Page 86 of Born for Lace

I glance in the mirror for the hundredth time these past three hours on the road. My little flower is cradling Spero in her lap, holding a bottle to his lips, and staring out the window. She hasn’t spoken, and after my warning, neither has Tomar. And I’m not eager to converse at the best of times. Silence is usually pleasing, but somehow, when she is in it, it’s painful.

Painful and frustrating.

The farmhouse expands as we drive through a set of rickety fences, once surely for game or live meat before the Trade banned all independent ventures. Quality control issues. More likely to be simplycontrolissues.

“What is this?” she speaks, and I swear my lungs draw in my first full breath in hours.

“Looks like an old farm.” Tomar pulls his shoes off the dash and sits up. “Is it safe?” Twisting in his seat, he surveys the area. “We should go in first.”

I’ve already noted everything; there is a barn locked with thick chains that I’ll check first; a window open on the second level; an old white Ute with the front screen blown out, eaten at the tyres by grass and roots, that might have fuel; the mountains are far enough away that I’ll spot invaders if they attempt to approach the home while we are inside.

“I will,” I state, pulling up right alongside the vine-woven veranda. Opening the door, I step out and shut it in one movement, not waiting for a response. My body cuts through the Redwind, parting it as I walk to the old barn. I fist the chains laced around the twin doors and snap them.

After I’ve checked the barn and the scrapheap of a car, I head toward the truck. As I break through the dense crimson wind, beelining directly for her door, she is staring wide-eyed at me. My third eyelid closes against the sand. To her, my irises will appear near white. Her lips part and her startled gaze tracks my every step— Then I open the door and scoop her and the infant into my arms.

She grips my shirt.

My blood pulses and each nerve ending reaches for the child at her chest. He starts to cry, but it isn’t from pain. It’s change. Just a change like any other, a sudden bright light, a splash of cold water. Our blood interacts much the same. A sensation attached to a sense that no one else possesses.

I kick open the front door and walk her into the farmhouse. Lowering her carefully, her body slides along mine, and her tiny hand unpeels from my shirt as if reluctant.

I check the switch at the door, my keen ears picking up a hum of electricity. It’s wired, but the bulbs must be burned out or non-existent.

“Wait here.”

Leaving her by the door, I search the rest of the farmhouse; three empty rooms each with closets, dust rising as I move around.

I follow the narrow hallway past them, my shoulders brushing the walls. Ducking under the doorframe, I enter a large kitchen that overlooks an old garden now weaved with foliage that thrashes around in the wind.

This house has been empty for a long time. I check the taps. A rattle begins above the ceiling, banging and racing to the spout. Water spits out and then flows.Interesting.There must be a mill around here somewhere. I wet my hands and stroke the water through my beard.

Then I head back to her.

“Safe?” Tomar calls through the house to me. My boots stomp on the wooden floorboards.

Despite the fragile fixtures and ancient furnishings, and the narrow passages only suited for Common, the farmhouse is perfect to hoard up in. Not for me—I roam, not settle—but for her. I could see her on this porch swing with the Shadow baby, making little swirls with her fingers on his back.

Singing.

Smiling.

Fuck.

What am I fucking thinking about? When she is around, I don’t know who I am anymore. Soft. Pathetic.

Just as I return to the front door, Tomar shoulders in with her pack and a crate. “All good? We should mark this place down for next time.” He exhales hard, setting the crate down, still weak. “Yeah?”

Out of nowhere and without moving an inch, she whispers to the dusty house, “You said Shadows have excess iron in their blood...”

She pauses.

I stop in front of her.

Tomar hands her the tiny pack of her personal items. “Go on, ask anything,” he says encouragingly.

“That… That it tethers them to The Cradle?” She blinks over and over as if these questions have been rolling around her mind for the past few hours, and only now does she have the strength to say them. “Magnetic fields or something? So… How then? How can you be—” She shakes her sweet head, disbelief in her flat expression. “Freefrom The Trade?”

“That’s a complicated question,” I state, not ready to share this with her.

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