It took animal savagery to tear at someone’s skin with their teeth, gnawing through fat and muscle, to hear someone’s agonized screams and feel nothing. Westie saw no compassion, no regret, as Lavina tilted her head back, laughing at something James was saying. Perhaps the rest of the family hadn’t been involved. Maybe they had moved on from hunting helpless families in cabins, but there was one thing Westie felt certain of: Lavina was still a threat.
The Fairfields headed toward her. She was reminded again of being back in the cabin, woken up by the screams of her mother.
“Westie, so good to see you again,” Lavina said when they were facing each other. Her dress was exquisitely made. There were no bumps or wrinkles at all in the fabric. Not something Westie imagined a cannibal would wear when on the hunt, but maybe that was the look Lavina was going for.
“Good to see you too,” Westie said with some semblance of grace. She held her ground, not wanting them to see her squirm. She kept her parasol close and twisted a gear at the wrist of her machine that made her middle finger twitch. It reminded her she was no longer that helpless little girl in the cabin, even if she still felt like it. “What brings you out today?”
“Actually,” the mayor said, “I was hoping to speak with the little savage girl I’ve seen you running around with.”
Westie bit the inside of her cheek, wanting to tell him that Bena was a woman, not a girl, and she was far from savage. But that would’ve meant sticking around to give a lecture. Without Alistair and Bena by her side, she wanted to be away from her present company as soon as possible.
“I’m sure I can get a message to her,” Westie said.
“Good. Some folks around here are concerned about what’s happening with the dome.”
When Hubbard took a step toward her, Westie flinched, nearly raising her arm to ward off an attack, but she stopped herself, remaining calm outwardly even when her insides rattled.
“If I’m going to invest my money in this machine, I need to know them savages will pull their weight,” Hubbard said. He had a bovine look to him and talked like a man slow in the head. Perhaps that was what eating humans did to the brain over time. If that was the case, it wasn’t working on Lavina. She seemed as sharp as ever.
“I’m sure whatever is happening with the dome, the Wintu have their reasons, and it will have no effect on Emma whatsoever,” Westie said. “I’ll see if I can set up a meeting with the Wintu’s chief as soon as possible.”
“Excellent,” Lavina said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Now maybe we can finally get off the topic of money.”
When Lavina lifted her arm, Westie saw a brown smear on her sleeve and blurted, “Is that blood on your dress?” before she could stop herself.
James leaned over Lavina’s shoulder for a better look. “You two must bathe in the stuff. Westie was covered in it too just yesterday. Is this some beauty regimen we should be concerned about?” he said with a smirk.
Westie forced herself to smile at James’s quip, but her gaze remained on Lavina, who scratched at the dried brown swatch. She’d been in Rogue City less than a week and was already causing trouble. It was hardly enough blood to suggest she’d attacked someone, but it was there all the same.
“I must have pricked myself with the needle when I was sewing Olivia’s doll’s head back on,” Lavina said. She smiled as if to say there was nothing Westie could do to shake her. “Speaking of Olivia, I’d best go check on her. If she wakes and sees I’m gone, she’ll destroy the place.”
“I think I’ll slip over to the Tight Ship. I’d like to avoid that little terror when she wakes.” James looked at Westie in a way that might’ve sent a flutter through her had they been alone. But as it was, all she felt was sick. “It’s always nice to see you, Westie. Good day.”
Westie watched the Fairfields leave. As soon as it was safe to turn her back on them, she rushed into the doctor’s office, locking the door behind her.
Sixteen
They arrived back at the mansion just before supper. Alistair was awake and, other than complaints of a headache, seemed no different than before he was shot. They sat down to eat. He wore a red handkerchief over his nose and mouth like a bandit after Nigel had taken his mask for repairs.
Alistair lifted his kerchief with one hand and shuttled a broccoli floret into his mouth with the other, careful not to let Westie see the face hidden beneath. She wished she had peeked at him when she’d had the chance.
He raised his hands. Stop watching me, he signed.
“Sorry, Alley, I don’t remember what those signs mean,” she lied. “You wear that blasted machine so often I’ve forgotten the hand language.”
He glared at her until she broke into a smile. His eyes softened.
“Enough,” Nigel said from the head of the table. He’d been so quiet Westie had nearly forgotten he was there. “I want to talk about what happened at the airdocks before the two of you went off seeking adventure.”
Westie looked down at the plate of food she hadn’t touched. “I was hoping to avoid it,” she said.
“You have been, but no longer. Now”—he tossed his napkin onto his full plate—“I want you to stop all this nonsense about the Fairfields being cannibals.”