Kin Page 5

  The end result of all that clan history brought up a new, uncomfortable line of thought. A handsome young Grimtree wasn’t the worst that could happen. What if there was a way-older guy in another clan seeking alliance, one bitter-mouthed and stone-hard like Oncle Efraim? There might be overriding reasons to promise her in marriage to someone else.

  There was always Hunter, and Thorne. It hadn’t been until middle school that they started the rivalry dance. If all else failed, maybe she could take one of them? Since she had to put up with someone. Maybe Hunter. He was pretty easy to redirect, not like Thorne.

  Thorne had never been easy. And if she was honest, she liked that he wasn’t, even if she would probably pick Hunter just to make things . . . safer. Smoother. Less intense.

  Gran sighed. Of all her sighs, this one was the most patient. “Sonja was . . . fragile.”

  I know how you feel about weaklings. “Everyone says she was nice. But seriously, should I go over to the Ardelles’? Or should I wait for him to come back? What’s the etiquette? I know I should know, but I don’t.” At least I know not to ask him about dead kin. Awkward.

  “Either is acceptable. Ruby, I know you feel our clan way’s might be . . . old-fashioned. I don’t wish for you to think I’m blind to the fact that the world has changed, and the kin must change with it.”

  What did that mean? Orange juice, tart and cold, slid down her throat in long swallows. Was it Gran’s perennial, It could be worse, don’t complain? Or maybe it was, There’s a way out, I won’t force you.

  Who knew? Gran almost never changed her mind, and she had said out loud it was time for Ruby to start thinking about the future. Her future. The clan’s future.

  And other things. I should collar you, to save you from yourself. It echoed in the space between them, where before there had been only comfort and warmth. Sharptooth words, snapping and silent growling.

  Ruby rinsed the glass and gave her best, sunniest smile. “We’re all modern now. I’m going to go see if I can catch him at the Ardelles’. You going into the office today?”

  “Yes. Ruby, I wanted to ask you—”

  Mithrus Christ. I’m doing what you want, all right? “Yes, I’ll do my chores, yes, I’ll be nice to him, and no, I’m not going out with Cami and Ellie. That about cover it?”

  Gran’s shoulders relaxed a trifle, though she looked like she wanted to say more. “I suppose it does. Be careful, child.”

  “I’ll be with kin. Nothing’s going to happen to me.” She blew Gran a kiss and danced out of the room.

  Being responsible and cheerful was exhausting, and she wasn’t anywhere near through yet.

  SEVEN

  SHE DIDN’T HAVE TO GO FAR TO FIND HIM. HE HADN’T gone to the Ardelles’ at all.

  Cami and Ellie often professed amazement at her ability to simply find things, whether it was the “in” accessories each school year or the honeywine coolers nobody else could score. It made her writhe a little inside each time, first with embarrassment and now because when it had really, really mattered, she hadn’t been able to find either of them.

  Ellie had been the one to find Cami with that dowsing-charm of hers, and later, it was Avery Fletcher who had found Ellie with that fey creature. Both times Ruby had honestly tried, running all over town, sometimes with the cousins and other times alone, searching for the tingle that would lead her to her friends, the worry under her breastbone a deep tar-black pool. She could find a pair of shoes, a missing kitten, the best accessories every school year, but when it counted, she’d come up empty.

  In other words, she’d failed them both. Just like she was probably going to fail the clan.

  It was a relief to follow her nose and pull up at the edge of the Park, and a double relief to see Conrad’s short black hair. He’d hopped up on the near wall, a thigh-high tumbledown stone affair facing onto Tooth Street. He sat, broad shoulders hunched, and something inside Ruby tightened a little.

  She knew what that felt like.

  He didn’t turn around when she cut the engine, or when she got out. The Semprena gleamed, its finish charmwash glossy, its windows blind eyes. It was a lovely little car, with sinuous black curves and comfortable bucket seats in front. The shelf serving as a backseat wasn’t huge, but that meant more speed, and she liked that just fine. Ruby could still close her eyes and see Gran’s face as she handed over the keys the day after she passed her initial driver certification. This is . . . an heirloom. Treat it well.

