“They described you as a teenage girl, long black hair, probably accompanied by two huskies.” He hesitates and studies my face suspiciously. “And what looks like a gold starburst in one eye.”
My starburst. The same as the rest of the clan children. The sign that we are in close union with nature. Yara-Readers. Our parents tell us it is something to be proud of—an inheritance from the earth. But now it marks me as someone to pursue.
And how do these men know what I look like anyway? I could ask the same about how they found my clan. Or how they knew I wasn’t with the rest of the group. But the knowledge that they may actually recognize me chills me to the bone.
I slip the card into my rucksack, pull the nugget back out of the bag, and place it on the counter. The man makes a grabbing motion, but I keep my hand on it. “Count the money out for me first,” I command, and he darts to the back of the room, disappearing through a doorway and then emerging with a handful of paper money.
He begins counting it, and I watch the numbers on each bill as he does, totaling them in my head until he reaches seven thousand. He pushes the stack across the counter toward me, not even looking at my face. His eyes are only for the nugget.
I withdraw my hand, and he plucks up the gold and pushes it under the counter. I have no doubt that the value of my piece is much more than what he has given me. I only hope that it is enough to obtain a boat ticket to wherever it is I am supposed to go.
I turn to leave, and the dogs leap to their feet, rushing before me to the door. They are as uncomfortable as I am in this artificial space with this artificial man.
“A word of advice, girlie,” the man calls as I open the door and gulp in the frosty outdoor air. I glance back at him, and his face has changed. He got what he wanted and his greed is satisfied, so he is happy. “Take out that weird contact lens, cut the hair, and lose the dogs.”
I nod at him and let Beckett and Neruda run outside. “And if I were you,” he yells, as I shut the door behind me, “I would get as far as you can—as fast as you can—out of town.”
I decide to take his advice. At least what I understood of it. Whit’s captors are sure to be watching the harbor, so it will be my last stop. Before that, I have a lot to do.
The woman in Beulah’s Hair Emporium takes one look at the huskies and calls, “It’s cold outside, so the dogs can come in, but they have to stay by the door. We have sanitation regulations, you know.”
I flick my finger, and they immediately drop to lie next to each other under a potted tree. “Wow, you’ve got yourself some obedient dogs there,” Beulah (I suppose) says, and instructing me to hang my coat on a rack, leads me to a chair. “What would you like, dear?”
I point to one of the giant hairstyle photos hanging on the wall.
Beulah gapes at me. “Oh, honey, you can’t mean that. You have such beautiful long hair.” I stare back at her, determined.
A half hour later the dogs and I leave. My hair looks just like the boy’s in the picture.
On the same street as Beulah’s Hair Emporium is a large, bright clothes store called the Gap. I leave the dogs at the door and follow the MEN’S DEPARTMENT signs. The artificial light and mirrors make me dizzy, but I deep-breathe and walk downstairs to an underground floor. The stale air makes it feel like a spot-lit tomb.
I leave twenty minutes later wearing all-new clothes, a baseball cap, and a black parka. My new synthetic backpack bulges with five shirts, a red “hoodie,” three sweaters, and three pairs of jeans. After buying some hiking boots at a shop next door, I drape my bulky fur parka and hand-stitched leather rucksack over a garbage can outside and hope that someone like the old lady in the park will find it.
Then the dogs and I head to our final destination together.
“These are beautiful huskies. Can’t say I’ve seen their exact markings anywhere on the sled-dog circuits. Where did you buy them?”
The woman ruffles Beckett’s fur with her fingers and peers up from where she crouches on one knee in front of him.
“My family’s been raising them for a few generations.”
“What’s your family’s name?”
“Will you take care of my dogs for me?” I cross my arms over my chest. My heart hurts so much, it feels like it’s bleeding.
She stands. “Our boarding fees are five hundred dollars per month for one dog. For two it’s nine hundred. I take care of these dogs like they’re my own kids.”
“That’s what the woman at Beulah’s said.” My voice cracks. I can tell that Beckett and Neruda like her and, from that alone, I know she can be trusted.
“How long do you plan on leaving them?” she asks, her tone softening as she sees my emotion.
I clear my throat. I won’t cry in front of this stranger. “I don’t know. But I will be back for them.” I dig through my backpack, count the money quickly, and place it in her hand. “Here’s three thousand dollars.”