been shattered.”
Images crop up in Hattie’s mind. Unsurprisingly, they match the woman behind her.
“I miss her lots,” says Hattie. “But every now and then I can hear her singing to me at night. So I know wherever she is, she still loves me. Now what’s all this about? Here let me help you up. That dirty sidewalk will muss up your pretty dress.”
Hattie gets under my arm and forces me to my feet as she dusts at my dress with her free hand. My dress is peppered in fine ash from all those fires at the riot. That will take forever to wash out.
“Thank you, Hattie. Have a good night. And you’re right. Your mother still loves you.”
“Bye, Miss Kwan.”
I watch Hattie walk back to the house. Her mother puts a loving arm over her shoulders. Oblivious, Hattie enters the house together with her.
I guess this has been going on for years. What can I say? May happiness find you, Hattie.
Dodger butts me with his nose.
Human-Kwan not forget carrots? he asks.
Of course not, Dodger. To your home and then I’ll see you come morning.
I return Dodger to his stable, help him out of the harness, and leave all the tack on the peg in the office, since the stall clerk has gone missing. The Lanarrs’ front door is unlocked, allowing me to slip inside, and sneak past the sleeping doorman.
I see a light on in the kitchen as I remove my shoes. When I go to it, I find Greg there, reading.
He’s heard me come, so he turns the book over and sets it down. He turns on the chair to study me, as he puts on a slight smirk.
Caught sneaking around hours before dawn. I hope he finds the truth credible.
I walk over to him and get down so I can set my hands on his knees. Better to start from here, in case I need to do some emergency begging.
“I went to rescue a friend. There were riots in my area and he got trapped.”
“He?” Greg’s thoughts are guarded, so his public mind is opaque to me. I get a glimmer of amusement and curiosity, but no anger. So far so good.
“A friend, yes. A telepath who tried to help me once. I’m not one to forget a good deed.”
Greg picks at the ash on my sleeve, frowning. It’s a strange way to corroborate my story, but I think tonight is just going to insist on being a strange night.
“The doorman got word to me to look out for you,” says Greg. “But when you didn’t arrive, I got worried and came here.”
“Thank you, for believing a story that sounds incredible, even to me.”
“You thought I wouldn’t believe you? Lords, you’re the worst telepath in the world.”
If he knew how much I want to sit on his chest, pinning him down while I force rapport on him and share every idea in my head, he would probably run away screaming. If only I could fully understand the complex war of emotions playing beneath the surface of his public mind.
Greg rises, taking me by the hand.
“Shh,” he says. “Or we’ll get caught.”
He takes me out the service entrance from the kitchen, into the backyard. From there, he leads me to a side door of the house, nestled in the shadows. After a moment fumbling for a key, we take it and climb a narrow staircase leading to his room on the third floor.
There, so he can kiss me.
This is too much surprise for one night. I try to push away, but my body has turned into soft clay. I should be exhausted; the sun will rise in a bit over two hours. I should be too sore to move. How can I be so stunningly dreamily awake?
We somehow arrive at the bed. One thing leads to another, and before long, my dress tumbles off the side.
“You’ve not done it before,” says Greg after a moment.
“You can feel it?”
“You’re so worldly sometimes, I might have thought otherwise.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
But Greg is wise enough to evade my question by going back to kissing.
An hour goes by. Maybe more, but I’m sure the
Images crop up in Hattie’s mind. Unsurprisingly, they match the woman behind her.
“I miss her lots,” says Hattie. “But every now and then I can hear her singing to me at night. So I know wherever she is, she still loves me. Now what’s all this about? Here let me help you up. That dirty sidewalk will muss up your pretty dress.”
Hattie gets under my arm and forces me to my feet as she dusts at my dress with her free hand. My dress is peppered in fine ash from all those fires at the riot. That will take forever to wash out.
“Thank you, Hattie. Have a good night. And you’re right. Your mother still loves you.”
“Bye, Miss Kwan.”
I watch Hattie walk back to the house. Her mother puts a loving arm over her shoulders. Oblivious, Hattie enters the house together with her.
I guess this has been going on for years. What can I say? May happiness find you, Hattie.
Dodger butts me with his nose.
Human-Kwan not forget carrots? he asks.
Of course not, Dodger. To your home and then I’ll see you come morning.
I return Dodger to his stable, help him out of the harness, and leave all the tack on the peg in the office, since the stall clerk has gone missing. The Lanarrs’ front door is unlocked, allowing me to slip inside, and sneak past the sleeping doorman.
I see a light on in the kitchen as I remove my shoes. When I go to it, I find Greg there, reading.
He’s heard me come, so he turns the book over and sets it down. He turns on the chair to study me, as he puts on a slight smirk.
Caught sneaking around hours before dawn. I hope he finds the truth credible.
I walk over to him and get down so I can set my hands on his knees. Better to start from here, in case I need to do some emergency begging.
“I went to rescue a friend. There were riots in my area and he got trapped.”
“He?” Greg’s thoughts are guarded, so his public mind is opaque to me. I get a glimmer of amusement and curiosity, but no anger. So far so good.
“A friend, yes. A telepath who tried to help me once. I’m not one to forget a good deed.”
Greg picks at the ash on my sleeve, frowning. It’s a strange way to corroborate my story, but I think tonight is just going to insist on being a strange night.
“The doorman got word to me to look out for you,” says Greg. “But when you didn’t arrive, I got worried and came here.”
“Thank you, for believing a story that sounds incredible, even to me.”
“You thought I wouldn’t believe you? Lords, you’re the worst telepath in the world.”
If he knew how much I want to sit on his chest, pinning him down while I force rapport on him and share every idea in my head, he would probably run away screaming. If only I could fully understand the complex war of emotions playing beneath the surface of his public mind.
Greg rises, taking me by the hand.
“Shh,” he says. “Or we’ll get caught.”
He takes me out the service entrance from the kitchen, into the backyard. From there, he leads me to a side door of the house, nestled in the shadows. After a moment fumbling for a key, we take it and climb a narrow staircase leading to his room on the third floor.
There, so he can kiss me.
This is too much surprise for one night. I try to push away, but my body has turned into soft clay. I should be exhausted; the sun will rise in a bit over two hours. I should be too sore to move. How can I be so stunningly dreamily awake?
We somehow arrive at the bed. One thing leads to another, and before long, my dress tumbles off the side.
“You’ve not done it before,” says Greg after a moment.
“You can feel it?”
“You’re so worldly sometimes, I might have thought otherwise.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
But Greg is wise enough to evade my question by going back to kissing.
An hour goes by. Maybe more, but I’m sure the
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