The same water mage whose violent action singled me out. I was a mule, a magical mule, swimming messages I couldn’t decipher across dangerous waters.
A flashlight’s beam swept across the interior of the tunnel. “Clementine Brodeur, I am beyond pissed at you.”
“Save it,” I said, “at least until I can get into dry clothes.” Clutching the cape to my chest with one hand, I crawled forward.
12
Maritza organized the four of us into a tight group. Alabastair activated the portal. We landed in front of the stone tree in the dirt-floor cellar. Alderose was waiting on the lowest step in a stance I knew all too well, backlit by wall sconces and looking much taller than her five feet two inches.
“We have a problem,” she said, working her hands into a pair of fingerless gloves. Her entire torso was encased in a segmented body protector. She’d left the front zipper undone. Underneath was a stretchy catsuit that matched her skin color.
“And that getup you’ve procured needs an explanation.” Maritza motioned at Alderose to head back up the stairs. “I’m going to help Clementine wash up and we’ll meet you on the third floor.”
Alderose glared at me and grumbled under her breath, something about bossy aunts and demons who took up too much room. She hefted a medium-sized duffel bag onto one shoulder and turned. Beryl and Alabastair followed.
I pulled the borrowed cloak closer to my body and padded after my aunt. I had no choice. She had a near unbreakable grip on my bruised elbow. Maritza opened the faucet for hot water and stoppered the sink once the temperature was right. She placed two terrycloth hand towels on the lid of the toilet and unwrapped a bar of olive oil soap.
“Hmm,” she murmured. She rewrapped the soap and switched it out for a bar of fragrant peppermint. Once the second bar passed her sniff test, she draped Bas’s cloak over her arm, stepped out of the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. “Take off everything, Clementine. Scrub every inch of your body and don’t rush. While you wash, I’m going to make you something to wear.”
“You can w-work that fast, Tía?” I asked, barely able to get the words out for the intense tremor in my jaw.
“Yes, I can.”
“Why’s it so important that I scrub everywhere?” Peeling my underwear over my hips and down my thighs was slow going. “It’s c-cold in here.”
“I want you to be thorough because you were in that water a long time and there is a very real possibility that Rémy could use his powers to pull molecules off your skin and use that information to locate every place you have been.”
That was creepy. And interesting. And would possibly solve the problem of bringing Rémy together with Gosia. I used my thumbnail to pick at the fine flecks of mint leaves on the surface of the soap. “Mint can cloak the presence of certain types of magic.”
“That’s correct, sobrinita. Lather up. Don’t forget to wash your hair. My needles and threads await me upstairs. I’ll be right back.”
I gathered my hair into a ponytail and pulled the thick hank through the elastic once, then again, folding the tangled mess in half into a lopsided bun. I decided to wash my body first, then my hair. I opened one of the hand towels, placed it on the floor, and wiped the grit off my feet.
Working up a thick, foamy lather, I washed and rinsed my face then swiped the soap over my arms and breasts. Loud booming sounded irregularly from the front of the shop. The weather Rémy brought with him on Friday had returned with reinforcements.
A slamming door, followed by a whoop and deep, masculine laughter announced it wasn’t the weather. Kostya had returned—with a sibling or two.
In all the years I’d known the demon, he’d occasionally spoken of his brothers but had never brought them around for introductions. Ivan, the youngest, was always off adventuring, and Laszlo, the oldest, was being groomed for a leadership position within their mother’s royal court. As a general rule, I ignored the ins and outs of demon politics and paid much more attention to what happened with their horns when they were aroused.
Heavy footsteps headed toward the back of the room and stopped. I protested when the door’s handle turned and one of the demons tried to push the door open.
“Hey, Kostya, I’m naked in here.”
Silence. “Sorry about that,” he whispered against the doorjamb. The brothers jogged up the stairs, their steps falling in rhythmic cadence.
I remembered that Kostya said he’d been fighting in skirmishes—in play and in real life—alongside his brothers since he could walk. Curiosity about his mysterious kin prompted me to scrub faster. I zipped through washing and rinsing my hair and wrapped it in a towel turban.
The next set of feet, descending this time, landed lightly on each step. I smiled, picturing my aunt pausing to tie off a stitch or rethread a needle. Her spaciness was endearing, and the tap at the bathroom door much more delicate.
“Clementine, have you finished?”
“Just drying my feet.” I ran a corner of the towel between each toe. “You can hand me the clothes.”
She opened the door a crack. A jumpsuit cut from brown canvas dangled from her fingers. I was hoping for something much more fashion forward, something she would wear. “I went for functionality, even with the undergarments.” My aunt sounded almost apologetic. “Which might not have been the best decision, given the newest addition to our rescue mission.”
I unfolded the underpants and stretchy bra and put them on. They were soft and serviceable. I shook out the jumpsuit, turned the garment so the front faced away from me, and stepped one leg in.
