a little while,” Mr. Jameson said. “And some brooms.”
“Why are there guards outside?” asked Mowse. Sure enough, as we spoke, four guards were approaching, looking nervous. They went to stand outside each corner of the house.
“To make sure none of you puts a toe out of line,” said Mr. Jameson, giving each of us our own individual no-nonsense look. “Everybody thinks we’re taking a big risk with y’all, and most of them don’t even know the half of it. Now, while y’all are here, I don’t want to hear about y’all being hooligans, stealing pies off windowsills, writing ugly things on houses…”
“What do you think we are?” Zo said, leaning against the doorway.
“Thieves,” Mr. Jameson said. “Unless it was some other gang of girls who stole from the Sacrifice building a few months ago.”
Zo crossed her arms and went quiet.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said. “But y’all have a little bit of a… reputation. And until it’s proven false, we gotta keep the guards out there every night. Now, they aren’t gonna bother you as long as you don’t do anything stupid. So don’t do anything stupid, all right?”
“Yes, sir,” Zo grumbled.
“You hear that, Judith?” said Cassandra from the stairs, where she had stuck her skinny head through the railing.
“Shut up!” Judith said.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Come on, let’s check out the kitchen, Mowse,” said Susanah.
“I’m gonna go pick a room!” said Judith, heading upstairs. Cassandra followed her, and Zo disappeared with Susanah and Mowse into the kitchen. Only Asa and Olivia and I remained.
“As for you two… Olivia Rosales and Asa Skander,” Mr. Jameson said. “Both of you have claim to the Robertson house, which is still… vacant. So which one of y’all wants to lay claim to it?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”
“He can have it,” Olivia said, and she pushed past me, up the stairs. “Just tell me when I can go get Rosa.” And she was gone.
“Well, I guess that settles it,” said Mr. Jameson. “I’ll arrange for an escort to be sent over in an hour.”
In the background, there was a giant crash from the kitchen, followed by “Mowse!” from Susanah and “I’m SOR-ry!” from Mowse.
“I’m going to go check on that,” said Asa. Then he too disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Mr. Jameson.
“Well, I got a lot of preparations to do, so I’ll leave y’all to settle in,” Mr. Jameson said, pulling the door open. “Be ready tomorrow at sunup. We ain’t got time to lose now.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Mr. Jameson turned, then he stopped.
“I really am glad to have you back, you know,” he said. “I just wish I could have done more for you all these years. God knows I tried. I guess I just didn’t try hard enough.”
I felt a lump grow in my throat, and before I could stop myself, I hugged him. He stood still for a moment, shocked, maybe, then returned the hug, and when he did, I could feel the loneliness and pain and loss and hope he felt for his family back in Texas. His daughter, Doris, who must be my age now.
“It’s all right, Mr. Jameson,” I said. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“I sure hope so, kid,” he said. Then he turned and walked out of the house, his footsteps echoing as the door swung shut behind him.
Back in the Robertson house, Asa laid himself out on his old bed and looked up at the ceiling in the dark, trying to quiet the panic that beat along next to his own, temporary heart.
Only a week. They had only a week to prepare, and either way, the same fate awaited him.
Fear reared up in his chest. In his mind, the smell of mercury and petrichor rose.
What would he do now? What did that mean for him? Even if their plan did work, he was still a creation of Theirs, and he doubted either of the Goddesses would be pleased with him when the Game ended.
There was the sound of a footstep, and Asa bolted upright. He climbed quietly out of bed and tiptoed to the hallway. Through the darkness, a figure was visible in the kitchen.
“H-hello?” he said, his mind reeling with images of Dust Sentinels and their gaping mouths. “Who’s there?”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” said the figure. “It’s just me.”
The figure struck a match and lit an oil lamp on the table.
Olivia’s beautiful face flared into light. “Hey,” she said simply.