THE LANTERN SWUNG from side to side as Henry led us up a gently sloping cobblestone path, slick with moss and sprawling ivy. I scanned the surrounding towering pines and cedars and, beyond that, the corn. Always the corn.
Henry stopped and raised the lamp, illuminating the beautiful arched door at the base of an enormous A-frame house with wings jutting off on either side. Here, in the dark, it looked like a cedar-shingled spaceship. There was a flag out front—a simple circle with a golden crescent moon and a star. Henry opened the door, lit two more lanterns that rested on the entry table, and thrust them into our hands.
Rhys dug in his heels, but I pulled him over the threshold.
The moment I stepped inside the house, the scent overwhelmed me: hints of pine, geranium, rising bread, fresh rain, and wet cedar. And deeper than that, my mother was everywhere, like a faint imprint of sunshine. I wondered if—
“She’s not here,” Henry said, as if answering my thoughts.
I looked up at him with raised eyebrows as he led us inside.
I wasn’t expecting it to be so open; the main room was vaulted like an atrium with huge windows covering the wall overlooking the shimmering lake. The décor was sparse—a few elegant and functional pieces. I walked through the dining room, running my fingers along the enormous wide-planked farm table, eyeing a number of portraits and photographs that hung on the walls—their faces as familiar as my own, but nameless.
Henry showed us the kitchen. “You got bread, almond butter, jam, lemonade,” he said as he opened the old-fashioned icebox. The light from the lantern shot up his arm, illuminating the scar on his inner wrist, a brand identical to Beth’s.
“You’re a Mixed,” I blurted.
The tendons in his neck flared.
I thought about Dane’s scar and the strange overwhelming urge I had to touch it.
Henry glared at me. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your head, but you’ll need to watch your thoughts around me.”
It took me a few seconds to register what he was saying, but then I remembered Dane telling me that all the Mixed had certain quirks. Henry must be a telepath.
I felt a deep flush spread over my face.
“If anyone even suspects an inappropriate relationship there will be punishment. Severe punishment,” Henry said. “It won’t even matter who his daddy is.”
“Who’s his dad?” I asked.
“Spencer Mendoza.”
Just the thought of them sharing the same blood offended me.
“My father was a Larkin, my mother a Mixed,” Henry explained as he rolled down his sleeves. “I was caught bringing flowers to my half cousin Anna Larkin. They let me live, but I wasn’t unmarred.” Henry shifted his weight. “A Larkin girl mingling with not only a Mixed, but a Mixed with Coronado and Mendoza blood? Out of the question. Doesn’t matter that the vessels have been found. It’s forbidden. Always has been—always will be.” He moved into the living room to light a lantern hanging from an iron stand. “Do you hear me, girl?” He turned to stare at me.
I nodded, just to get him to stop. I didn’t want to talk about my “mingling” in front of my brother.
“What really happened to the rest of the Larkins?” Rhys asked warily.
Henry’s knuckles turned white as he clutched the lantern. “The Larkins started disappearing a few years after Nina and Thomas walked the corn. By this time last year they were gone. We thought all was lost until a few days ago. Katia told us salvation was on the way. She must’ve suspected a traitor among us, because she kept Nina and Thomas a secret from everyone.” He let out a heavy sigh. “She did what she had to do to keep them safe from Coronado.”
“Why would she think there was a traitor?” Rhys rubbed his temples. “And why would you assume Coronado was involved? Maybe the Larkins just didn’t want to live here anymore.”
Henry squinted at him. “People don’t leave Quivira.”
I clenched my eyes shut. Please don’t tell Rhys about the corn. Not yet. Not now.
I opened my eyes to find Henry glaring at me. So, it was true—he really could read my thoughts. I looked at him pleadingly.
Henry grumbled at me as he passed, fetching a tall ladder that was hanging on the wall. “Every time a Larkin disappeared, you could see crows flying overhead.”
Rhys slumped down in one of the dining room chairs, burying his head in his hands. “God, I hate crows.”
Henry dragged the ladder to the center of the room, leaning it against a platform built into the vaulted ceiling. “Before my time, the crows had been known to attack, ripping people limb from limb, but with the Larkins,” Henry said as he ascended the ladder to a loft area, “it’s like the crows plucked them right off the face of the earth. They disappeared without a trace.”
“But not you?” I asked as I followed close behind.
“They say Coronado spared me because I was a Mixed.”
“That was lucky,” I said as I reached the top, but he didn’t offer me a hand.