Page 39 of Kill the Beast
Mrs. Jensen looked stricken, as if she, too, wished she could buy a sliver of former happiness and carry it like a talisman. “All right,” she said. “But be quick about it. You can’t be here when my husband comes home.”
“Thank you.”
The yard was exactly the same as Lyssa remembered it. The vegetable garden against the back fence, the stone bird bath with the wrought iron bench next to it. The towering ash tree that cast deep shade over the side of the house in the summer. Her father had always complained that his office was too dark because of it, and had threatened time and again to cut down the tree to make more light for himself. But her father was all hot air, and the tree remained.
“Would you like a ladder?” Mrs. Jensen asked.
“No, thank you,” Lyssa said without taking her eyes from the names she and Eddie had carved into the tree trunk all those years ago. Theyin Lyssa’s name was backward. Eddie’s was perfect, of course—he had always been better than her at writing. She remembered trying to copy the way he held his pencil, how patient he had been when teaching her to form ans.Their mother had been sick by then, and the nanny had taken on the role of nurse, so it was often just the two of them.
“She’ll only be a moment,” Alderic said. “Let’s wait for her inside, out of the cold. It wouldn’t do for you to get sick.”
Lyssa felt a surge of gratitude for him, for understanding that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Once he and Mrs. Jensenhad gone back into the house, she took off her boots and climbed the tree barefoot, like she had always done as a child, her toes finding footholds instinctively. When she reached the first branches, she hauled herself up and straddled one of them, reaching out to run her fingers over the bark.
“Hello, old friend,” she said. “It’s been a long time.” She closed her eyes and let herself feel the breeze on her face before unsheathing the ritual knife she had made years ago at Ragnhild’s instruction—the first thing she had forged on her own, without Honoria’s help, though Honey had been unable to keep from hovering while Lyssa worked. The blade was curved into a sickle-shape and carved with spells, the handle wrapped with doeskin soaked in Lyssa’s blood. The blood had mostly flaked off by now, but the magic would remain. At least, that’s what Ragnhild had told her.
Night was falling quickly now, and the moon was already visible. A sliver shy of full, just as Alderic had said. Lyssa inspected the branchlets and twigs around her head, feeling along their lengths in the failing light. She needed ones that had grown recently enough for them to accept Ragnhild’s magic readily—older branches were stubborn and did not appreciate being cut, whereas twigs didn’t know any better and didn’t much care what they were used for. They had to be sturdy but not too thick, and free of cracks, splits, or rot.
Finally, she cut off a few suitable twigs and stuffed them in the cloth bag stitched with spells that she kept in one of the pouches on her belt for just this purpose. Then she climbed back down, patting the tree trunk before pulling her boots back on.
When she went back inside, she found Mrs. Jensen weeping, gripping Alderic’s hands in hers.
“Samuel will make me give it back,” she was saying. “He’ll worry what people will think—he won’t even let go of our last servant to save the money we spend on her salary. He says we must keep up appearances. He would rather die than accept charity.”
“He’s not the one who’ll die without it,” Alderic said. “If he chooses to put his own pride over his child’s life, then he doesn’tdeserve either of you.” He withdrew his hands from hers and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t tell him about the money. Take your daughter back to the doctor while your husband is at work, and tell him it was a miracle when she gets better.”
The woman laughed through her tears and pressed a sodden kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, and ushered them out the door. Brandy trotted demurely behind Lyssa, as though if he behaved well enough now, she might forget that he had disobeyed her earlier.
“I guess we should have led with the money,” Alderic said as they walked up the street toward the wall they had emerged from, one half of his face illuminated by the glow of the street lamps.
“Ididn’t want to lead with anything,” she reminded him. “Iwanted to sneak in and out without anyone knowing.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, now we have the added happy memory of helping someone in dire need. Perhaps the sword will be even more powerful, as a result.” He glanced at her sidelong. “I never would have guessed that was your childhood home. The way you behave, I would have thought you grew up in a gutter.”
“I grew up there, too,” Lyssa said with a scowl.
Alderic’s brows furrowed. “Really? What happened?”
“Don’t,” she said, stopping so suddenly that Brandy smacked into the back of her legs.
“Don’t what?”
“You don’t need to know anything about me just because we’re stuck gathering ingredients for a magic sword together,” she snapped.
He looked confused. “Maybe I don’tneedto know anything about you,” he said, “but I want to.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, looking at a point just beyond her instead of meeting her eyes. “People tend to come and go so briefly that I have found it best not to form attachments anymore. But it’s a difficult urge to curb—humans are social creatures, after all—and so I have taken up the hobby of studying them, instead.” Now his gaze found hers. “I have never come across anyone quite like you before. I’m simply curious about the circumstances that led to your formation.”
A jolt of anger lashed through her. “Am I supposed to be flattered by that? I am not an insect to be pinned under glass andstudied!”
“Now there’s a hideous hobby.” He shuddered. “Look, I apologize if I have offended you. If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not with you. Not with anyone. Ever.”
She stormed away, leaving him struggling to keep up despite the fact that his stride was as long as hers.
When they reached the wall where they had come through into Sunnyside, she took out her chalk. “I don’t want to linger in the Wood,” she said brusquely. “A few hours in there can be a whole day out here, and we have two more items to gather before the moon starts waxing again. We’re going to step through the Gate, grab our packs, and turn right back around and go through the arch to wherever we’re getting the water from.” She frowned. “Wherearewe getting the water from?”
