Stray

by Evan Fuller

  17.

  Say Grace

  The door opened suddenly. There was a screech in its hinges that Juliet and Sander had discovered was quite helpful: it gave them a warning, a chance to put a vital few inches between them before whoever stood outside the door could see into the room. Juliet never quite felt at ease here, and every time, the sound of that door dredged all her fears to the surface. She tensed as she reached instinctively for the mandolin Sander had been teaching her to play until a few minutes ago, when they’d become distracted from the lesson.

  “You two aren’t even a bit obvious,” Chelsea appraised them, smirking.

  “You scared the hell out of us, Chels.” Beside Juliet, Sander too had tensed; presently, he put down his violin and relaxed back onto the well-worn brown couch.

  “Better me than Mom. Or, for that matter, our loving little sister.”

  “Well, you could knock first.”

  Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “And how long would it take Carla to notice the change and start guessing why I’m suddenly knocking?”

  Sander sighed. “You’re right.”

  “I’m always right. Now come on, we’re sitting down to eat.”

  Juliet and Sander set the instruments aside. He rose first and helped her to her feet. Every time she stood, she had to be careful not to bump her head: the unfinished wood ceiling was sharply steepled, reaching its lowest point where it met the wall against which the couch was set. As in every room of the apartment, the walls and floor were the same wood as the ceiling, except that the floor was finished. In Sander’s room, most of it was also buried under layers of small area rugs. It was a much smaller apartment than Juliet’s parents’, bespeaking a modest income, but she preferred its warm ambiance.

  “You know,” Chelsea said quietly as Sander closed his bedroom door behind them, “you could always rearrange your furniture. If you move the couch to where the bed is now, it won’t be visible from the door.”

  Juliet pictured it: Sander’s room was L-shaped, bending left from the door. The foot of the bed was presently visible upon entering, but not the headboard; if the couch was placed against that same wall, it would be entirely concealed. Chelsea was right. Sander smiled. “You’re brilliant.”

  “I know.”

  They descended the steep spiral staircase one at a time. It felt unstable under Juliet’s weight, which wasn’t much to begin with. Sander said it had never given out on anyone, yet. From the bottom of the staircase, the master bedroom and bathroom were down a short corridor to the right. Directly ahead of them was the cramped den and dining area, with the front door and kitchenette to the left. Carla was already sitting at the dining room table, casting a bored look at her siblings. Cambria, their mother, was just finishing up at the stove. “Sit, sit,” she beckoned, with a half-glance over her shoulder and a wave towards the table. “Your uncle is running just a bit late.”

  Juliet took a seat in a wobbly chair at the dinner table. As she folded her hands in her lap, her palm brushed a bump in the pocket of her worn gray jeans. It was the Anselm key from Emery, the decoy. She’d nearly forgotten about it, but now, she couldn’t help casting an anxious glance at the door. Would Hanssen have the key? Would she find a chance to make the switch? She hadn’t told Sander, of course. That would require telling him a hundred other things.

  “So,” Carla began, “how’s your composition going?” Juliet was surprised: Sander’s younger sister generally took no interest in his artistic endeavors. For a while, Carla had been expressing curiosity as to why Juliet was over so often, but since Juliet and Emery had started “dating,” Carla had taken little interest in Juliet either.

  “We’ve had a bit of a break from writing so Juliet has more time to get comfortable on the mandolin,” Sander said quickly. “We’ll be back into it soon.” Sander wanted Juliet to play accompaniment on a composition he’d been preparing for an end-of-term concert in May. Juliet had resisted this idea for two reasons: she wanted time to focus on painting, her own craft; and she feared she would still be a novice musician come May. But Sander had insisted, and she had reluctantly agreed.

  Cambria Engal made her way carefully to the dining area, her oven mitt balancing a still-sizzling tray of honey lemon sockeye. She set it down on the center of the table and deftly slid her hand from the mitt. “Okay,” she breathed, “ready. We’ll just wait a moment to see if—”

  As if on cue, the dull buzz of the doorbell sounded. Speak of the devil, Juliet thought, and the devil shall appear. Cambria went to open the door, and there stood Arvid Hanssen in the hallway. “I’m glad you could make it,” Cambria greeted him. She leaned in to kiss his cheek but stopped short. “What happened?”

  Juliet turned in her seat to get a better look. There was a deep red burn on the right side of Hanssen’s face, a strip of gnarled flesh extending from his ear down to his neck. “There was an equipment malfunction at work,” the doctor explained, grimacing. “It should heal with time.”

  “Well, just be sure you’re taking care of it. Here, let me have your coat.” Cambria disappeared into the hallway. Hanssen came to the table, taking his seat at the head. “Good evening, Uncle,” Sander and his sisters said in near-unison.

  “Good evening,” the doctor replied. He nodded at Juliet. “And to you as well.”

  She returned his greeting, suppressing a shudder. Ever imposing, Hanssen was even more intense with that burn tainting his face. Juliet imagined him in the magic shop Emery had described, fallen, clutching the wound amidst a vivid swirl of motion and color. She wondered whether he’d borne the pain in silence, or screamed.

  Cambria returned from the hall, sinking heavily into her seat at the table’s other end. “Okay,” she said with a tired smile. “Arvid, would you like to say grace?”

