“We barely got my brothers placed with Mrs. Hudson. What do you think will happen to Riva and her siblings? What if they don’t have a friend who still keeps in touch with his fifty-year-old nanny?”
“She’s not our nanny,” Lock said. “Not anymore.”
“Yes, that is the important point here.”
Sherlock had frowned and gone back to his study of ash. He’d moved on to pipe tobacco since Riva’s visit. “Suppose they don’t have a way to stay together. Either we are satisfied with doing our part, or we call the police and think they are better off separated and cared for than together and neglected.”
I’d stared at him, begging him to take back what he’d said. But he wouldn’t. Not even if I’d reminded him that if he’d been as flippant with me, my brothers would be in the system at that moment. That if I were Riva’s age, if I were even one year younger, I would have been in a group home instead of free to stay at my own house, because his precious law decided that being sixteen meant I could take care of myself as long as I had a suitable place to live, but being fourteen meant Riva couldn’t.
I would never remind him of any of that, though. It would’ve been a waste of time. No, he wouldn’t even think of anything but those ridiculous piles of ash. So I’d said, “If you’d use your giant brain for something that matters for once.” And then I’d stormed out of the lab, sure I was done with his pathetic law-and-order ideals for good. But he’d shown up outside each of my afternoon classes and followed me onto the bus home, until I no longer had the energy to ignore him.
We’d only just resolved everything two days ago, and I was bringing it up again. For what? To make him see how much what he did could matter to a person?
“It’s not just pets and baubles,” I said. “Finding someone’s guardian hardly equates to a bauble.”
Sherlock scowled out the bus window. “That puzzle barely took me a day to work out.”
“She now knows where her mother is.”
“Wasn’t it you who suggested we needed to do more?”
I sighed and bit back all the things I wanted to say. I wasn’t about to rehash our argument over something so stupid. Instead, I decided to start a new one. “I thought it was all about the puzzle for you.”
Sherlock looked back at me, and I kept my eyes on my booklet. When he spoke, his tone was softer than I expected. “We could still call the police.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. But sometimes that boy was so clueless, I had to wonder whether he had any thoughts in his head at all. “The police.”
“I just mean—”
“After everything you’ve witnessed.” He had nothing to say to that, so we stared at each other while the bus slowed and came to a stop. I stood, rolling my booklet into a tube as I stomped down the steps and off onto the street. He chased after me and fell into rhythm with my stride. Then he reached for my hand, which I let him hold without realizing until it was too late to pull it back without looking like a pouty child.
“Can you really not see past your father’s version of the law to what it is supposed to be?” he asked.
I scowled. “The law is not absolute. Laws are ever wavering, affected by the good and bad of those in position to create and enforce them, which leaves some citizens more subject to the law than others.”
“Are you speaking of wealth?”
“Of course. Wealth, race, gender, disability, orientation—anything that breeds prejudice also breeds injustice.”
“And the law is the only thing that can fight those injustices. Do you really think corruption and prejudice will lessen without the authority of law?”
“Are you so afraid we would all become monsters without the law?”
“Not all.”
“Who then?”
He looked at me, then away. Me? Was he afraid of what I would become? I studied his profile for a few moments, then glanced down at our still-clutched hands. I tried to slide mine free, but he held fast. He was right to be worried for me. He was wrong that the law would stop me, however. It never would.
But I had to know what he really thought. “Are you such a believer in the law? Or are you just afraid of who I might become outside of it?”
“You . . .” Lock paused just long enough to let me think I was right. Then his expression went blank. Was he actually afraid of me? I’d never even considered the idea, but it was possible. Probable, even. He’d seen me at my most vulnerable and most dark—all within the span of a single day. I’d have to wonder if he wasn’t afraid of me, really.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Am I afraid of what you might be? Or am I afraid of what I know for certain I would be without the constraints of law?” He looked me straight in the eyes and asked, “Am I more afraid of you or myself?”
I hadn’t expected him to say that, and I could tell by the sudden furrow of his brow that he hadn’t expected to say it either. But he quickly recovered. “So, let us say that you are right, and there is no justice in the world. Then all we have is the law!”
“What is the point of law without justice?”