  She had. It wasn’t just four wheels and an engine, it was freedom, of a certain type. Maybe Gran had understood that.

  She settled on the wall next to Conrad, not too close but not too far, her back to the Park. That way he wouldn’t have to look at her, either.

  Neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t dangerous, but it was taut. A faint breeze whispered through the trees, redolent of the knife-edge between late summer and the beginning of harvest season. A dry brown scent, not juicy green like summer’s height.

  Finally, he shifted a little. “I should be visiting kin, shouldn’t I.”

  “They’ll still be there tomorrow.” She kicked her feet out, lazily, staring at her shoes. They were cute little Sendij strappy sandals, really darling, and the crimson polish on her toenails wasn’t chipped at all. The fashionably frayed jeans and her crimson tank top might send the wrong message, but she looked all right.

  Fat lot of good it did, since he kept staring at the Park with those sun-colored eyes. “I might not be.”

  “Going home so soon?” Didn’t he like her? He’d called her beautiful. Her stomach knotted itself up.

  “Maybe. Maybe I’ll strike out into the Waste. Better than sitting around, waiting for the axe to fall. Letting them run my life.”

  Did he mean his clan, or just elders in general? Either way, she couldn’t argue with the sentiment.

  Or was he saying she wasn’t enough to stick around for? Just making conversation? “Would you really?”

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” Now he looked at her, sideways but still a long, lingering glance. “That’s really insulting, isn’t it.”

  “Yeah, but I understand.” Her legs dangled, shorter than his. “I don’t want them running my life either. But what can you do? It’s the clan this and the clan that, and everything just . . .”

  “Closes in on you. Like a collar.” A thoughtful nod. “Until you have to do something. Anything, to get away.”

  Thanks for mentioning a collar. There was no way for him to know about Gran’s threat. Maybe someone had thought he was troublesome enough to be threatened with it, too. “Yeah.” She stared at the Semprena’s curves. Both Ell and Cami thought she drove too fast, took too many chances. How could she ever explain to them that behind the wheel was the only place she felt like she might actually have a shot at escaping?

  “You’re not what I expected,” he continued. “I thought, another spoiled kingirl. Instead, you’re, well, different.”

  Thanks. “I’m plenty spoiled. Just ask Gran.”

  “Everyone’s afraid of her.”

  “Well, yeah. She doesn’t control trade through the Waste by being cuddly.”

  “Guess not.” He was still as a stone. “Do you like her?”

  She caught a breath of well-oiled leather from the clan cuff, his healthy musk, the angry smoky smell underneath. Something about that low burning set her on edge, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was just that he was from another clan, or maybe it was because he was taller than her, and heavier.

  She wondered if Cami or Ellie ever felt small around Nico, or Avery. “She’s my Gran.” She’s all I’ve got.

  “But do you like her?”

  “Most of the time.” No point in lying. Sometimes I don’t, but I still love her. “Don’t you like your Clanmother? She’s your grandmother, right?”

  “Her? I hate the bi
tch.” Softly, but it sent chills down Ruby’s spine. There was a snarling under the words, not quite dominance but not quite rage either. “Always ordering people around.”

  None of the Woodsdowne cousins would ever talk this way. At least he was being honest, not pussyfooting around how he felt. Still, Ruby had to close her mouth with a snap before she could find something to say. “That’s sort of her job, though, right?”

  “Not when her orders are stupid. And my parents just go along with her, and . . .” He shifted slightly, as if he wanted to lean toward her. Went back to stillness. “Look, you don’t have to pretend. You know, be nice to me. I’ll make it clear it’s not your fault if I leave.”

  I don’t know what’ll happen if you leave. “Like anyone will believe that.” Her palms were wet, and her heart pounded. “I’m sort of a problem.”