  The doctor obliged. Juliet took his hand in her right hand, Sander’s in her left. Hanssen recited the traditional supper prayer: “Jehovah God, guide of our sacred city, increase this our daily bounty. Strengthen us in our endeavors, that our glory may be Your glory. So may it be.”

  Cambria smiled. “Thank you. Now let’s eat.” Seated together, Carla and Cambria looked like a time-lapse portrait of the same person. Their features were, near as Juliet could tell, identical, distinguished only by the weary lines around Cambria’s eyes and mouth and her short, prematurely gray hair. Cambria’s countenance was different too, often worried, always weary. She began dishing up the plates.

  “So, who’s excited about the recovery expedition that’s about to go out?” Carla herself clearly was. “Vince Esser was telling me all about it after class yesterday. His mother is cosponsoring the expedition, along with the new Roccetti regent.” That struck Juliet as an optimistic prediction. She liked sir Rizzo’s chances, but he hadn’t secured the appointment just yet. “They’re heading west, further than any expedition has gone in years. Among other things, they hope to find a new coal deposit. This would allow both our circles to end reliance on Farsi imported coal from Ambler, which I find rather grand. What do you say, Uncle Arvid?”

  Hanssen seemed intently focused on cutting his fish. “I’m of the mind, Carla, that each circle should attend to its own affairs, and that trouble often comes of unneeded collaboration. We Vorteil should mind our own progress, and leave the Roccetti to mind theirs. With no offense to miss Spiros, of course,” he added with a cool nod to Juliet.

  “None taken.”

  “I think we civilized circles should band together, if only so we’re not exploited by those with fewer achievements to their names. I thought you would agree, Uncle.”

  “I simply believe this shared expedition is a dangerous idea,” Hanssen said tersely. “By all means, I hope I am proven wrong.”

  “You know, our father was a recovery agent,” Carla said to Juliet, but with a chilling look from her uncle, she dropped the subject.

  “This fish is delicious,” Juliet said to Cambria. If she was going to swap the keys, she would need to do so now, while everyone e
lse was still seated. “But I do have to use the bathroom, if you don’t mind.”

  Cambria smiled. “Thank you, Juliet. And of course.”

  Trying not to look at Hanssen, trying not to shake, she rose.

  For want of space via the entrance of the apartment, Cambria kept the coatrack in the master bedroom. As Juliet edged down the short darkened hall, past the bathroom, she saw that the door to Cambria’s room was ajar. That was good. She slipped inside without turning on the light, navigating by the dim orange glow of streetlights visible from the windows. There was a creek in the floorboards behind her. She turned. No one was there.

  She couldn’t make out which coat was Hanssen’s by sight, but one was colder than the others. She groped blindly, finding the coat’s hem and working her way to the breast pocket from there. With her heart in her throat, she plunged her hand into the pocket. Nothing.

  “I’m afraid I must excuse myself for a moment as well,” she heard him tell the others.

  Desperately, Juliet grabbed at the coat and found the other breast pocket. There, something small and metal and cold. Her fingers closed around it; she struggled to pull her arm free of the coat. She took the other key from her own pocket, fumbled, dropped it on the floor. Cambria was saying something inaudible, probably excusing Hanssen from the table. Scraping her fingers frantically across the floor, Juliet found the key and shakily retrieved it. She stood and shoved it into the breast pocket of the coat.

  She felt it: the scraping of wood on board as Hansen pushed back against the table and rose from his seat.

  She turned and crept from the room, as quickly as she could. She heard his first steps toward the hall. She caught her knee on the jamb but escaped the bedroom and rounded the corner to the bathroom door. Darting inside, she threw it shut—cutting the momentum just before it closed so as not to slam it—and turned on the light.

  Heaving, she put her head in her hands and waited for her heart to slow. It didn’t. After a minute she pulled a nasty wood splinter from her palm, washed her hands, and wetted her face. She couldn’t go back out there looking so panicked. She took a deep breath, then another. When she’d counted ten of them, she figured she was as calm as she was going to become. She turned to leave the bathroom.

  When she opened the door, he was there.

  Juliet nodded and tried to step past him, but he put a hand on her shoulder. It was a surgeon’s hand, powerful and precise. She wondered how easily those fingers could strangle her. “Miss Spiros,” he whispered.

  Deep breaths. She could smell his burned skin. Shit. She was going to kill Emery.

  “While we’re alone, I’d like to have a brief conversation.”

  She played dumb. “What about?”

  “You mean to tell me you don’t know?”

  She shook her head in denial, fighting tears.

  He sighed. “You’re becoming quite close to my nieces of late, and to my nephew in particular. You should know that my family is quite dear to me; they are the only thing I value in this vicious world.”

  It wasn’t about the key. She was relieved, but only for a moment: if it was about her and Sander, if he somehow knew, that was even worse.

  “I have no grievance with you,” the doctor continued quietly. “But some of the company you keep gives me cause for concern. If you wish to remain friends with my family, I would suggest that you reconsider your other associations. You do know to whom I refer.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, I know.”

  “Good. Best get back to the table now,” Hanssen said with a smile, “or your dinner will soon be cold.”

  When he had closed the bathroom door behind him, she collapsed against the wall.