Page 211 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
She might never understand his disappearance, go on looking for him for the rest of her life, but with luck, that life would flourish and linger for quite some time to come.
With luck—and the protection of that clod betrothed to her—so would Shorty’s.
Thirty-Four
Amy
Thehotspringswereas I’d imagined—steamy. Thankfully, they were also private, like nobody else knew they existed. Which couldn’t have been true, as close to the village as they were. Maybe people were too busy during the day for a splash. As Pete had stated—there were chores to be done—and no one there seemed content to slack.
Except me. And I’d feel guilty about that later—after I’d gorged on human tech.
Kicking off my boots, I plopped on the edge of a teal pool and dangled my legs in its soothing, bubbling, salty water, scrolling with single-minded swiftness to my texts.
I started at the beginning—from the day Morus stole my real phone. I’d missed several inane texts from friends and family after the theft: Aunt Aylie asking me to buy more milk after my date with Briar; Vi begging for help with her American lit essay; Zahra asking if I’d “tapped that ass yet” (Briar’s, I assumed); and one from Olivia inquiring about my schedule for June. She and Grace had discussed going to a Pirates game and wanted to know if I’d tag along—and if they could crash at my place while in Pittsburgh.
Sounds like fun, I thought, wistful.Hope they went without me.
The next message was from Daddy, telling me to have fun at my first Beltane, that he’d see me when I got home. That he loved me.
I skipped past any texts that came through the night of Daddy’s death. Superfluous details of what led to that horror weren’t welcome. Nor were reminders of what I was doing when the shit first hit the fan.
The next day, however, a slew of texts from my friends had flooded my phone. All in response to my cryptic parting message. They ranged in sentiments, but the gist was this: “What do you mean you’re not coming back to school next semester? Are you okay? Are you crazy? You can’t do that! What about your degree? Did you find a swanky job or something? Are you pregnant or something? Call us, we want to talk to you!”
My friends would think I’d ghosted them, and I felt horrendous about that. We’d been better friends than that. I should’ve followed Briar’s advice and invented a story explaining my sudden disappearance from their lives—a sense of closure. But having just discovered that I’d been living a lie for the past 16 years, I couldn’t bring myself to outright dishonesty. Omission was a purer option, I’d thought.
When I came to my most recent voicemail, however, I regretted my nebulousness. Because it was from all three of my college buddies, together. And they didn’t live near one another.
“If you haven’t already officially withdrawn from UPJ, don’t,” Olivia ordered a little more than a week after I’d crossed the portal. “Give us the chance to convince you not to.”
“Don’t even think about skipping town this weekend!” Zahra shouted in the background. “Because we’re all coming to see you. Whether you like it or not, we’re going to knock some sense back into your head. And if that hunky jerk you’ve been hanging with has anything to do with this reckless decision to leave school, then I’m going to tell him what’s what!”
“I got your address off the History Club rosters,” Grace piped in, giggling as usual. “We know where you live, and we’re coming. Today. See you in two hours.”
“Bye!” they all chimed together in varying tones.
I decided to go through the rest of my inbox later, the first voicemail a boulder in my heart.
I’d spurred my loyal friends into a wild goose chase that would only end in disappointment. Obviously, I wouldn’t be there for them to find and lecture. And who knew how long they’d spend after their initial road trip trying to track me down? They were a persistent gaggle.
On the other hand, that voicemail was the last one I’d received, so maybe they’d decided to let me go when they’d arrived at my house to find it abandoned. They’d continue questioning what happened to me, but if they weren’t still calling and texting—maybe I shouldn’t feel atrocious for vanishing on them. Maybe.
Finally, I turned off my MulBerry and rose from my dip, toes wrinkly. Not waiting for my feet to dry, I grabbed my boots and padded back toward the village. I paused at the warden’s hut, where Sionna lazed in the doorway, happy as a house pet. Beyond her, the hut was still, quiet. Pete was probably still asleep, although for once he was breathing quietly. He had half an hour left of his requested nap, so I set my boots by the door and moseyed off to find lunch, my stomach grumbling.
Food from the bakery was free. Relieving, since I had no seeds. Finding somewhere to eat was a trickier affair. Cliques had gathered around the various fires, and nobody welcomed me when I drew near with my bowl and cup. Very much the outsider, I wound up taking a stump by the least populated fire on the outskirts of the village square. The few there didn’t speak to me as I ate.
I tried to relax and enjoy my lunch—a scrumptious stew of savory blue fish, spicy turnips, green potato, and something that looked like carrots but was called nullion—but I struggled to ignore the touch of eyes, the whispers carried on sea breezes.
So uncomfortable it pained me, I was grateful when a flock of rowdy, squealing children blundered into my circle and somehow managed to tramp out the campfire.
“Blooming hell!” the Dwarf across from me railed. He had a patchy black beard and a sourpuss face. The little ones huddled together as he shook his meaty fist at them. “Now we’ll have to find more flint, you wee savages, and Master Hickinbottom haint into smelding afore he’s finished his lessons!”
I blinked, wondering what smelding was.
“Pipe down, Bumble,” a beyn with short, pitch-black hair and narrow, veiny wings scolded the Dwarf. Barely five feet tall and dumpling plump, she flapped into the circle, where two Middlings sat to Bumble’s right, trying to eat while he blew a gasket. “They meant nay harm. No need to belittle the chits.” Her stubby arms opened for the faelets scurrying to her comfort.
“Oh, no?” Bumble groused, setting fists upon his hips. He wagged his head, sassy as a teenage girl. “And how d’you propose we finish the dyeing, now the fire’s stamped to cinders?”
As anxious as I’d been, I hadn’t noticed the clay cauldron sitting on stones amid the fire pit. I supposed that’s where the dyeing was, steeping in purple water. A large wooden paddle idled in a cooling soup of berries and fabric.
