Em crinkled her brow.
“Do you understand?” I said.
She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t. I tried another approach: “Sometimes when we try to avoid pain, we do something that causes us more pain.”
Her brow was still crinkled, and I was about to elaborate more when the door at the top of the stairs opened and my sister called down, “Charlie, come up here. I need your help. Hurry.”
Not knowing if she needed help taking out the garbage or if there was a Zaditorian on the front lawn, I told Em to stay put, and I ran up the stairs. The front door was open. I went through it and found May in the driveway helping Lou out of his truck. He was alone. He moved slowly and winced when he stepped down. A crescent moon of dried blood ran from a gash above his left eye down to his chin. He had another gash on the arm he held over his ribs. I rushed to his side, got my shoulders under his good arm, and supported his weight as he limped into the house. Slowly, May and I lowered him onto the couch. As he put his foot up, his pant leg peeled back, revealing a purple, swollen ankle.
May fetched some gauze and alcohol from the bathroom and began cleaning his wounds.
I asked him what had happened, but he just shook his head.
“Is Kaliah still in prison?” I said.
He nodded.
“Can’t you talk?”
He shook his head. With his hand, he made the letters, L-I-C-E, then pointed to his mouth and looked at me with eyebrows raised expectantly.
He had been poisoned as well as beaten.
I went to the garage, retrieved a bottle of otalith tincture, and brought it to Lou. He took a swig of the medicine, then leaned back and closed his eyes. May put a pack of frozen peas on his ankle, but he didn’t flinch. He was already asleep.
Chapter 7
WITH THE BAKERY UNSAFE to return to, my sister—never one to sit around—manufactured chores for herself. She randomly cleaned Lou’s already spotless house, and she’d even taken the liberty of rearranging furniture. She’d been here only two days and already had several ongoing culinary projects in various stages of completion: fermenting and pickling green tomatoes, infusing olive oil with garlic, growing alfalfa sprouts on the windowsill, baking pumpernickel bagels, making apple butter and apple pie filling from the apples going to waste on Lou’s apple trees, in addition to preparing all the meals.
Lou woke up in the morning in a good mood, despite his injuries. He limped around the house, groaning and complimenting my sister on the new furniture layout and the smells coming from the kitchen. After listening to my account of the harrowing escape from the bakery, he gave me a “Not bad, Doughboy” and told me the Zaditorians were infamous for having aided the Nemaloki in the Zaditorian Wars twenty-four thousand years ago, which inspired a set of questions from me he waved away with his hand, saying he was too tired to answer them. He also dismissed my questions about Kaliah and how he’d gotten hurt with, “Kaliah’s alive. We’ll talk later.” Then he took my sister up on her invitation to help boil pumpernickel bagels.
I was glad Kaliah was alive, but I’d expected her to be. As long as Kayak Brad had her, he’d keep her alive to keep on abusing her, stuffing his corruptions into all of her whorls until she didn’t know who she was anymore.
I missed Kaliah. I’d only known her a few days, but I missed her. Traveling through her whorls gave me an unnatural sense of her heart, her character. I missed just being around her. When I remembered what Lou had said about her being in love with me, I felt something flutter in my stomach.
As I watched TV with Em in the living room, taking a short break from training, I couldn’t help but hear all the flirting and giggling going on in the kitchen. To hear my sister so carefree, so ready to laugh, made me happy, but I doubted if Lou was worthy of her. Three ex-wives!
I sat on the couch, stewing in these conflicting emotions and enduring the giggling for most of my break until I couldn’t wait for breakfast any longer. Today I was going to rescue my family’s most precious heirloom, our sourdough starter. I couldn’t put it off any longer. According to the prisoner I’d helped in Arampom, it was a totem that held the key to defeating Blanche and her Friends. I only hoped Naomi hadn’t thrown it away already.
I didn’t want to tell May or Lou about my plans because they would only try to stop me. So I lied to them both. I told them I was going out to pick up some groceries. May gave me a list of things she needed, and Lou made me promise to be careful and avoid stores I usually frequented. After sneaking a bottle of otalith tincture into my pocket in case of an emergency metaphor infection, I borrowed the can of pepper spray May kept in her purse, hopped in Lou’s truck, and drove thirty minutes south to Eureka, where there was an army surplus store that sold doomsday supplies.
They were having a Christmas sale, and I was able to get the biohazard suit I wanted at ten percent off. Still, the purchase took a big chunk out of my withering bank account. Suits like this one, I’d learned from reading Lou’s book, could withstand up to an hour of continued exposure to airborne cackle. With it on, I would be immune, at least temporarily, to Naomi’s magical metaphors. I could get in the apartment, grab the starter, and get out. No problem.
With the help of the instruction booklet that came in the box, I put on the suit and the breathing apparatus in
