Snapping my book shut—which elicited nothing, not even a twitch, from Marcus—I bounced to my feet and yanked open the door at the front of the car. A rush of roasted grass–scented air swirled into the freight car and lifted my hair from my neck. I stepped out onto the small platform and shut the door behind me. Two steps took me to the iron railing, and I leaned out to put my face in the wind.
Terra Haven had disappeared behind gently rolling hills covered with yellowing grass and dotted with trees. Through gaps in the hills, I spotted the glint of Lincoln River and the lush fields of crops along the banks, but our route took us northeast around the mountains, and the river wouldn’t be in sight much longer.
I pushed away from the railing and hopped the slender gap between cars, then opened the door to the overnight car in front of our freight car. When I closed the door, my footsteps slowed in the hushed atmosphere. Most of the right side of the car was walled off into a dozen smaller quarters for privacy and sleeping, and the empty walkway was weighted with silence. The faint aroma of lavender and thyme lifted from the thick carpet with each of my steps, and I lingered by the tall windows on the left to watch the hills roll past before the growl of my stomach urged me on.
When I opened the door to the passenger car, a dozen faces turned to stare at me before dropping back to their papers and books. I patted the overhead railing to keep my balance in the rocking car as I walked up the length, and I did my best not to touch anything else. The car was immaculate. Plush red velvet seats with small brass buttons and armrest accents were set in groups of four around marble-topped tables complete with place mats folded into fans, crystal goblets, and real silverware. Most of the car’s occupants were dressed fine enough for a temple ceremony, not in dusty jeans and a T-shirt like I was. Even the black and gold carpet was swept clean, and when I passed him, the coach attendant tsked and used a soft brush of air and earth to erase my footprints. I mumbled an apology and rushed through the door.
I crossed the gap between cars again and pulled open the next door, relieved to find the dining car. I made use of the washing fountain in the corner, which had its own attendant who cycled the water and cleaned it with a complex weave of air, water, earth, and wood to remove the grime I’d added to the basin.
A galley kitchen ran along one wall and dining tables along the other. A group of women decked out in leather flight gear and colorful tunic tops lingered over drinks at a table set against the window, talking animatedly about the differences between flying dragons and pegasi, but otherwise the car was empty. I purchased two roasted vegetable potpies, which were made fresh for me while I watched, and half a loaf of rosemary sourdough bread. The chef presented the meal on a silver tray, the potpies in porcelain bowls, and the spoons were silver and wrapped in cloth napkins. He added a saucer with several pats of butter, two teacups, a fan of tea bags for me to select from, and a pot of boiling water. Staggering under the unexpected bounty, I wove carefully back to our freight car, exerting the full strength of my air ability to keep everything on the platter and upright when I navigated between cars.
When I stepped into the freight car and closed the door behind me, Marcus cracked an eye.
“Are you hungry?” I asked. It seemed like a rhetorical question since we hadn’t stopped for food all afternoon, and Marcus must have agreed. He sat up and silently helped me with the platter. We didn’t have a table, so we set it on the floor between us and braced it between our bags so it wouldn’t slide when the train leaned around a curve.
“We’re attached to a first-class train,” I said.
Marcus grunted and reached for the bread, tearing it in half.
“You got a freight car attached to a first-class train,” I repeated.
First-class trains were the fastest on the line and given top priority, which meant all other trains were shunted to the neighboring track or were held at a station to keep the track clear for this train. Used almost exclusively by wealthy FSPP, first-class trains didn’t haul freight, and they didn’t make stops at abandoned stations.
“You said it was urgent,” Marcus said.
“It is, but I can’t afford this.” I could barely afford the dinner I’d bought us.
“The FPD is picking up the bill.”
Really? That was news to me. “Thank you.” I couldn’t make my words flow together, and they came out in stilted phrases. “And for helping me. With the gargoyles. Even though it’s going to be hard.”
He watched me while he chewed, face unreadable. Finally he swallowed. “I said I would help.”
“I know. And I hadn’t thanked you. So . . . thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
That sounded like the start of an argument I didn’t want to have, so I looked away from his intense stare and took a bite of the potpie. The crust melted on my tongue, flaky and buttery, and the sauce of the cooked vegetables was so delicious that I stopped chewing to savor it. Swallowing a moan of delight, I forgot about Marcus and concentrated on enjoying the gourmet meal. Far too soon, I swept the final drops of sauce from my bowl with the last bite of bread. I stuffed the morsel into my mouth and leaned back, eyes closed, indulging in a moment of pure satiated bliss.
When I opened my eyes, Marcus’s unreadable gaze lingered on me. Self-conscious, and reminding myself how out of my league Marcus was and how mortified I’d be if he ever found out I had a crush on him, I stood up and squeezed into the middle of the dormant gargoyles. I knelt beside the tigereye fox from the park. Hardly the size of a bear cub, she lay curled into a circle, all her feet and her nose hidden under her fluffy stone tail.
I gathered a soft mix of elements to test her health—
Something heavy slammed into the front door, denting it inward with an explosive thunderclap of sound.
5
Marcus launched to his feet, a coil of magic swirling against his hand as he shoved the door open.