there in my nightgown. To be sure, it was a winter nightgown—all white cotton with a lace collar and shoulders, and the frilly hem fell past my knees—but it was still a nightgown. And I had the impression that Quentin was staring at my ankles and feet. Somehow my feet weren’t simply bare; they were nude.
I stepped back over to my bed, picked up the coverlet, and hesitated. Somehow, climbing back into bed with a man in my room would be worse. He would be there, seeing my nice bed, still warm from my body, the sheets still rumpled with the imprint of where I had been lying… and my hair spread across the pillow…
I was being ridiculous. This wasn’t a man. This was Quentin. He was three or four years younger than me. And short. He was just a child. He probably did not even know which sex I was yet.
I turned back to him. “Are you a vampire, all of a sudden?”
“I called on God without choking. No, that was just in case Mrs. Wren’s ward would interfere.”
“Interfere with what?”
Quentin had a quiet, solemn voice. “I am performing a demonstration.”
“How did you get up to the window?”
He just shook his head.
I said, “You climbed, right? Why didn’t you dress more warmly?”
“I needed lightweight things. I hope you trust me, Amelia, after all these years. None of us has any other family.”
Something in the way he said that brought a tear to my eye. I raised my hand and wiped my cheeks. I said, “I trust you.”
“I need your help. There is a weight too heavy for one person to lift. I am not sure what your Talent is, but I know it has to do with weight.”
“Mass,” I said.
“Will you come with me?” he stood up. “The Visitors and Governors are determining our fate, and one of us must be, simply must be, in a position to overhear the meeting.”
I shook my head. “I promised the Headmaster.”
“Ah…” He sank back down again and crouched before the dying embers.
I said, “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”
“Had I that power, I would have used it on you long ago, Amelia.” He stirred the ashes with his walking stick, and red flames jumped up for a moment. “Do you remember when I wrecked my bike?”
“The same summer you almost drowned.”
“I also fell from a tree that June.”
“You actually did fall from a tree? I thought you were just saying that. I thought Colin beat you up.”
He stirred the coals. “Colin does not beat me up. You all think I am a coward, when all I am is polite.”
He was silent for a moment, but he turned his head and looked at me in my nightgown. His gaze traveled up and down.
I said, “What about the tree fall? Yes, I remember that summer.”
“You were upset because I had a finer bike, a boy’s bike, even though you were older. You held my head in the sink until I agreed to let you ride it. Do you remember?”
“I am sorry about that, Quentin, but you make me so mad sometimes…”
He raised his hand slowly. “Do not apologize. Never apologize. You don’t know what you are giving away. The fact is, I did not keep my promise, did I?”
“Well, the bike wrecked. Was there a point to this story?”
“Broken oaths are bad luck eggs.”
That was so weird, I did not know what to say. So I said, “Eggs?”
“They hatch bad luck.” He stood up, closed his eyes, and held his walking stick out at arm’s length. After a moment or two, as his arm got tired, the stick wobbled.
He opened his eyes, paused for a moment, went over to the door, put his hand against it. He put his hand on the latch…
“Stop!” I said.
He looked at me, curious.
“Vanity thought the door was being watched. We should trust her hunches.”
He nodded. “By your promise, you granted him the authority to be aware of the door. He substituted a physical lock for a lock of a stronger type.” He took his hand away from the door and stepped over toward my bed.
He sat down on the bed with his walking stick held between his hands, his elbows on his knees, his gaze on his feet.
I raised a hand and played with the little ribbon at my throat. Imagine that! Quentin just sitting on my bed, as if I had invited him! I wondered what he planned next.
He looked up at me. “Amelia, I cannot ask you for this. You must volunteer.”
“For what?”
“Bad luck.”
“Oh, come on. There is no such thing as bad luck.”
“Then you will not mind a bit, will you, Amelia?” He tilted his head to one side. “What was the wording of the oath?”
“I said he would not regret his decision. That I would not do anything which would make him regret his decision.”
“Interesting. If he does not find out, he won’t regret, will he?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it works that way. I mean, it wasn’t legalistic, like a contract in writing or anything.”
“Words have their own meanings, despite whatever we would like to impose on them. They are older than us, maybe older than everything else.”
“What are you saying?”
“The world was created with a word. The first thing Adam did was name the beasts.”
“You’re babbling again, Quentin.”
“Sorry. Do you have a coat? I assume you are not going to change clothes in front of me.”
“I am not putting on a coat.”
“Did you promise the Headmaster not to put on a coat?” He looked up at me. His eyes were sad and thoughtful, as they usually were, but there was also a look of certainty in his gaze, of amused confidence, that reminded me of Colin. Or of Headmaster Boggin.
Making an exasperated noise, I turned toward the wardrobe, pulled out a bundle of clothing, and threw it on the bed next to him. Then I picked up a pillowcase and slid the pillow out.
I thrust the pillowcase at him.
He raised his eyebrows. “You expect me to put that over my head?”
“No, you’re right! If you’re smart enough to fool Dr. Fell, I shouldn’t trust you.” And I stuck the pillowcase over his head.
He made a muffled laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded. I wondered whether the pillowcase was opaque, and so I merely stepped into my jeans, and tucked the hem of my nightgown into them in a huge, awkward bundle. I put a sweater over that, shrugged into my nylon quilted jacket.
“There is a symmetry to all affairs,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I yanked the pillowcase off his head.
He stood up. “You’ll find out.”
I pointed at the pile of clothing. “You can find something for yourself.”
He looked arch. “I am not putting on girls’ clothes.”
“Look. A sweatshirt. Big, roomy, comfy. Warm. Sweatpants. You close them with a drawstring. Keep your leg hairs from freezing.”
He said, “It is not that cold out-of-doors. I mean, rather, it is cold when you go out, but you will get numb to it, so it won’t feel cold.”
“That’s OK, because I am not walking out that door,” I said.
