I exhale. “Yeah, that would be good.”
He tilts his head to one side, listening. “Especially since they haven’t sent out a search party yet.” He grins. “Shall we find another way to cause trouble?”
“Sure.” I give his fingers a squeeze. “How about exploring more of the maze?”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “That is a great idea.”
Chapter Twenty
I sit in Betsy’s shabby front seat, still wearing Lincoln’s tunic. The evening sky is giving over to morning; a soft glow lines the horizon. I think through last night with Lincoln and smile my face off. We walked through the maze for hours, talking. I now know his favorite kind of music (jazz), least favorite word (moist), and nastiest all-time fear (invasion of Antrum). We debated which demons are hardest to fight, easiest to track, and have the worst personal hygiene. I explained to him at length why Frankenberry cereal rocks, Cissy and Zeke can get annoying, and reruns on the Human Channel are the bomb. Poor guy doesn’t even have a phone, they’re so nuts about security in Antrum, let alone television. I felt it my moral duty to educate him.
I bang the steering wheel with my fist. Damn, I forgot to ask him how he knows Walker! Note to self: ask that next time for sure.
Twisting the key in the ignition, I rev the engine. Betsy doesn’t buck or cough smoke as I drive off. I grin. Sometimes, everything goes your way.
The good luck continues once I get home. I tiptoe around the back of the house and fiddle with the bathroom window. It slides open without a hitch. Awesome. I shimmy inside and sneak into my bedroom. Slipping off Lincoln’s tunic, I throw on a gray nightie and slide into bed.
I’m feeling quite proud of my sneaky self when my bedroom door swings open. Mom’s outline appears in the darkened threshold. “Where have you been, Myla Lewis?”
She’s using my full name. I’m in trouble.
“I went to a party with Cissy.” I fluff my pillow under my head. “I know I should’ve told you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“Now I’m back and safe. I have school tomorrow. Can we talk about it in the morning?”
Mom pauses, then lets out a long breath. “I suppose so.” She wags her finger at me. “But you’re in big trouble, young lady.”
Her threat bounces off my wall of inner bliss. “You got it, Mom. We’ll talk in the morning.” I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
In my dreams, I return to the Gray Sea. A circle of white fire blazes on the sand by my feet. Mom’s figure rises from within the flames. The walls of our living room build around her.
The fire flares brighter and vanishes. The sand sculpture turns into real life. The living room looks exactly as it does today, only the couch is less threadbare, the carpet’s plusher, and the walls show fewer cracks. Mom piles bolts of black fabric onto the couch, a terrycloth robe wrapped loosely around her. I sigh. She’s already looking like a shabby, house-bound version of her former self. Sadness creeps into my bones. Senator Lewis is gone.
Someone knocks on our front door.
“Just a second.” Mom walks up to the door and swings it open. Xavier stands outside in his gray suit. A muscle twitches along his neck.
Mom waves him inside. “Xavier! Come in. Have a seat.” She moves a bolt of fabric off the couch and steps into the kitchen. “Do you want some ice cream? I don’t have anything as good as the old days, but I found this.” She stands in the kitchen doorway, squinting at a tiny package in her hands. “They’re called ‘Frozen Milk Product Bars.’”
“No, thank you.” Xavier’s eyes stay glued to the floor. Something about him is off, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Mom steps back into the kitchen. “By the way, my service paperwork was approved. I’m officially a seamstress as of today.”
“I heard. Quasis with a service can’t be terminated. You’re safe now.”
“Thanks to you and your people.” Mom steps back into the living room, pulling her robe tighter around her.
Xavier inhales a ragged breath. “We need to talk, Camilla.” The hollow tone in his voice sets my teeth on edge.
Mom’s face creases in confusion. “Sure, won’t you sit down?” She gestures to the empty spot on the couch.
Xavier shakes head. “You were right all along. About Armageddon, the Oligarchy, everything.” He glances toward Mom, his eyes dim. Could he be sick? I have the overwhelming urge to rush to his side, take his temperature and pat his hand. Poor guy.
Mom’s forehead knits in confusion. “Why bring that up now?”
“I should have backed you up. I want you to know that.”