The Good Luck Girls

by Charlotte Nicole Davis

  “That’s enough,” Aster said before he could go any further. She did not have the energy to soothe Zee’s guilt. Nor did she want to. She felt no relief at having been proven right about him, only an overwhelming exhaustion that settled over her like a sickness.

  “I am sorry,” he said finally. His hat was still in his lap, and he put it back on as if to help hide his face. “I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m sorry for lying about it for so long.”

  Well, he’s sorry. I guess that counts for something, Aster thought, bitter.

  “You said your father died—how?” Tansy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Zee let out a loose breath. “He killed himself,” he said. “Being a ravener, it takes a … a toll. Mortals aren’t built to endure the power that comes from beyond the Veil. It eats away at your soul. You can’t understand unless you’ve seen it happen to someone you love. My father went into the business so he could get us out of debt once and for all, but he started losing his memories, his emotions, his desires … everything that made him him. He used to build model boats and take them down to the creek for us to race. He would sing my sisters to sleep. All of that went away. It was like he was turning to stone. My mother passed one winter and he didn’t so much as shed a tear. He shot himself later that year—not out of grief, I think, but emptiness. He might as well have already been dead.”

  No one spoke. They had all had their share of tragedy, and they had all experienced a ravener’s cold indifference. But the idea of watching a loved one slowly lose themselves to the curse … it was a horror Aster had never considered.

  You’re not the one who grew up being tortured by them, last I checked, she’d once told him.

  But maybe he had.

  “I’m sorry, Zee,” Aster said finally, some of her anger easing. “You should have told us. But I’m sorry all the same.”

  “I see why you didn’t want to talk about it, though. It’s a hell of a thing,” Mallow muttered.

  But Zee’s attention had turned back to Clementine. “Clementine? You’re so quiet,” he said, swallowing. “What are you thinking?”

  “I think … I think maybe you were as much your father’s prisoner as anyone else,” Clementine managed, not looking up at him. “But I wish you hadn’t kept it a secret from me. I would’ve understood. I do understand. You have to trust me.”

  “She’s right, Zee,” Aster said with a sigh. “You think we don’t know how it feels to want to leave your whole past behind?” The others murmured in agreement.

  “Honestly, I thought you would hate me,” Zee admitted.

  “I hated that I could tell you were lying to us,” Aster said. All the worst men were liars. They would tell you that up was down and punish you for arguing otherwise. The welcome house had been a lie, too. The whole damned Scab had been based on a lie—the lie that said dustbloods deserved whatever bad things happened to them.

  Aster didn’t think she could stomach even one more lie.

  “Well, you have my word—nothing but the truth from here on out,” Zee said. “So believe me when I tell you this: I’m going to get you all to Lady Ghost, not because I want your shine, and not because I want your forgiveness. I just want to see you win.”

  * * *

  Once the train slowed down in the outskirts of Northrock, they jumped out. It wouldn’t do to be caught stowing away. But that meant they’d have to cover the last couple of miles into town on foot, through pastureland. Aster’s injuries had stiffened from sitting for so long, and every step now sent a pulsing ache through her body. The ground was uneven and pitted with puddles. The grass stood as high as their waists in places. It was slow, treacherous going, and so different from the mountains they’d left behind that Aster felt like she’d stepped out in another world entirely.

  “Water all over the damn place. Even the air feels wet,” Mallow muttered.

  “Even so, I’m not going to be able to wash the smell of cattle patties off my boots for weeks,” Tansy replied, disgusted.

  “Just be happy it’s cows out here instead of vengeants,” Aster said.

  It was long after dark by now, but they hadn’t heard a single vengeant yet. Aster had always known that, outside the Scab, vengeants were rare as a two-headed snake. But it was still uncanny, after hearing their chorus every night, to be met with silence now. Did fairbloods truly live like this, fearlessly, free to wander out after dark without so much as a second thought for the dead?

  In Northrock, it wouldn’t even be dark—not truly. It was a proper city, a modern city, the only one in Arketta that used voltricity to power itself. Even here, still a mile out, they could see its halo of blue-white light, blotting out the stars. The skyline stood out starkly, like the teeth of a key.

  Another world.

  At least in the Scab, Aster had known what to expect. What dangers were waiting for them here?

  Aster turned to Violet, who was walking a little apart from the rest of them. At the beginning of all this, Aster would have expected as much. But now, it struck her as unusual. Here was a perfect opportunity for Violet to complain about their surroundings or remind them that her father was some bigwig in the city, and she was letting the moment pass without so much as a single comment. Violet hadn’t been this reserved since their night with the Scorpions, which had been understandable—they had been strangers, and Violet had stuck out as the only fairblood among them.

  But she’s used to us, so what is it this time?

  Maybe she was just itching for some Sweet Thistle—this would be her first night going without it after weeks of tapering off.

  Or maybe she was nervous about meeting Lady Ghost. If there was something they should all be worried about, Aster needed to know.

  She picked her way across the grass until they were walking side by side.

  “You ready for tomorrow?” Aster asked.

  Violet looked up at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing, only—”

  “I know where we’re going.”

