I started walking. “Next time I punch you, you won’t be smiling!”
He laughed.
The bagwa actually laughed.
I’d show him.
After I found a prison guard to help me out of this godforsaken land, I’d show him.
11
The Ghost Town
It took several minutes to reach the first house, minutes during which I scanned each window that lined the street. Curtains hung crookedly in some, but most were bare, made up of panes of glass in need of a thorough wash. A lot like my body.
The skid of little rocks and pounding on the hard-packed earth behind me made me look over my shoulder. It was just Remo. His gaze didn’t meet mine, too busy surfing over the fronts of the houses. A huge white sign with BOARDING HOUSE in black block letters hung over the gaping door of the first building.
I glanced over my shoulder again.
This time, Remo met my gaze. “Want me to hold your hand, Trifecta?”
His belittling enquiry lent me courage. I pressed my fingertips into the worn wood, and the hinges groaned. “Hello?”
“Great idea. Shout out your presence,” Remo muttered from across the road.
I shot him one of my best glowers. “I’m looking for a prison guard.”
“What if you find a prisoner?” He ducked around an old horse carriage missing a wheel. The wooden thing was slumped against the weathered white siding. A sign indicating LIVERY swayed in a slow breeze, its chains clinking.
Humming softly, I entered the boarding house. I expected laser fences, cowering prisoners, or more homicidal pink-petaled creatures. The only thing I found in the old house was furniture painted an unfortunate grass-stain shade of green, open cupboards filled with piles of chunky plates and cracked bowls, and a lopsided round table surrounded by four chairs missing at least a rung or the entire seat. Dust motes glittered in the pale light slanting through the dirty glass. Yellowed wallpaper sagged against the walls that didn’t seem quite straight. I walked over to a narrow staircase sandwiched between two walls and a ceiling I barely cleared.
I listened for footsteps on the faded boards or low murmurs, but besides the wind whistling outside, there was no sound. Humming a little louder, I started up the creaky stairs, keeping my gloved hand on the banister. The black material turned gray from the thick coating of dust. Rubbing my palms together, I made it to the landing that led to an equally narrow hallway with even lower timbered ceilings. I hunched a little as I stepped toward the first door, which gaped open. The bedroom was empty, save for a rusted bedframe, a three-drawer dresser topped with a chamber pot, and a speckled mirror. I strolled to the next door and the next. All ajar. And the rooms beyond them, vacant.
I returned to the ground floor and stared around me, my gaze locking on a blackened chimney where not even cinders or the scent of charred logs lingered. I exited the boarding house, shading my eyes. The sunshine hadn’t pierced the dense cloud cover, but the light was still painfully bright, especially after the obscurity of the abandoned dwelling. I scanned the street, wondering if Remo was still in the livery. Had he found anything? Anyone? I almost crossed the street but decided not to seek him out.
I wasn’t a coward. I could explore this world without his help. Without anyone’s help. After all, I almost ended up here alone. Why he’d followed me in was still a mystery.
Even though I hadn’t been particularly excited to meet Kiera, I almost wished I’d run into her, just to comfort myself that I hadn’t dropped into a wormhole that killed off its inhabitants the same way it killed off their powers.
I walked to the next building, the front of which was curved like a horseshoe and cinched by a wraparound porch. The black sign nailed above it read SALOON in bold, chalk-white lettering. We had one of those in Neverra, modeled around an archaic human one, complete with squeaking swing doors, curled horns, and cow-hide barstools. I pressed my fingertips into the swing doors and entered a space made of polished tawny wood. No decorations adorned the walls, not even black-and-white wanted posters. A varnished bar ran the length of the far wall, topped with a forest of green-glass bottles. Throat clenching for a drop of liquid, I strode over. Every receptacle was empty.
I went to flip a bottle over, but my gloved hand skidded right