“What happened?” he asks. “What were you doing in the wood after dark?”
I tell him about the party, about Stoner Guy and Varo’s followers. I don’t mention Henry, or what Varo said to me. I tell myself it’s because it doesn’t matter what that black-magic freak has to say for himself, but, really, it’s because I don’t want Uncle Joe knowing he infiltrated my mind so easily.
Or that, even though I know I’m playing right into Varo’s hands, he piqued my curiosity.
Matters such as these …
Uncle Joe takes everything in without interrupting, although his jaw tenses and his hands clench into fists when I tell him about the wood attacking us.
When I finish, he closes his eyes, thinking. “All right, first things first. Does the traveler need to be taken care of?”
I shake my head. “He was on some sort of drug. He thinks the whole thing was just a bad trip.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I know.”
He starts pacing again. “You’ll need to be more careful. Varo undoubtedly knows who you are now if he didn’t before, and everything you’ve seen has made you a threat.”
“What should I do?”
“Ideally, you’ll stay out of the wood until this whole thing blows over.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly do that, can I?”
“You’ll have to keep a low profile, then,” he says. “Don’t wander as much. Stay close to your threshold and only go in deeper if you feel a traveler. And then you do your job and get out, understand?”
“Yes,” I say, even though I have no intention of doing any such thing, not when Henry’s parents are out there somewhere. Possibly waiting for someone to rescue them. “Do I need to worry about Varo coming after me now that he knows where I live?”
Joe glances up at Mom’s bedroom window. Both of us would die before we let anyone touch her. “I don’t think so. He’s hiding out, biding his time. Any sort of trouble could come to a guardian in the wood, but crossing through a threshold to attack a guardian would raise too many red flags.”
“He didn’t sound like he was biding his time for much longer,” I say. “He’s going to attack the council soon.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“What can I do to help?”
His lips twitch into a sad smile. “Truthfully?”
I nod.
“Stay out of it.”
“Excuse me?” I am so not the stay-out-of-it girl.
“I won’t be able to concentrate on what I need to do if I have to worry about your safety.” He grabs me by the shoulders. Forces me to look at him. “Promise me.”
I exhale. “Fine. I promise.”
So maybe Dad did teach me how to lie a little.
“By the way,” I tell him, “Septimus is one of them.”
“That doesn’t bode well. He has a lot of power on the council.” He releases a breath. “I’ll see what else I can find out.”
“You’ll let me know what you learn?”
He arches a brow. “Only if it’s something you need to know. Like I said, I won’t compromise your safety.”
I sigh. “Fair enough.”
Joe insists on watching me go back inside the house before he leaves. I guess he thinks if he doesn’t, I’m liable to go running off into the wood like some sort of crazy person. I feel his eyes on me as I walk up the porch and open the door. I turn back around to wave—Joe nods once, satisfied—and that’s when I notice it.
The mud coating the hem of his pants.
XXVIII
I tell myself, as I head back upstairs, that there’s probably a really good reason Joe’s pants were muddy. He did say he went into the wood looking for me. Surely the mud’s just from that. But when you combine that with how long he took to come find me, it creates one horrible, nauseating question: Is the reason Uncle Joe took so long to find me tonight, the reason he had mud on his pants, because he’s one of Varo’s followers?
I stop on the staircase and lean my forehead against the wall. I’m being ridiculous. Why would Uncle Joe choose to follow Varo? Why would anyone?
Matters such as these are not always as they seem.
The bathroom light is still on, but the shower is no longer running. I hurry into my room and lie on the bed, pretending to pore over my chem book. Henry tiptoes in a moment later and closes the door behind him, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He lays Dad’s muddy clothes on top of my dresser. I’ll have to wash them and get them back in Mom’s closet before she notices they’re missing.
“Forget everything I have ever said.” Henry sinks into my desk chair, his long legs stretching out in front of him, arms languidly dangling at his sides. “That was the most miraculous phenomenon I have ever experienced.”
I force a smile. “Better than drawstring pants, huh?”
He nods.
“Better than TV?”
“Very much so.” He leans his head back against the top of the chair and shakes his head, his eyes closed. “The men of your time are geniuses.”
“I’m going to assume you meant men and women.”
He smirks. “Of course. My apologies.”
“Your time wasn’t so bad, either.”
“Yes, but water that pours from the wall already heated? Light that comes from wires instead of flame? A box where you can watch a play without leaving the comfort of your home and sitting in a stuffy theater? Poor taste in fashion aside, I could become quite accustomed to this life.”
I sit up. “Henry, you know you can’t tell anyone about anything you’ve seen here, right? You can’t try to invent these things for yourself, in your time, or tell people about everything you’ve seen—”
“I have told you before, Winter.”
“I know, I just—I need to say it, and I need to hear you say you understand. It’s my job.”
He nods. “I understand. When I return to my time, I will act as though I have no idea of the wonders that await future generations.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. They’re heavy, weighing me down. My throat goes dry and my palms itch, so I fluff the pillow behind me, breaking the connection.
“Ready for bed?”
I don’t realize until it’s too late that my comment would have been a lot more innocent last night, before we’d almost kissed. Now, Henry continues to watch me, his relaxed body suddenly rigid, and I know he’s thinking of our almost-kiss, too. “Because I can turn off the light,” I say, “and I can get in my bed, and you can get in yours. And we can sleep.”
Great. Way to make it clear, loser.
“All right.” He crawls into his sleeping bag and I turn off the light. I slip under the covers, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. It’s late, and the strips of moonlight pouring through my window don’t gild him like they did last night. Instead, they climb up the wall, and it’s easier to talk to him when I can’t see his cheekbones lined in silver.
“Henry?”
“Yes?”
“We’ll find your parents,” I say. “I promise.”