Dark and Deepest Red(12)

They would also never guess that Lala now keeps the secret of a missing woman.

As Agnesona slips the jar from Enneleyn’s hands, Lala’s stomach pinches hard as a knot in thread.

She and Alifair saw Delphine in the fields outside the city, and have said nothing.

Because Lala insisted they say nothing.

And now Alifair’s guilt kicks at him. She can hear it at night, in the creaking of his bed, how he turns over and cannot sleep.

Her thoughts begin to spin, wondering over the safest place to confess. Perhaps the priest at Saint-Pierre-le-Vieux, the one who doesn’t fleece his flock for all they can tithe.

“Give it!” Melisende grabs at the jar again.

“So, Lavinia.” Agnesona gives the overdone air of pretending not to notice her sister. “How is your changeling? High summer must be his favorite time of year.”

Lala swallows a sigh. “Don’t call him that.”

“Come now.” Agnesona lifts a suggestive eyebrow. “If I were the love of a fairy prince, I’d tell everyone.”

Her tone is more mocking than whimsical, especially on the word prince.

“Not this again,” Enneleyn says.

“What?” Agnesona asks. “No one knows where he came from, and he’s prettier than the other boys.”

Lala’s stomach buckles, wondering if prettier means Agnesona suspects he was proclaimed a girl at birth.

“Sounds like a forest nixie, if you ask me.” Agnesona quirks her lips.

“Are you so desperate for gossip that you must dredge these shallows?” Enneleyn grabs the jar and hands it back to Melisende, settling the dispute with the quiet authority of an older sister.

A scream rises up from the lane. It slices through the bustle, quieting the shopkeepers who call out to customers.

Before Lala can even move, she imagines the scene.

Delphine, barely alive, running home with the wounds of wolves’ teeth spilling blood from her limbs.

Enneleyn throws the shutters wider.

The four of them crowd at the window.

A young woman—Isentrud, Lala recalls her name—kneels at her doorstep, recoiling from a mass of blood and flesh staining the cobble.

“What…” It is the only word Lala can produce before trailing off.

“A sheep’s afterbirth,” Enneleyn says, almost mournfully.

“They’ve left it at her father’s door to shame her,” Agnesona says, less mournfully.

Lala turns away before the sight of it lifts the acid from her stomach.

“Now everyone will know she’s lain with Guarin,” Melisende says.

“As though everyone didn’t know that,” Agnesona says.

Enneleyn rounds on them both. “Can’t you two think of anything better to do with your mincing mouths than make an awful thing worse?”

She storms from the room, the windows gilding her hair and gown.

The sisters lower their eyes.

Lala watches the corner of Enneleyn’s skirt vanish.

If her lips were still before, now they feel sealed in place. The blood, the wailing woman, it is all a reminder of what Lala had almost forgotten.

In Strasbourg, the only way to survive your own crimes is for no one to know of them.





Emil


Other towns scheduled school breaks around national holidays. In Briar Meadow, school let out for a few days in the middle of fall.

Years ago, according to Emil’s mother, it was supposed to be a time for children to help their parents sweep the strange magic out of their houses. They helped get the halos of dandelion fluff wind-borne, to point the out-of-season birds south, to wash the dresses that slipped out of closets and ended up in the mud, like they were making their own snow angels.

And maybe it was true, fifty years ago. Now the only sign of all that was friends dragging friends outside on the first freezing night of the season.

“Let’s just go see it,” Luke had said.

“Big deal,” Aidan had said. “It happens every year.”

“You must be a real joy to be around during the holidays.”

Emil never thought much about the glimmer over the reservoir. Sure, it looked a little like a Milky Way, small and bright and low, a cirrus cloud made of cosmic dust. But it would be there all week. He’d see it from a distance every time he went anywhere at night, at least until it dimmed and faded.

But raising any objection to Luke’s and Eddie’s enthusiasm wasn’t worth the effort. Path of least resistance, like current through a circuit. So Emil had thrown on his jacket and gone out to the reservoir.

Where his friends proceeded to ignore the sweep of light below the clouds and talk about the physics of a drop experiment.

“It won’t reduce the impulse enough,” Eddie said.

“Like you have a better idea,” Luke said.

“Actually, I do.” Eddie unfurled a blueprint from his back pocket.

“That”—Aidan slapped at the paper—“will break if you breathe on it wrong.”

“Why, exactly, did we come all the way out here to do this?” Emil asked.

“Hey, Woodlock,” Aidan said, “tell them I’m right.”

“Oh no.” Emil backed up, showing them his palms. “I’m not taking sides here. I learned my lesson with the magnetic fields.”