and patted, the motion fervent and hypnotic. He licked his lips, and tore his gaze away with visible effort.
Things changed the next morning, but not for the better.
The sun was inching over the horizon by the time we arrived at Mister Pérouse’s compound. There were no houses around, no farmsteads. The land here was untilled, untenable: skeletons of crops long gone to seed stretched as far as I could see, dotted here and there with sentinel trees and shacks even hobos would disdain. Anyone with a mind for survival long ago followed the highway, arrow-straight and pointing the only way out of here. A wall rose ten meters high and ran a jagged loop around the property, too long for me to judge its distance at this early hour. Layers of grime outlined its rough sandstone surface, the lower half shadowed further with soot. The gatehouse, smooth white plaster cornered with chunky yellow bricks, was dingy with dirt. Rows of barred and blackened windows perforated the walls, bracketing a tall set of arched double doors.
I knuckled my eyes as Mister Pérouse hefted Harley over his shoulder, leaving the Porter kids in the backseat for the moment. Grit and sleep blurred my sight as I followed him into the dark gatehouse, then beyond into a courtyard that smelled dank with an undertone of manure. Inside, peak-roofed walkways connected a series of wooden buildings, all bleached pale gray and pocked with patches of silver-green lichen. I could see the bottom half of an old barn, empty of horses, slumping close on our left; three large pens to our right, in which dozens of hogs lolled, grunting as they slept; five or six little shacks a few hundred meters away, their windows dark and chimneys cold. Pigeons cooed from the rafters overhead, dropping feathers and dead spiders as we passed beneath. I kept my head low, and prayed we wouldn’t emerge covered in droppings. At the far end of the promenade down which Mister Pérouse led us, the first story of the largest mansion—or warehouse? I couldn’t tell which—I had ever seen blocked my view of anything else.
I stepped off the path and into the yard as dawn licked red streaks across the building. Caught a glimpse of three or four more hulking stories; rectangular windows boarded up; a crooked weathervane squeaking a slow circle above a gable—then Mister Pérouse hauled me back into the shadows.
“I weren’t dallying,” I said, but he silenced me with a glance. Behind us, the gatehouse door opened and I could hear that Arianne-woman as she spoke to the doctor; her voice grating across my soul. I was almost overwhelmed by an urge to hide behind Mister Pérouse’s thick cloak. Instead, I patted Harley’s back to reassure him everything was fine; straightened my shoulders as the great door clanged shut. The sound of iron bolts shunting into place rang across the courtyard.
I swallowed tears and dust. My neck was stiff from sleeping upright, my heart stiffer at the thought of Ma sick and alone at home.
“It’s rude to linger in doorways,” Mister Pérouse said, striding past.
“Come.”
Eventually I got used to the command in his tone, but right then it came as a surprise. As long as I’d known him he’d always been, if not jolly, at least pleasant. Friendly in that way adults are with children who aren’t their own: familiar and a little bit fake. His presence used to set us at ease—we knew he’d make Ma happy.
But this Mister Pérouse was different. This version showed an interest that demanded attention. He made my stomach roil.
Inside the hallway stretched from left to right, describing the Haven’s perimeter instead of plunging straight into its heart. We crossed it in no more than ten steps, the sound of our footfalls petering out before reaching its ends. Mister Pérouse took me by the hand. Led me into a room resounding with the whisperings of children.
Large enough to house at least three barns end to end, it nevertheless felt claustrophobic as soon as Mister Pérouse closed the doors behind us. Columns ran in arches around its border, dividing the space into cloisters. Single beds with woolen blankets and plain pillows were tucked behind these pillars, placed in orderly lines against the chocolate brown walls, leaving the larger, central part of the room free. All around us snippets of sound murmured up to the ceiling, four stories above our heads. Shuttered galleries climbed the walls, gazed blindly down on two long refectory