Cerise hadn’t given him a single name, except her own, and he had no guarantee that even that was genuine. She planned to dump him in Sicktree and vanish into the swamp. If they were on solid ground, he could track her, but in the swamp, where water broke up scent trails, he wasn’t sure. She knew what she was doing.
If this was a normal conflict, things would be simple. She would be an enemy. But if she was telling the truth, she was a victim, a noncombatant. Noncombatants were off-limits. Until she made herself into an enemy by attacking him, he had no justification to treat her as such.
He wanted her to like him. Women rarely liked him, even in the Broken. They seemed to sense that something was wrong with him and gave him a wide berth.
What William needed was a way into her family, so he could figure out why Spider had decided to screw with them. Cerise was his way inside. He had to get her to like him or at least make her think he was useful enough to bring along. He had to think like a human and be sly.
Being sly wasn’t among his virtues. Cats were sly. Foxes, too. He was a wolf. He took what he wanted, and if he couldn’t have it, he’d bide his time until an opportunity to take it presented itself. She mentioned she expected to make Sicktree by the end of the next day. His window of opportunity was shrinking. He was running out of time.
William looked at her one last time and moved off into the living room. He pulled the cushions off the couch, made a makeshift pallet on the floor, and lay down, blocking the door. The Mirror had a man in Sicktree, Zeke Wallace. Officially he was a leather merchant and taxidermist. Unofficially he worked for Adrianglia and smuggled contraband in his spare time. According to Erwin, Zeke would provide him with up-to-date intelligence on Spider: where he and his crew had been seen, whom they contacted in the Mire, and so on. Zeke could help identify Cerise, but that was about it. The rest was on him.
Think. You’re a human, too. Think.
He was still trying to come up with something, when sleep mugged him.
THE sound of faint steps tugged on William through his sleep. He opened his eyes in time to see Cerise’s bare ankles as she slipped past him outside.
Running out on him. I don’t think so.
William rolled into a crouch and followed her out. The dour lake stretched placidly under a morose gray sky. At the dock Cerise waded into the water up to her knees, still wearing her long T-shirt. He followed her, moving silently across the grass to the dock, padding across the boards until he could see her face. Her eyes were closed. She lifted her head to the dreary sky and stood, her arms out slightly, as if welcoming someone.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders in a glossy waterfall. Her face was sad.
William sat on the edge of the dock. What the hell was she doing now?
CERISE breathed in the morning air. She’d slept badly. Once she woke up because she dreamed that they had gotten to Sicktree and Urow was dead. The next time she’d dreamed the house was attacked. The dream had been so vivid, she actually got up and went as far as her doorway. From that point she could see the dining room and the living room, both dark, and William asleep in front of the door, barring the way for any intruders. In his dreams, the hard edge faded from the blueblood. He looked peaceful and calm. Watching him reassured her and she went back to sleep.
It was morning now, and she was awake, but the anxiety refused to go away. It saddled her and dug the spurs in. The responsibility for the whole family now lay with her, and it dragged her down like an anchor, so heavy, she wondered if she would sink if she dived into the lake.
Life was so much easier when she only had to obey Dad’s orders. So much easier. She missed him and Mom so much, it hurt. If she didn’t find them, the family would crumble. And Lark . . . She didn’t even want to imagine what would happen to Lark.
I will not sink. I will float.
Cerise took a deep breath and let herself fall into the cold water softly. It picked her up and carried her along. She stretched, weightless, her long hair streaming around her in a soft veil. She had done this ever since she was a little girl. The water never failed to soothe her.
Failure happened. The trick was to accept the risk and try anyway.
The water lapped at her, washing away the jitters. Calm came.
She opened her eyes. The pregnant dark sky threatened rain. The dark boards of the dock slid past her. William’s face swung into view, peering at her from the dock.
He stared at her with utter amazement, like a kid who had stumbled on to a bright odd-looking bug.
“Hi,” she said.
“What are you doing?”
“Floating.”
“Why?”
“It’s relaxing. You should try it.” Too late she realized that sounded like an invitation. Great. Just great. Would it have killed her to think before she opened her mouth? Jump in with me, Lord Bill, I’m swimming here, half-naked . . .
William shook his head. “No.”
Wait a minute. What did he mean “no”? “Why not?”
“I don’t like water.”
“Why?”
William grimaced. “It’s wet. And the pel . . . the hair stinks like fish for hours afterward.”
Cerise blinked. Was he serious? “Swimming is fun.”
“No, swimming gets you from point A to point B. What you’re doing isn’t swimming. You’re not going anywhere.”
Full of opinions, Lord Bill. “Swimming is good for you, and you could always shampoo your precious hair afterward. Your hair looks good after you wash it.”
He grimaced.
“I bet the women from the Weird tell you that you have great hair all the time, Lord Bill.” She bet they told him he was handsome as sin, too.
His face turned grim. “Women from the Weird tell me nothing. They don’t talk to me unless I pay them.”
Well, that was neither here nor there. William peered at her. “If you’re finished splashing in this muddy puddle, I’d like to get to Sicktree now.”
Cerise raised her eyebrows. “Muddy puddle?”