“Lucky?” His mouth stretched into a thin grim line. “The Mixed are an abomination. After what Coronado did to Katia, letting his kin stay in Quivira was merciful.”
Henry opened the door to reveal a screened-in porch with scented candles and blue-and-white-pinstriped cushions. It seemed dainty compared to the rest of the house.
“You’re awfully tame for a conduit.” His eyes narrowed on me. “Most conduits are . . . well . . . there’s something different about you.”
I ran my hand over the last protection mark. “So I’ve heard,” I answered, holding his gaze, doing my best to bar him from my thoughts.
Rhys decided to join us, clomping up the ladder like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I helped him onto the platform.
My brother and I stood in front of the screened-in window. This appeared to be the highest point of Quivira, offering a unique view. The torches marking the inner perimeter blazed, casting an ominous glow over the corn.
“Why can’t Coronado and the Arcanum come in?” Rhys asked. “We were able to walk right through.”
“Your blood allowed you to pass, I suppose.” Henry scratched at his brand. “Katia’s blood.”
Rhys squinted into the distance. “But what about all the visitors you’ve had over the years?”
“You’re the first visitors we’ve had since Quivira was sealed in 1861.”
Rhys turned to me, jaw tense. I didn’t need to be a telepath to know what he was thinking. All of those cars from the junkyard—all those people. What happened to them?
“Best not to ask too many questions around here, you understand, boy?” Henry’s pale blue eyes settled on him.
“What does Coronado want?” I asked in an attempt to steer the conversation away from the corn.
“He wants to stop the ritual. He thought killing off the Larkins would make it impossible for Katia to find a vessel, but now that he’s found out he’s been tricked, I suppose he’s lashing out at the weak. Poor little Betsy Grimsby. His black magic’s getting stronger. Watch yourselves, Coronado sure would love to get at the two of you.”
“Wait . . . what would he want with us?” I asked, pure adrenaline firing through my limbs.
“Coronado could use you as pawns to suss out your parents—the vessels, or just kill you to punish Katia. He’ll do anything to hang on to his immortality.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about our mom telling us how Katia did her a great kindness that day by allowing her to leave Quivira. I never understood what she meant until now. Katia could’ve taken her vessels right then and there, but she waited another cycle, another seventeen years, in order to let my mom raise her children, to give us a chance at a normal life. Suddenly, I understood why my mother held her in such high regard—why they all did.
We stood there in silence, staring out over the fields.
“Even if you could get through the corn . . .” Henry looked at my brother sympathetically. “Coronado has Quivira surrounded. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Rhys whipped his head around. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“And Ash is right . . . what makes you think Nina would want to leave with you? Nina and Katia have been connected since the moment Katia cut into your mother’s palm. Asking Nina to leave would be like asking her to turn against her very nature.”
Henry’s eyes bore into us with a sharpness that made me squirm. I had a thousand questions, but I wasn’t sure if he could be trusted.
“Don’t trust anyone,” Henry said as he turned to go back downstairs.
“Wait, you’re just leaving us here, too?” Rhys gripped the top of the ladder.
“Sleep anywhere you’d like,” he said as he reached the main floor. “I stay in the shed out back.”
With that, he left us alone in that strange empty house with nothing but ghosts and shadows to keep us company.
19
WATCH THE ROPE
IT WAS THE SOUND of creaking rope that pulled me down the ladder, plunging me into the darkness of the east corridor.
“Ash, wait.” Rhys juggled our bags with his lantern, trying to keep up.
I opened each door as I went, shining my light inside. One had a nautical theme—red, white, and blue, with little anchors painted along the trim, another was drenched in floral chintz, and then there was a nursery with cream-colored lace. Bedroom after bedroom, spotless and carefully arranged. It was like walking through an abandoned dollhouse.
I wondered what happened to the Larkins . . . how they died.
Along with the sound of my brother’s labored breath was the sound of the dead girl’s delicate skin scraping against the rough texture of the rope, pulling me toward the last room at the end of the hallway.
The instant I opened the door, I knew this room had once belonged to my mother. Her scent was everywhere.