“Well . . .” Agnes wasn’t quite sure what to say. “It’s nice to meet you, Sera. I mean, not nice given our present circumstances but . . . I’m glad to know your name.”
Sera said something back, and Agnes felt the girl shared her sentiments.
What a crazy turn of events. She had come all this way looking for sprites and ended up finding something even more unique.
The idea struck her like a thunderclap. She didn’t need the sprites to write the essay. She was sitting here communicating with a creature from . . . another world, as far as Agnes could guess. Surely that would count as a brave step in the name of science! She would need a token, though, something to prove that Sera was real. She couldn’t very well bring her over to Pelago and show her to the Masters. A fingernail clipping, perhaps, or . . .
“Sera,” Agnes said hesitantly, because she wasn’t a thief like her father or brother. She wasn’t going to take anything from this girl without her consent. “This may seem an odd request, but . . . might I have a strand of your hair? To study in my lab. I’m a scientist, you see, and I would like to know more about you, where you come from, that sort of thing. Would that be all right with you?”
Sera bent to scratch out more letters, but the dirt was gone. She made a plaintive wail and even though they did not speak the same language, Agnes understood her all the same.
“You just want to go back home, don’t you?” she said. Sera nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Well, I will help you as best I can. That much I promise.”
And she would if she could—she would try at least, even though she hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about doing it. But she felt like she’d already let this girl down once.
Sera studied Agnes’s face for a long moment, as if deciding whether she could trust her.
“I won’t let anyone know I have it,” Agnes said, for she felt she needed to prove her sincerity.
Sera reached up and plucked a thin blue strand from her head. She looked at it for a moment, as if it was meaningful to her in some way Agnes couldn’t begin to guess, before poking it through the net. Agnes took a glass jar from her pocket, one she had brought to keep a sprite in, unscrewed the top, and carefully placed the hair inside.
Then she fingered the dagger again, her eyes darting back and forth between the men outside and the net, considering her options.
14
Leo
LEO HAD OVERSLEPT, MAKING THEM LATE LEAVING THE inn. Then when they’d finally reached the city, a trolley had derailed, causing a mess of backed-up traffic in the financial district.
Leo’s stomach was twisting itself in knots. He shouldn’t have gotten so drunk last night. He should have volunteered to stay outside and guard the truck. What would his father think if he heard about his behavior? He’d been feeling on top of the world after capturing the weird silver girl. She was so much more impressive than a tiny sprite. Leo wondered if even Kiernan knew something like her existed, or if he had actually discovered a brand-new species all by himself.
Well, Agnes had helped. He wondered what she was thinking, back there in the truck, knowing that soon she’d have to face their father. And this was a serious infraction, even for her. As much as he hated to admit it, though, it was pretty impressive—Agnes might be embarrassing at social events, but Leo couldn’t imagine someone like Elizabeth Conway daring to brave the Knottle Plains in a supply truck.
“Are we taking her to the theater with the others?” Chewing Tobacco asked.
Branson shook his head. “Gotta show her to the boss first. See what he has to say about her.”
The sun was just beginning its descent toward the horizon as they reached the southeastern edge of Jevet’s Park and left the traffic behind at last, weaving through the quieter streets of Upper Glen. Leo had developed quite a headache by the time they reached the brownstone on Creekwater Row.
He stepped out of the car, straightened his shirt, and ran a hand through his curls, hoping he looked somewhat presentable. Eneas was washing the dark green motorcar in the driveway.
“Back already, young master Leo?” he called with a wave.
Leo kept his eyes on the front door as he walked up the steps.
Father, you’ll never guess what I found in the plains!
If you’ll just come out to the truck, Father, I’ve got something I think you’ll like. . . .
We couldn’t find the sprites, but—
Before he had a chance to decide just how to break the news, the door was flung open and his father was looming over him.
“It’s not sprites,” Leo said, the words tumbling out clumsily. “But we found something else.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“You’d best see her for yourself, sir,” Branson said. Leo hadn’t realized he had followed him up the steps.
Xavier’s eyes narrowed at the word her. “Very well.”
Branson headed toward the truck doors, but Leo beat him there. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to be the one to show his father the girl. He wrenched down the handle and pulled.
“I got her with a net launcher,” he said. “And we’ve kept her tied up. We aren’t sure what—”
But his words were cut off as he opened the back of the truck and a silvery-blue streak crashed into him.
“Grab her!” Branson shouted.
More out of instinct than actual skill, Leo’s arms reached out and closed around the delicate figure. She felt more human than he’d expected—through the dress he could feel her ribs, her spine, her stomach. Her skin was warm and soft where it touched his, and her hair gave off a fragrance that he couldn’t place. She was stronger than she looked, and he tightened his grip on her as she struggled against him, wailing and kicking wildly.
Then there was a smacking sound and her head snapped to one side as her whole body went limp. He hadn’t even seen Branson throw the punch. Everything happened so fast.
“No!” Agnes was standing in the truck bed, staring in horror at the girl’s unconscious form. “What did you do?” she screamed at Branson.
Xavier had one hand around Agnes’s wrist in an instant, yanking her down from the truck.
“What in god’s name were you thinking? You nearly gave Mrs. Phelps a heart attack when she discovered you were gone. What’s wrong with you? What the hell are you wearing?” He looked up and down the street as if terrified someone might see his only daughter outside in pants. “Get into the house this instant.”
Agnes knew better than to argue. She ducked her head and, with a last glance back at the girl, hurried through the gates and up the steps to the brownstone. Leo wasn’t sure what to do. The girl’s body was folded over his left arm, her hair hiding her face.
“Well, well,” Xavier said, walking over. “What do we have here?”
“I found her in the plains, Father. She—”
“Put her back in the truck,” Xavier said. Branson bent to grab her feet, and together he and Leo wedged her in among the crates and tools. A bruise was forming on her temple. She seemed . . . young. Vulnerable.
He looked away. “We don’t know what she is, Father. I found her in a pit in the middle of the plains.”