  “I never said you didn’t.” But Aster didn’t give up. “Is it something about Lady Ghost that’s bothering you? Are you worried she won’t be there?”

  Violet flashed her a slanted grin. Their boots whispered through a shallow cattle wade. “A little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”

  “You know how much I hate it when someone answers a question with another question.”

  “All right, then—no, I’m not worried about Lady Ghost.”

  “Well, you’re worried about something. I see it in those beady little eyes.”

  “Since when do you care?”

  Aster dropped the humor, laid a hand on Violet’s arm. “Hey. I’m just making sure you’re okay,” she said.

  But Violet just snorted. “A little late to be asking that, too.”

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  “Violet—”

  “Aster!” Zee called from up ahead. “There’s an abandoned barn here. We can hole up there for the rest of the night.”

  “Let’s do that,” Aster called back. They had spent too much of the night traveling to try to find Lady Ghost before sunrise. She gave Violet a final look before running to join the others.

  Inside the dilapidated old barn, they climbed up to the hayloft to avoid the rats that had taken up residence below. They’d had to leave most of their supplies behind when they got on the train, so they were back to sleeping under thin blankets and eating dried food. The smell of damp and rot hung heavy in the air, and Aster felt as if she were breathing into a dirty rag.

  But this was it—the last night on the road.

  By this time tomorrow, they’d be with Lady Ghost.

  By this time tomorrow, if all went well, if the promises were real, their favors would be gone.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Violet volunteered as everyone staked out their sleeping areas.

  Aster furrowed her brow. “All right, if you’re sure. Bu
t wake me if you need anything.”

  “Unless you have a luxury hotel room to offer me, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Violet replied dryly.

  Well, if Violet was back to being an asshole, that had to be a good sign, Aster figured. Aster drew the blanket up over her shoulders and settled in for what she was sure would be a restless night of sleep. She was nervous about tomorrow, of course, but beneath that, there was something else, fragile as a soap bubble—excitement.

  It’s not too late for you to have the life you wanted, Clementine had said.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t. Once their favors were gone …

  Aster drifted off, allowing herself to dream of the possibilities for the first time. But just as she slipped into the deepest reaches of sleep, someone was shaking her back awake.

  Clementine. She crouched over Aster, her eyes wide with panic.

  “Aster, get up!” she whispered urgently. “It’s Violet. She’s gone.”

  20

  Aster threw her blanket off and leapt to her feet. Violet was supposed to be on watch. Why the hell wasn’t she here?

  “Violet?” she called out into the darkness, to no response.

  She reached for her knife at her hip, fear already mounting in her gut. But the knife was missing, too. She scanned the wooden plank floor for it, knowing she wouldn’t find it.

  “What’s going on?” Tansy mumbled as Clementine jostled her awake.

  “Violet’s gone,” Clem said.

  “Gone?” Tansy said, sitting up. “She probably just went to relieve herself.”

  “Not with my knife, she didn’t,” Aster replied. “Violet?” she called out again, futilely.

  Now Mallow and Zee were sitting up, too. “Maybe she took the knife because she was scared of the dark. You know how she is,” Mal said.

  But then Aster noticed something tied to the empty knife sheath—a neatly folded envelope sealed with wax.

  What the rip is this? Whoever had written this letter, it hadn’t been Violet. They had no envelopes or sealing wax out here. And this wax was cold and hard as a button—it had been dry for a long time.

  Aster pulled the envelope free and sliced through the wax with her thumbnail, possibilities racing through her head: someone had kidnapped Violet. This was the ransom note. The paper was so soft with age it scarcely crinkled as she unfolded it. It was too dark to make out the words.

  “Somebody light a match,” Aster said, dread creeping up her throat.

  After what felt like endless seconds, Zee found and struck a match. It lit with a quiet hiss. Aster leaned into the light. The ink had faded, but Aster could just decipher the letter’s spidery script.

  “My Dearest Violet,” Aster began, her voice subdued, “I’m not sure when you’ll read these words, but whenever you do, know that I love you more than anything and can’t bear to be away from you. But I have a chance to escape and find us a better life, and I have to take it. If the worst happens and I don’t make it back to you (for only the worst could keep me from coming back!), keep telling yourself our bedtime story. Tell yourself every night. Because the seraphant is waiting, and the words will guide you to her. I love you always. Ma.”

  “Wait a minute…” Clementine murmured as Aster finished. “Violet told us that her mother left her a letter before she died. Before she … killed herself. Maybe this is it.”

  Tansy shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. These don’t sound like the words of a woman who’s about to take her own life at all.”

  “All right, but why did Violet leave us this letter in the first place? And where is she now?” Mallow asked.

  “Could she have left us to find Lady Ghost on her own?” Tansy murmured.

  Aster’s stomach dropped at the thought. She reached for the theomite ring around her neck, exhaling when she felt it was still there.

  “No, she couldn’t have, or she’d have taken the ring as payment,” Aster said. “She must have gone somewhere else.”

  Mal huffed. “Well, how the hell are we supposed to find Lady Ghost without her?”

