Page 24 of The Thirteenth Child
My eyes darted around, trying to find the familiar lines of the barn. My ears strained, listening for the rustle of animals shifting in their stalls. They weren’t there. They weren’t here.
I didn’t even know whereherewas.
I sat up with a sharp gasp and the little cottage came into focus as I remembered everything that had happened yesterday. At least, I thought it was yesterday.
Outside, the Between was still painted in its wash of grays and blacks. Lightning bolts continued dancing from cloud to cloud, never breaking free to strike the earth, offering only their sporadic flickers.
After years of waiting for him, my godfather had finally come. He’d taken me away. He’d brought me here. Showered me with generosity—necklaces and trees and a cottage of my own and the promise of a bright future. It wasn’t necessarily one I’d have chosen for myself, had I been asked. But I was only twelve, a poor girl froma poor family, and Merrick’s version of my future was better than anything I would have had in the Gravia with my parents.
I blinked.
My parents.
I hadn’t given them much thought since arriving in the Between, too overwhelmed by everything here to look backward. Now, in the quiet of this new maybe-morning, I wondered what they were doing, how they were. I waited for the first stirrings of homesickness to quicken within me, but they did not come. I remembered how swiftly Mama had stooped down, eager to grab all those gold coins. She hadn’t even looked at me to say goodbye.
That stung more than I wanted it to.
So I pushed my legs out of the bed and stood up, appraising the little cottage with fresh eyes. Merrick hadn’t said when he would return, and I was at a loss for a way to spend the first full day in my new home.
The copper tub caught my attention, and I was suddenly aware of how my scent filled the small space, the warm funk of oil in my stringy hair, an unpleasant musk under my arms. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a proper bath, and I suddenly wanted to wash away every bit of my old life. I wanted to scour my skin raw, scrub off that old version of me, watch it swirl down the drain, and be done with it.
There was a hand-pump faucet in the kitchen, and I set to work, filling bucket after bucket to heat near the fire, before dumping the boiling water in the tub. I peeled off my soiled, stinking dress and stockings before casting them into the fireplace. I would clothe myself in dresses of Merrick’s making and never have to wear one of my sisters’ threadbare hand-me-downs again.
The tub was large enough that I could dunk myself under thewater, and I did frequently, scrubbing my hair, rubbing a bristled brush all along my limbs until I felt as smooth and sleek as a seal. I stayed in the bath until the water cooled, causing an army of goose bumps to rise on my skin, and my fingers and toes were as wrinkled as prunes.
Wrapped in a soft bath sheet, I made my way to the armoire and studied its contents, eventually choosing a pretty dress of ochre twill. Tiny white daisies were stitched along its collar, and I marveled at all the details Merrick had so thoughtfully included in every aspect of my new life in the Between. He hadn’t needed to fill the armoire with such fine clothing, furnish the bed with so many pillows and throws. The sparsest accommodations would have pleased me. He’d chosen to enchant.
Breakfast was toasted bread and a slice of dark orange cheese, wonderfully cold from the ice chest. I nibbled at it, perched in an armchair, looking about the cottage and wondering how I should spend my day.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement, but when I turned, I couldn’t tell what had shifted. Everything was still. Then, on the other side of the room, another something stirred.
I knew I was alone. There was no one else here. Not in the cottage, not in the whole of the Between.
But then…Again. Another movement, just far enough from my focus that my gaze didn’t quite catch it. I strained my ears, listening to the quiet. Was it mice?
The thought didn’t horrify me. It might be nice to have a bit of company here in this strange solitude, even if it was tufted with fur and whiskered.
I heard a soft rustle behind me and turned just in time to see one of the books move.
Its cover opened, pushed by unseen hands, before a flurry of pages flipped by, stopping on the first chapter. I glanced about and noticed that many of the other books around the room had also been opened, gentle prompts to do as my godfather had asked me.
I turned away from them.
I didn’t want to see those pictures again. Didn’t want to fill my head with words likecauterization, debriding,ortrepanning.I had liked helping the miracle woman in the woods with her tasks, I’d liked hearing her whisper about the best time to harvest echinacea—under the light of a new autumn moon, when the roots were at their most potent—but I didn’t like the thought of learning like this.
With books and big words I didn’t know.
Without guidance.
Without instruction.
I made up my mind to go outside—perhaps the trees Merrick had conjured would have some sort of healing magic I could show him later. But as my palm grazed the doorknob—an octagon of green cut glass, faceted and dazzling—the wind kicked up, tearing through the valley and past my little cottage with such force that the windowpanes rattled in their casings. It screamed with a sharp pitch, keening and howling and sending shivers through my limbs.
When I pulled my hand back from the door, the gale died just as quickly as it had come on.
Narrowing my eyes, I seized hold of the glass knob once more and swung the door open. A sudden volley of freezing raindrops lashed at my face, so stinging and wicked I was forced to slam the door shut, gasping at the effort it took to push it closed against the wind.
Again, the storm silenced.
