“Del wasn’t feeling well,” Callie said. “He wanted her checked out, to make sure it wasn’t serious.”
“I’m better now,” I protested. Showing weakness around Lattimer was like blood in the water.
“You don’t look it,” Lattimer said.
“It’s frequency poisoning,” Eliot said, and did his best impression of my mom. “I told you not to overdo it. She doesn’t listen, sir.”
“It sounds as if a break is in order,” Lattimer said. “You’ll sit out class tomorrow. I can use your assistance with other matters.”
“Other matters?” Callie asked, and Eliot glared at her.
“Nine o’clock, as before,” Lattimer said, ignoring both of them. “Make sure you’ve got a firm grip on your temper.”
• • •
As soon as the medic checked me over, force-feeding me cup after cup of sweet, inky tea, Shaw sent me home with Eliot, and stern instructions to rest.
“You’re going to join them, aren’t you?” Eliot said as we made our way through Union Station. I didn’t need to ask who he meant.
We boarded the train, the memory of Ms. Powell making me check over my shoulder every few minutes. I didn’t reply until we’d found our seats.
“I can’t even find them.”
“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life hiding? Being hunted? You’ll have to leave everything behind, or you’ll have to lie, every day, for the rest of your life.”
“According to you, I am an excellent liar.”
“I’m an excellent juggler,” he said, “but you don’t see me joining the circus.”
“I can’t cleave.”
“Then don’t be a Cleaver,” he said. “Be a navigator. Be a medic. Be a teacher.”
“I don’t like little kids.”
“Be an ethicist. You want to change the Consort, that’s the way to start.”
“By admitting I know something the Consort has been covering up for generations? I don’t think that’s the path to career longevity.”
“The only upside to working with Lattimer is that you’ve got your pick of apprenticeships. Choose one you can live with.”
“That’s not a solution. Being a Walker means supporting the Consort, and the Consort wants us to cleave.” My voice broke on the last word.
“I get what this is doing to you. I do,” he said, pulling me into him. “But you have to play along, at least in public. Shaw’s going to put it together. Callie’s halfway there already.”
“She’s my friend. She wouldn’t—”
His words ruffled my hair. “Callie is as pigheaded as you are, and if she thinks you’re going to hurt her chances, she will throw you under the bus. Any one of them would.”
“But not you.” I sat up. “You’re on board?”
He sighed deeply. “The Free Walkers aren’t my fight. But you, I’ll help. I’ll run the scores we took from Ms. Powell’s office later tonight and see where they take us.”
Us. I leaned my head against his shoulder and tried to ignore the prickling behind my eyelids. It’s not only the demons who have the power to break you. It’s the small, unexpected kindness, the flame that throws the darkness into relief.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AT MY REQUEST, ELIOT DROPPED me at Simon’s house, where Iggy romped about in greeting. He must have sensed my mood, because he settled almost immediately, pressing against my legs as I went in search of Amelia.
“I’m down here,” she called from the basement. “Laundry never ends. Even when it’s just me.”
I made my way down the narrow stairs. Washing machine aside, the basement was clearly Simon’s domain. Carpet remnants covered the floor, and in the middle of the room sat an ancient, ugly, comfortable-looking couch. The coffee table was nicked and scratched, and back issues of Sports Illustrated were scattered everywhere. A weight bench sat in one corner, the bar still loaded with iron plates; a drum set collected dust in another. I could picture Simon and his teammates here, watching ESPN and playing Nerf basketball. I could imagine him bringing a girl down here, and I quashed the jealousy that welled up—not of the phantom girl, but of the time they’d had together.
I turned my back on the couch and the ghosts. Along the opposite wall, Amelia was standing in front of a dryer full of towels, folding them carefully and setting them in a basket.
“Let me help,” I said, joining her. I’d smelled this fabric softener on Simon’s skin so many times, and without thinking I pressed my face into a washcloth, inhaling deeply.
When I looked up, Amelia was watching me wistfully.
“I do the same thing,” she said. “Sometimes I go into his room, and it smells just like him. That boy