  He turned his head, and his eyes were darker, and hot. The look was a physical weight along the side of her face, but she kept staring at the Semprena. Sunlight rippled in its paint, hazed off the pavement in the distance down Tooth Street, tingled against her skin. As long as she wasn’t shifted, it was a good friend.

  The smoke underlying Conrad’s scent faded, whisked away on the breeze. “Me too. Hey.”

  She waited, but he said nothing. Maybe he’d used up a significant proportion of his courage, and it was up to her to take the next step.

  So she did. “What?”

  “You know how to drive that thing?”

  She tried not to roll her eyes, and only halfway succeeded. “No, I just sit in it and look pretty. Of course I do.”

  A flash of something dark marred the handsomeness for a moment, but she didn’t see it. “Smart girl. Where do you want to take me?”

  PART II:

  DANGEROUS PATHS

  EIGHT

  IT WAS THE FIRST TIME ANYONE REACHED OVER, grabbed her arm, and shouted, “Faster!” His fingers sank in almost to the bone, the pain a silver wire like the moon’s call, and each time she jammed the accelerator to the floor.

  They did one of her favorite loops—up to the top of Haven Hill, a zigzag through the empty Market district—Monday meant no Market—with each of the traffic lights turning amber in a vain attempt to slow her down. Slewing sideways, through the shabby gentility of Falada Place and finally onto Woodsdowne Loop, flashing through liquid treeshade and bright dappled sun. The oaks—old as the Reeve, in some places—flashed by in a semaphore of stodgy trunks, heavy branches, the leaves envious of her fun but tethered to the larger mass. The right onto Tooth Street was so familiar she could have drifted into it in her sleep.

  A long slide of burned rubber, the car trembling just at the edge of her control, before both left-hand tires came to rest gently against the curb right where they had left an hour and a half ago, the stereo blaring Tommy Triton’s old Blackhall Jack album drenching them both like rain, ignored. When she cut the engine, the sudden silence was stunning, the car still rocking slightly.

  Ruby blew out a long, satisfied breath. “Welcome to New Haven.”

  He was pale, but two spots of livid color stood out on his cheeks. It suited him, even if he was a little too thin. A train ride would do that to you, though—even the rich had trouble digesting out in the Waste.

  He blinked a couple times, and his jaw worked. Looked like he was having trouble finding words. His irises burned gold, and he blinked rapidly. “You always drive like that?”

  No. You just get the special treatment. “Pretty much.”

  “Dangerous. If you can’t handle it.”

  Thanks for your concern. “No accidents yet.”

  “Good thing.” He was slowly turning a regular color again. “This city’s kind of small.”

  Well, maybe, if you’re from New Avalon. She said nothing, measuring the steering wheel between her crimson fingertips. Her polish was chipped on her right thumb and left ring finger, and it bothered her. Nothing ever stayed fresh; it all got rundown and ugly.

  “You like Tommy Triton?” Did he sound tentative?

  “He’s okay.” All of a sudden she wanted to be home in her room, on her bed, with the music blaring and nothing on her mind other than a couple gossip mags and some nail polish. Maybe it was time to try another color.

  “Kind of middle school. You ever listen to Kraxhead?” Did he sound hopeful?

  “Nope.” I thought only feyhempers and Dust addicts liked them.

  “You should. They’re good.” As if he was doing her a favor.

  Maybe he thought he was. Ruby pushed the irritation away. “I’ll look them up.” The green blur of the Park was a heavy weight against the windows, and the sunshine through the windshield made sweat prickle along her hairline. “I should take you to the Ardelles’. Or back home. Gran’ll know we’re not visiting kin.”

  “Does it matter? We’re together.”

  For a moment she couldn’t believe her ears. A flush started on her throat and worked up to her cheeks.

  “I mean . . .” Now he sounded awkward. “We’re both, you know, problems. That’s sort of why they sent me. I mean, sure, I’m rootfamily . . . but I don’t do what they want.”

