Ander moved toward her. The shock in his blue eyes made her want to flee and never be seen by anyone she loved again. She forced herself to see her bloody hands and the woman’s caved-in cheekbone, her vacant, blood-filled eyes.
When one of the raiders tried to grab Eureka the cave filled with the strange whistle of wind. Everyone ducked and shielded their eyes. Ander was exhaling a great stream of breath. It flew around the cave like a helicopter landing. It drew every winged creature into its realm, like a lantern in a dark sky. The birds and insects still flew, but they flew in place, manipulated by Ander’s breath.
Ander’s Zephyr had constructed a transparent wall of wind and wings that split the cave in two. On one side, close to the cave’s entrance, stood the stunned intruders. On the other side, near the waterfall at the back of the salon, stood Cat, the twins, Ander, and, hunched over the old woman’s body, Eureka.
Ander’s breath protected her from the Celans’ revenge. They couldn’t reach her on the other side of the beating, winged wall. They couldn’t do to her what she had done to Filiz’s grandmother, what Filiz’s grandmother had done to Dad. Ander’s breath had forged a temporary truce. Maybe he was the dealer in hope.
But how long would it take for what she’d done to sink into Ander, into the hearts and minds of everyone she loved? How long until everyone turned away?
Eureka hadn’t had a choice. She saw her father die and she reacted without thinking. It was instinctual. But what would happen now? Were there still laws in this drowning world?
“Take the food,” Eureka heard herself tell Filiz. She gestured at the cans and packages scattered on the other side of the cave.
This murder was a rift in Eureka’s identity. She no longer belonged in the world she was trying to fix. She no longer recognized the girl who had come from there. She could never return home. The best she could hope for was that other people could return there.
A shadow fell across her body. If it was Cat or the twins, Eureka would lose it. They would need consoling, and how could she console anyone after what she’d done?
“Eureka.” It was Solon.
“If you want me to go, I’ll understand.”
“Of course I want you to go.”
Eureka nodded. She had ruined everything, again.
“I want you to go to the Marais,” Solon whispered in her good ear. “Suddenly I think you might actually pull this off.”
15
MOURNING BROKEN
Murderer.
The voice inside Eureka’s mind that night was full of loathing. It had taunted her all day as she prepared Dad for a burial he wouldn’t receive.
There was no soil in the Bitter Cloud, and Solon wouldn’t let them venture farther than the reaches of the witches’ glaze. Instead, he suggested they give Dad a Viking funeral, sending his body out to sea in a blazing pyre.
“But how—” Eureka had started to ask.
Solon pointed at the watery tunnel Eureka had paddled down the night before. The aluminum canoe bobbed inside. “This channel is many-fingered,” he said, and spread the fingers on his hand. “This finger leads swiftly to the ocean.” He wiggled his ring finger. “It’s really very dignified.”
“You just want everything to be as morbid as possible, all the time,” Cat had said, helping Ander line the canoe with collapsed wooden prosecco crates. She had been raised to be superstitious about rites of passage, mindful of the fate of spirits, wary of forlorn ghosts.
Murderer.
Ander tried to catch her eye. “Eureka—”
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t be tender anymore.”
“You were avenging your father,” he said. “You lost control.”