Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(58)

“Because you’re meeting that guy Whit. That buyer. You’re pawning off stuff from the Realms.”

“No, actually.”

The Heiress comes toward me. I don’t back away, even though part of me wants to, and she opens the bag a few inches so I can glimpse inside. I expect to see silver, but instead I see green. The Heiress is carrying a crap-ton of cash.

“I’m the buyer,” she tells me, enunciating each word. “I’m recovering artifacts sold away from Havenfall long ago. I’m bringing them back to the inn so they’ll be safe. So can you please make yourself scarce and we’ll talk about this later?”

“No,” I say, planting my feet, trying to hide that her words have taken me off guard. Then who sold them in the first place? “If that were true, you wouldn’t be sneaking around. Marcus would have known if something like that was happening.”

At that the Heiress laughs, short and harsh. “You think I’m the one who brought this trade to Haven?”

My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that there are many things your uncle has kept from you.”

The anger roars up under my skin in a heartbeat, like embers sparking to life. “Marcus would never do something like that. Havenfall is his whole life. Literally his whole life.” I step forward. “He would never put it in danger like this—”

A faint rumble makes us both look sharply down the road. In the distance down the mountain, a rusty nineties station wagon is making its winding way up toward town, the sun reflecting off its tan hood.

The Heiress grabs my shoulder, making me jump. Her cowboy hat falls off into the dirt and she ignores it; her strong fingers dig in like claws. “Listen to me, Madeline,” she says again. “The purchase I’m about to make—it has to go through. Hide and watch in the trees if you want, and I’ll explain everything after. I swear it. But you must let me do this.”

There’s something new in her tone now, a ragged urgency. Her rich, throaty voice has always been the only part of her that really has seemed centuries old.

“Think,” she tells me, one hand on the reins and one on me. “If I were the orchestrator of all this, why would I have left Havenfall for so long? It was my home too, and the center of the trade besides. Why would I have left the black market’s black heart?”

I don’t know what to say to that. I can scarcely process anything she’s said. She’s accusing Marcus of being involved in this, somehow. Just the thought makes rage race through my veins.

But she’s buying, not selling. The idea of hanging back and watching feels so wrong, but the thought of letting Whit carry away any piece of Havenfall is even worse. It makes my skin crawl. If my goal is to keep Realms objects safe and secret in Havenfall, I need to let this deal go through.

The station wagon chugs up the road, closer and closer.

“Okay,” I finally say. I jerk free of the Heiress’s hand and back away, toward the trees opposite the antique shop, where there’s a clear view of the window. “Fine. Do what you have to do. But then you’re going to tell me everything.”





15

I feel stupid, hiding in the trees like this. This isn’t a child’s game. I should be in there with the Heiress, and yet here I am, on the outside, waiting.

Earlier, someone opened the antique store and let both the Heiress and Whit in. All I can see now is their shapes in the lighted window. Occasionally, the Heiress breaks from their huddle to pace the floor, the hem of her cloak one misstep away from knocking over all the dusty silver and porcelain and bringing the whole place tumbling down. A buzz in my pocket makes me jump.

I fumble for my phone to put it on silent. See that I’ve gotten a text from Dad. Miss you too sweetie!!

I ignore him. No time for that now.



Finally, finally, Whit leaves and drives away. The Heiress comes out and we head to the twenty-four-hour diner in tense silence; she’s leading her horse on foot down the side of the road.

She has her cloak balled up under her arm, worry and annoyance creasing her usually serene face. It’s starting to get hot out, but my insides feel cold as ice with anger and confusion.

Inside the diner, the girl at the hostess stand—maybe fifteen, brown ponytail sticking out of a green O’Connor’s hat—looks uncertainly between us when we come in, clearly picking up on the tension, although she doesn’t bat an eye at the Heiress’s strange outfit. She seats us at the big booth in the far corner and leaves the Heiress and me to stew in our solitude, the expanse of speckled plastic table stretching like an ocean between us.

The Heiress is glowering, clearly agitated, waves of distress and irritation rolling off her. She gazes out the window at Main Street, and I can’t tell if she’s lost in thought or avoiding my gaze or both. But I’m not going to let her off the hook that easy.

“So.” I put my elbows on the table, leaning forward so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “You said that this wasn’t what I thought it was. Fill me in. What is it really?”

The Heiress turns her gaze on me finally, looking like she’d rather be somewhere, anywhere, else. Without makeup, she looks even older, softer. She has a heart-shaped face, a sharp chin, and eyes that are still gray and clear and piercing.

“What do you know?” she asks me.