Brightly Burning(69)

I jumped up, making for the door, feeling strange, but pushing it aside. I found the source of the light—?my door had been left open. Something had been inside my room. My heart skittered against my rib cage as I poked my head into the corridor, which appeared empty. I patted myself down, from chest to knees, checking for damage.

“Lights on just a bit, Rori,” I managed with a shaky voice, squinting at the light, meager as it was. My bed, the wardrobe—?everything was fine. No fire. Except . . . there seemed to be something on my pillow. It was dark—?was that blood? I crept closer.

It wasn’t blood. My hands flew to my head, feeling with useless fingers for what was no longer there. My hair. Someone had cut it all off.


Chapter Twenty-Three


My feet carried me out to Hugo’s room before my brain could second-guess it. I pounded on the door until my palms hurt, taking care not to glance in either direction down the corridor. I dared not stare into the black, for fear I might see something lurking in the shadows.

Finally, Hugo answered the door. “Stella, what is it?” he said, then caught sight of my appearance, eyes going wide. “What happened to your hair?”

“Someone broke into my room and cut it while I was sleeping. Just like someone broke into your room and set the bed on fire.” My voice started small, then rose, all the mishaps and accidents flooding back, screaming in my mind. “Someone sabotaged the airlock. And attacked Mr. Mason.” I pounded my fists against Hugo’s chest, pushing him back a foot. “What are you hiding? Tell me!” On my next downswing, Hugo caught my wrists, holding me fast.

“Stella, I’m sorry.” He pulled me into a tight embrace, and I could feel him grasp at the remains of my hair with his fingers.

“Don’t apologize,” I said. “Tell me the truth. Who would do this? And why?”

Hugo peered down at me, eyes searching mine for something—?forgiveness? “I never thought she’d hurt you.”

“Who? Please tell me.”

He pulled back, his look turned wild and cold, grabbed my hand, and tugged me into the corridor. “Follow me.”

I tripped along behind him, struggling to keep up. Hugo’s strides were long and determined; he knew exactly where we were going. Soon enough, I did too. The elevator, normally locked against my use, took us up to Deck One at Hugo’s command.

“Once you’ve seen what is upstairs, you may change your mind about me,” he said as we lifted off. “I want you to know that it’s okay. I wouldn’t blame you.”

His ominous words did nothing to calm my anxiety, which rose like the tide as we ascended. The doors dinged open to reveal a perfectly ordinary corridor, except that it dead-ended in a bulkhead with an extra-large door. Hugo’s grip on my hand went tighter, his palm sweatier than before; I realized he wasn’t fixed fast to me to keep me in his stride, but rather he needed the comfort of my touch. Whatever was behind that door terrified him.

Still, Hugo approached the bulkhead with measured speed, letting go of my hand to open the bio-lock. “Stand behind me,” he commanded as the door slid open.

With that kind of warning, I expected something—?or someone—?to jump out at me, bearing claws. Instead, I found myself stepping into living quarters just like any others on board. Lights dimmed low with the same superfluous elegant features as Hugo’s study—?wood paneling, tapestries, furniture made of buttery leather—?we stepped through the hatch door into a drawing-cum-dining space, where a figure dozed in a large, overstuffed lounge chair.

“Lieutenant Poole?”

Poole stirred, blinking first at Hugo, then at me. Her eyes went wide. “What is she doing here? And what happened to her hair?”

It was like the oxygen left the room; I half expected to be vented into space, my lungs burning, tears pricking at my eyes. I started to cry hot, stupid tears. It was only hair. Except it also wasn’t. It was as if the world was collapsing out from under me.

“Where is your patient?” Hugo asked, to Poole’s confused look.

“Asleep. Where else would she be?”

Hugo inclined his head toward me, to my hair. He flinched at my tears, which I was desperately trying to paw away, but soon my thin sleeve was soaked and my nose started to run too.

“Frex,” Poole said, immediately sweeping into the next room. It was dark, but I could make out a bedroom. Then an earsplitting laugh. The laugh.

“That’s the laugh I heard, over and over!” I moved behind Hugo, burying my face in his shoulder.

“I know,” Hugo said darkly. “She thinks it’s hilarious, what she does. She’s not herself.”

“Who?” I asked, peering around Hugo to see Lieutenant Poole frogmarching a figure toward us. The light revealed a woman, a mass of dark curls obscuring her features momentarily, until she violently shook her head, attempting to wrench free of Poole’s grasp. And then I saw her eyes, and it was horrifically clear.

“Stella, meet my mother, Cassandra Fairfax,” Hugo said, voice drained of all energy. I stepped out from behind him to get a better look, and immediately she went into a frenzy.

“Phillip, get away from her!” Cassandra screeched, nearly breaking out of Lieutenant Poole’s grasp. “She’s trying to steal you away!”

“She thinks I’m my father,” Hugo explained sadly.