candles,” said Freddie, kicking up leaves.

“I’m pretty sure candles smell like them,” said Kate. “What kind of guy hasn’t seen trees?”

He lifted a crimson leaf, twirled it between his fingers. “The kind who lives in the red,” he said, letting it fall, “and has very protective parents.”

Kate’s pulse ticked up at the mention of family, but she kept her voice even. “Tell me about them.”

Freddie only shrugged. “They’re good people. They mean well.”

What are their names? she wanted to ask.

“What do they do?”

“My dad’s a surgeon,” he said, stepping over a fallen log. “Mom grew up in Fortune. She was just on the wrong side of the border when it closed.”

“That’s awful,” said Kate, and she meant it. It was bad enough that the Verity citizens were trapped inside; she often forgot about the foreigners. Wrong place, wrong time, a life erased because of bad luck.

“She doesn’t let on,” he said absently. “But I know it weighs on her.”

The mention of weight pulled Kate’s thoughts back to the iron pendant and the black ledgers.

Where did you get your medallion?

She swallowed. “So, only child?”

“Inquisitor?” he shot back, and then, to her relief, he said, “Youngest. You?”

She liked that he asked, even though he had to know.

“Only,” she answered.

In the distance the lunch bell rang, and Kate hesitated, but Freddie showed no signs of turning back. Instead he slumped down against a tree, his back against the trunk. Kate sank against its neighbor and mirrored the pose. Freddie dug a crisp, green apple from his bag and held it out.