  “Me either.” She swallowed dryly, rolled her window down. The good crushed-green of cut grass flooded the car—someone had mowed recently. “I’m going to try, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t that what growing up means?” If I manage to mate and breed at least one kid I’ll be Clanmother when Gran’s gone. And if she didn’t, the clan would be rootless after Ruby’s lifetime, until the Moon made a junior branch into root, bringing dominance and some physical mark of her favor to the surface.

  He shrugged. He was too big for the passenger seat; the Semprena felt a little too small with him sitting there, shedding healthy heat-haze. “According to them, I guess. Can we . . . you want to go for a walk? I like talking to you.”

  A different warmth all through her. He was a stranger, and it sounded like the deck had been pretty stacked on the “don’t-like-this-girl” side. If he liked her, really liked her . . .

  Well, he might be the first person who ever had. Even Cami had taken a little time to warm up to her, and that was after Ruby had taken on all comers in primary school, picking a fight with anyone who made fun of the shy, scarred girl’s stutter. And Ellie . . . well. Of course Cami got along with Ell, Cami could get along with anyone if she wanted to. It’d become Ruby’s job to protect them both when Ell’s family moved in from overWaste, and she’d done her best.

  Ruby was useful, and she was in the same social circles, and she could find things. They had reasons for liking her. The cousins, well, they had to act like they could stand her, at least, because rootfamily were due that much. Others—like the other girls at school—couldn’t afford to piss her off, because she had that temper reputation.

  What would it be like to have someone want to hang around without a reason? She’d always wondered.

  “Sure.” She jangled her keys, popped the lock, and glanced over at him. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m hard to get along with.”

  “I think I’ll manage,” he told her, and later she would realize it was a warning.

  At the time, though, she just grinned and swung the door open, stepping out into summer’s last breath.

  • • •

  “Kind of small.” He hopped up on a fallen tree, its moss dry and brown since the fall rains hadn’t started. “Don’t you ever want to run more?”

  Ruby shrugged. She hung from a convenient low branch, enjoying the stretch. Tensed her stomach, drew her legs up a little, checking her toenail polish again. There was a certain charm to pedicured toes against the roughness of bark and leafmold. Civilization and wildness all in one. “During Mooncall, sometimes I just want to hit the wall at the north end and keep going.”

  Parallel to the log he perched on, the boundary of the
Park was a clipped green verge along the street. He kept trying to go further in, but Ruby kept to the outside, where she could see the fronts of branchfamily heads’ houses. There was Oncle Sanvord’s, blue with white trim, and the lime-green Harvrell house—probably crammed to the gills with boycousins this week, since Tante Freya was sick and couldn’t care for her brood right now. They would all be out helping with Gislain Harvrell’s construction work, keeping them out of trouble until school started.

  Conrad nodded. “Maybe you should. You ever think about it? Just running through the streets and showing them how to be afraid?”

  She dropped, lightly, and brushed her hands clean. “That’s taboo.” The breeze was redolent with mown grass and the faint cinnamon undertone of leaves exhaling before they started to turn.

  “All sorts of things are taboo. I just wonder.” He hunched his shoulders a little, staring into Woodsdowne’s depths.

  “You get Twisted if you do taboo stuff.” It wasn’t quite precise—the Moon taking her blessings back wasn’t the same as Potential corkscrewing you into a wreck of your former self.

  Close enough, though. Enough to make you shudder.

  Conrad shrugged. Dappled sunlight all over him, he moved restlessly and touched the clan cuff, as if it irritated him. “We don’t Twist with anything else.”

  “Well, no, but there’s the stories.” And really, the taboo stuff is just common sense. Don’t eat human flesh, don’t breed with your siblings, don’t hurt each other. “About the things that happen when the Moon—”

  “You believe in that? It’s just a hunk of rock.”

  “Well, yeah, scientifically it is, but there’s a meaning—”

  “You ever think that maybe the taboos are just to keep us from asking questions? Finding things out? Being what we really are? I mean, them. Charmers and idiots, soft and pink, without even the sense to stay away from bad meat . . .” Now he was looking at her, expectant, obviously wanting her to agree. Or maybe just thinking she could agree.