Incarnate

I twisted my flashlight until a beam shot out, illuminating cobblestones as the library door shut. “I’m going to help him. Somehow. Anyone who thinks a progress report is more important can lick the bottom of my shoe. After my turn cleaning the pig rSine made a face. “You’re learning that from Stef, aren’t you?”

“I’ve gone along with the Council’s demands.” My breath misted on the chill air. “I like learning things. I probably would have asked, regardless of the Council’s instructions. But I’m just one nosoul. The only one. What does it matter to you if I know the best time for growing rice? What is the Council so afraid I’ll do if you don’t keep me busy?”

She just stared at me, wrapped in the armor of her coat and hood. “Curfew. Better hurry.”

Blinking away tears of frustration, which threatened to freeze on my eyelashes, I spun toward South Avenue and walked as quickly as I could. There was a shorter way Sam sometimes took us, but it involved more turns on unfamiliar roads, by unfamiliar houses.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh to Sine, but now that I considered my own words, it was a good question. Were they afraid of me?

I tried to imagine what Sam would say, were he in a mood to talk. The people of Heart had been… how they were… for five thousand years. They knew one another, and could more or less predict what everyone would do in certain situations. But I was a new thing. Unknown. I’d been tucked away for eighteen years, and they hadn’t had to think about me, but now I was back, filled up with my own thoughts and opinions.

What would I do?

Right now, I just wanted to help Sam. And, come masquerade day, I wanted to be invisible. Just a few hours of no one knowing me, judging me, and waiting to see if I would destroy everything.

I counted roads until I found the one that led to Sam’s. The flashlight illuminated nothing unusual, just my breath on the air and a few flakes of snow swirling on the breeze. I shivered as trees rustled, as though preparing themselves for blankets.

My new shoes tapped on the cobblestones in a steady one-two. A three-four came from behind me, muffled with attempts at stealth, but with the whole city hushed and waiting for snow, every sound mattered.

Perhaps it was nothing, just someone else going home late, but when I glanced over my shoulder, I couldn’t see anything, not even a shadow. Darkness thickened, as complete as the should-be silence. If I turned my flashlight behind me, they’d know I was aware I wasn’t alone.

I almost did it, ready to yell for whoever to stop sneaking behind me, but then I remembered Li at the market, and dread crept inside me with the cold. Choosing the cowardly route, I walked faster, bringing my scarf over my face so the chill didn’t dry my throat.

The footsteps followed me all the way to Sam’s road, and by then my heart had raced ahead of me, taking my weakness with it. I spun and swung my flashlight beam across the street, but the thin glow met only a dusty veil of snowflakes and darkness. Brush hissed along the side of the road, but I was too slow to see if it was anything more than a deer.

No, I’d definitely heard footsteps. I stared toward where the pine needles still whispered in someone’s wake, but nothing happened. For a few minutes, I stood in the middle of the road, trying to decide if it would be worth going after my pursuer.

Visions of someone leaping out at me made me stay where I was. Going after someone unknown in the dark and cold and almost-snow — that wasn’t brave. That was exceedingly stupid.

After straining my ears a minute longer, stretching to hear something other than my own breath and heartbeat, I ran the rest of the way down the road as fast as I could, repeating to myself that facing anyone would have been stupid. Running away was smart.

Fleeing like a mouse with a cat on its heels was smart, but definitely not brave. I hated letting someone get to me like that.

When I finally reached the walk up to Sam’s house, I slowed to breathe. The last thing Sam needed now was to hear me stagger in, afraid of footsteps in the dark. Footsteps that hadn’t even done anything.

Straining all my senses for the unfamiliar, I crept up the snow-dusted walkway and into the house. The parlor was dark as I closed the door behind me, careful not to let it click too loudly. I turned off my flashlight and rested it on the table, closing my eyes to let them adjust before I moved farther into the room.

If anyone had been following me, they weren’t anymore. And I was safe with Sam — though maybe not right now.

He was sprawled on the sofa, book fallen from one hand while the other rested on his chest, which rose and fell with long, steady breaths. I didn’t fight my relief as I crossed the room and knelt beside him. When he tilted his face toward me and smiled, then mumbled, “I waited up for you,” I dared to think he’d be okay again.

“Come on,” I whispered, putting his book on the table so he didn’t trip. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He mm-hmmed and let me drag him to his feet. We stumbled upstairs and into his room, crowded with dark shapes. Wardrobe, shelves, harp, and bed. Books waited like traps across the floor, surprising, given how tidy he usually was. He must have been feeling more awful than I’d realized. I nudged them out of the way with my toe before guiding Sam to the near side of his bed.

He sat with a sleepy grunt and sway, and I steadied him with my hands on his shoulders. “Are you sure you want to sleep in your clothes?” Not that I knew where he kept his nightclothes.

“Yeah.” He dropped to his side and tugged blankets over his waist. “Thank you, Ana. Glad you’re home.” He squeezed my wrist and was asleep again without waiting for a response.

“Sleep well.” Before I lost my nerve, I leaned over, kissed his cheek, and breathed in his scent. Herbs, like what he’d given me the night he saved me from Rangedge Lake. “Tomorrow will be better. You’ll see.” I tiptoed through the gauntlet of books on his floor, glanced at his sleeping figure one more time, and sighed.

On the way to my bedroom, I paused by the stairs, on the balcony overlooking the parlor, and tiptoed to the front door. Sam didn’t usually, because everyone knew and trusted one another — sort of — but tonight, thinking about someone following me through the streets of Heart, I locked the door.

Chapter 18 Past

DANCE LESSONS WITH Stef. Chores. Even with last night’s footsteps haunting my dreams, our morning progressed as usual.

After a quick shower, I headed downstairs to the piano. Sam always gave me a few minutes of practice before joining me, and while I still made plenty of mistakes, he never said anything unless I did the same thing during our lesson proper.

He’d explained about rhythm and dynamics, showed me their markings on the sheet music, and helped me find the best way to reach keys with my smaller-than-average hands. When I made mistakes, I practiced that section until I could do it correctly ten times in a row; for whatever reason, this made him proud. I just wanted to be good.

I played through a short etude, trying to focus on the notes rather than the way Sam and I had danced this morning. But it was difficult.

Stef usually taught me, but sometimes she took a turn on the piano and made Sam get up and dance. He always obliged, but his posture was all reluctance: His shoulders curled forward, he didn’t meet my gaze, and he moved stiffly. Until about halfway through whatever piece Stef was making us practice. Then, he’d be in the dance as surely as anyone who’d known it for a thousand years. During the slow dances, like we’d practiced this morning, he held me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. As if I were someone else.

I blinked and tried to find where I was in the music. My hands had worked without me, but now that I was paying attention again, I couldn’t remember where I was. I glanced at the end — the coda — just as I played the last chord. Hopefully I hadn’t messed it up too badly. Just because he didn’t say anything didn’t mean he wasn’t listening to every note.

A prelude was next on the stack of music. It was one of his recent compositions, merely a hundred years old.