His eyes were dark with sorrow as they met hers, and anger flickered. “I’m not leaving her like this,” Trisk said in affront.
Daniel’s hand fell, his expression terrible in his grief. “You can’t help her,” he said, voice low, and her breath quickened. “You heard what they’re doing in Reno. What they’re doing everywhere. Leave her here with her parents. Don’t take her from them, even in death.”
“I’m not leaving her here to die alone,” she whispered harshly, angry with him—angry at the world—and with a final sniff, she pushed past him.
But her hope twisted into heartache when she saw April’s flushed face, her breath fitful as she slept between her dead parents, her mother’s bloodless white hand still protectively covering her.
“Oh, sweet pea,” Trisk whispered, falling to a kneel to gather the little girl up in her blankets. “We’re here now. We can get you some help. Make you better.” But even as she said it, she knew it was too late. It had been too late the moment the virus had been released.
April’s eyes opened at the clatter of pixy wings, and her expression lit up in wonder when Orchid hovered at Trisk’s shoulder. A glittering blue dust sifted down, flashing silver where it touched April’s face. She smiled, her innocence and wonder heartbreaking.
“Are you an angel?” April asked, her cheeks flushed to make her eyes look eerily bright. “Are you going to take me and Mommy to heaven?”
Trisk’s throat closed. “She sure is, sweet pea. Go to sleep. Dream of angels.”
April’s smile lingered as she blinked fast and closed her eyes. Daniel eased up beside them, silent as together the three of them watched April’s breaths go shallow and finally stop.
“She had such a pale green aura,” Orchid said, wings slowing as she landed atop Trisk’s arm to peer at the child. “Pretty. I thought I’d like it better if there were less humans, but I don’t know anymore. She called me an angel.”
“I’ll take her,” Daniel said, and Trisk’s grip on April tightened. But she knew he was right, and while the helpless tears slipped down, she felt April’s weight leave her as he took the bundled girl into his own arms.
Empty and cold, Trisk stood in the middle of the boxcar as Orchid and Daniel gently nestled April back between her parents. They lingered over them, one in curiosity, the other in what looked like a prayer. Trisk didn’t know if it was for the family or for himself.
“Wait outside,” Daniel said, head bowed and voice rough. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Arms wrapped around herself from grief, Trisk scuffed to the open door, sitting down to slide out. The jar of meeting solid ground echoed through her and up into her spine, and she paused to unhook her long, open sweater coat when it caught. The air was chill, and she sucked in huge lungfuls of it, trying to find her composure. Orchid had let April see her, and April hadn’t been scared. She had been charmed—for what little time she still breathed. Maybe it had been a mistake to keep their existence from humanity. No one could be afraid of pixies or fairies, but it had been thought if people knew of the smaller Inderlanders, they would recognize the darker, larger, and more dangerous ones in the shadows.
Quen, please be all right.
Wiping any hint of tears away, she turned to Kal. He was doing calisthenics in the sun, his limbs toned and his motions deliberate against the backdrop of the city. The boys and their uncle were gone, swallowed up by the shocking silence. There was no roar of traffic and nothing in the sky. Trisk’s eyes narrowed as she saw the skyline. “That’s not Detroit.”
Kal came up from a stretch, a hint of annoyance furrowing his brow. “It’s Chicago.”
Lips parting, she faced him squarely, the boxcar holding a guilty silence behind her. How could she have ever slept with him? The man was a toad. “We have to get to Detroit. That’s where Sa’han Ulbrine is.” It was obvious that the train wasn’t going to move again. Either it hadn’t been going where they thought it was or the rails had been shut down.
Kal glanced at her and then away, focused on his stretch. “I know that.”
“You said you knew the schedules,” she insisted, though to be honest, they would have gotten on any train at that point.
“What I said was the schedules are simple.” Kal’s motions became sharp.
Arms still over her middle, she cocked her hip. “You can’t say it, can you.”
He came out of his stretch, shaking himself to resettle his clothes. “That I’m sorry?” he said, his flush making his baby-fine white hair stand out. “Sure I can. I’m sorry. I thought the train was going to Detroit. Clearly they stopped all traffic. You’re going to blame me for that?”
“You are such an ass.”
Daniel carefully lowered himself to sit in the open door. His blond hair, catching the light, was mussed, and his sweater-vest was filthy. His jaw was set, though, and his eyes were determined as he slid out and down, his dress shoes scraping on the scree. His broken humanity made him somehow more attractive than Kal. “That’s not Detroit,” he said.