  The match went out. Zee lit another. Aster looked over the letter again, her skin prickling with growing frustration.

  Our bedtime story … the words will guide you to the seraphant …

  “Does anyone remember Violet saying anything about a bedtime story?” Aster asked. She was beginning to think “the seraphant” might be code for Lady Ghost, and that this letter was meant to lead them to her.

  But that still didn’t explain why Violet had left them, or where she was now.

  “I’m pretty sure Violet mentioned the bedtime story the same night she told us about the letter,” Clementine said. “We were with the Scorpions, all of us talking about how we ended up at Green Creek.”

  “Violet didn’t tell us the story, though, so what good is this letter to us?” Mallow demanded.

  “Think back, what did she tell us that night?” Tansy asked.

  They all fell silent for a moment, remembering. The second match went out, its smoke coiling in the dark.

  Violet’s mother was born to a poor fairblood family and sent away to Green Creek, Aster thought.

  And because she’d been a fairblood, the doctor hadn’t cut her.

  Eventually she’d gotten pregnant with Violet and fallen in love with the father, a wealthy brag.

  He’d promised to take her away from the welcome house so they could live together as a family.

  But instead, he’d abandoned them, and Violet’s mother had killed herself out of grief.

  “Violet’s father was a steel magnate, right?” Zee asked, seeming to run through the same facts in his head. “What did she say his name was?”

  “Tom Wells,” Tansy answered.

  “And she said he lived in Northrock, remember? In a gilded mansion on the highest hill,” Clementine added.

  “Well, we’re right outside of Northrock now. Maybe she…” Aster stopped, remembering Violet at Camp Red Claw when they were exchanging stories with the Scorpions.

  And your father never came back for you, either? You’ve still never met him?

  Not yet. But one day.

  There had been something strange in Violet’s eyes when she’d said it. A darkness. A secret. And, maybe, an intention.

  “Maybe she never meant to go with us to Lady Ghost at all,” Aster said slowly. “Maybe she went into Northrock to find her father.”

  “Is Lady Ghost even in Northrock, then?” Mallow demanded. “Or did Violet just make the whole thing up to get us to take her to the city?”

  Aster shook her head, swallowing around a hot coal in her throat. After everything they’d been through together, everything they’d shared with one another—what if Violet had been using them the whole time?

  Either way, this letter was useless without her.

  Aster closed her eyes against angry tears. Violet had betrayed girls before. She’d built a reputation for it. But, even for her, this was beyond belief.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “You all stay put,” Aster said evenly, pocketing the letter. “I’m going to find her.”

  * * *

  Aster donned her coat and bandit hat and stole away into the night. She had no idea how long this might take, and she’d have to go back in hiding come daylight.

  Which meant she had to hurry.

  Aster hopped the low fence that surrounded the cattle pasture and ran down the gentle slope towards the river bordering Northrock. The Mercy. It looked to be at least half a mile wide, its current smooth and sinuous. Aster skidded to a stop as she came to the riverbank, her boots squelching in the mud. The stench of the water made her stomach churn. She would be swept away if she tried to swim across, Aster was certain of that. And any bridge might well have a checkpoint with the law, just like the deadwalls in the Scab. How the hell would Violet have made it to the other side?

  Aster ground her teeth. She could see the highest hill in Northrock from her
e, could see the silhouettes of the manor homes that looked down over the city from their perches. But they couldn’t have felt further away.

  She would take her chances at a bridge.

  Aster ran along the bank until she came to a stone one that crossed the Mercy at a spot where it narrowed. She ducked behind the bushes, her mind racing. She’d have to wait for a delivery cart to pass and jump in the back. She prayed it wouldn’t take too long for one to come. Zee had said most deliveries to the city were made overnight, but they’d been talking about freight trains. She had no idea if the same was true for deliveries on the road.

  I don’t have time for this, she thought, impatience clawing at her insides. The longer she waited here, the more likely Clementine and the others would be discovered, or Violet would move on from wherever she had run to, or the sun would rise and—

  Someone was coming up the road. Aster tensed, readying herself. But it was a private coach, like the ones they had robbed. No way she would be able to climb on the back without being noticed. She let out a frustrated breath and ducked back down, waiting for the carriage to pass.

  The minutes ticked away slowly. The road remained empty. The black water below rushed by with an endless roar. Aster’s muscles were beginning to ache from crouching for so long, and the vengeant bite in her calf throbbed sickeningly in time with her pulse. Fatigue dragged at the edges of her mind, making her eyes droop and her thoughts scatter.

  Then, just as Aster was about to give up and make a rush across the bridge on foot, checkpoints be damned, she heard another carriage coming down the road.

  And this one was a delivery cart.

  A milk wagon, Aster saw a moment later, packed with big metal drums of milk and cream. The top was open.

  Aster tied her dustkerchief around her face. Braced herself on the balls of her feet. As soon as the wagon bumped up onto the cobblestone bridge, she made her move, dashing out and climbing onto the back. Once she was sure the rattle of the wheels had been enough to muffle her impact, she freed one of the rough blankets wedged beneath the milk cans and used it to cover herself.