“See?” Walter asks in a hushed voice. “Act like you’re doing nothing wrong and no one questions you. For all they know, you’re my daughter. Maybe my wife. I don’t seem concerned with what they think so they assume I’m doing nothing wrong. It’s all about perception.”
I swallow a hiccup. “You need help.”
“That makes two of us.” He struts toward a man holding a sign: Walter Ackerman. I cringe. On one hand, I won’t be carted off and disposed of without anyone’s knowledge. On the other hand, I might be murdered by two people instead of one.
“You Nik?” Walter asks in English.
The man—handsome with a deep, tan complexion and dark hair shaved in an undercut—can’t be much older than I am. He wears belted navy pants and a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes, the palest green I’ve ever seen, lock onto mine. He’s looking at me. Really looking instead of a nervous glance. His features remain blank so I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not, but hope swells anyway. I have to maneuver carefully.
“I am,” Nik answers in a light accent. “You must be Irena’s son.”
Walter pulls me closer to his side and releases my hair. “That’s me.”
“And who’s this?” Nik asks slowly, as if the answer doesn’t matter.
“A gift for Madam Augustine. It’s my way of saying thanks for letting me join.” He pinches my cheek with stubby fingers. “Not only is she a looker but she can sing. A Symric, if you can believe it. Found her a week before I left.”
Nik tosses the sign into an open window of a dark blue steak-rack truck and inhales. “I’m not sure I understand. We weren’t expecting two of you.”
“Ma said the troupe is having trouble, and this one will turn all that around. She’s the real deal. I’m thinking a duet with Ma to end the show.”
I sigh, drawing Nik’s full attention. He scans my body, eventually stopping at the rope burns on my wrists. I fight the urge to hide them; I have nothing to be embarrassed about. Let him see. Let him understand I’m here against my will and do something about it.
“Do you speak English?” His voice is strangely calm.
“Yes.” Although my accent is thicker than his. I learned the basics in school then studied on my own after I met Christian. He promised we would travel the world after we’re married so I wanted to be prepared. I swallow hard. None of that matters anymore—I lost him.
“Are you hurt?” Nik asks.
“She’s fine,” Walter snaps.
Nik quirks an eyebrow, and I notice a white scar running through it. It’s small, nothing more than a little diagonal line toward the side. “I’d like to hear that from her.”
Walter nudges me. “Tell him.”
I narrow my eyes at my captor before turning to the first person who might believe me. “I’m not fine.”
Walter laughs, clapping me on the back. His fingers curl over my shoulder, squeezing, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting.
“In fact, I’d like to talk to the authorities as soon as possible,” I continue.
Nik’s other eyebrow shoots up to meet the first.
“Because.” I keep talking before Walter can stop me and hold out my wrists as evidence. “This psychopath kidnapped me and dragged me across the Atlantic tied to a bed, all while claiming to have magic powers.”
Nik blinks slowly at the red rings around my wrist. “He did… what?”
I pry myself away from Walter. “Please, help me.”
Foreign words fly from Nik’s mouth so fast I’m sure I wouldn’t understand them even if I knew the language. He leans in, placing a hand on my lower back, and urges me next to the truck behind him. Whoever this person is, I’m not leaving his side until I talk to the police. Gratitude seeps out of my pores. I hope he feels it, because I don’t know how to put into words what this means. Language, any language, fails me. All I know is that I’m safe now, or as close to it as I can be in this moment. He’s a light at the end of my dark, dark tunnel. I want to jump up and wrap my arms around him.
Walter grabs the collar of my dress before I take the final step to safety, yanking until the neckline digs into my throat. I gag and almost fall backward over the curb, but Nik steadies me.
“Let go of her,” he says in a low voice.
Walter huffs. “I’m not chasing her through the city. There are too many people around to transmit, and she’s more trouble than she looks.”
Nik mumbles something in his language again. “Let go or I’ll cut both your hands off.”
Walter raises his hands in the air. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“It’ll be okay,” Nik whispers in my ear. The truck door opens with a whining groan, and he helps me climb in the passenger seat. It smells of old tobacco and musty leather. “Don’t worry.”
“Hey,” Walter says.
Nik slams the door shut. “You can sit in the back.”
His tone makes me cringe, but being directed at Walter, I can’t say I disapprove. He deserves everything he gets and more. I lean into the seat, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. Finally. I can go home.
The driver’s door creaks open. When the bench seat shifts beneath me, I hug myself. “Thank you.”
Nik mumbles a string of foreign words under his breath and pulls away from the curb.
The truck jerks forward as we park alongside the road, the gears creaking. Nik pulls the brake in front of a blue L-shaped house, two stories high, with a long white porch. The roof is missing a few shingles and sparse shrubs dot the corners of the property. Four men load a crate into the back of a van across the street in a seemingly quiet neighborhood. It’s a strange place for the police to have an office, but then again, I don’t know what’s odd in America.
I inch forward on the seat, ready for this nightmare to be over, and my breath catches at the sign hanging over the stairs: Whitman Boarding House. I stare at the painted words, held to the porch roof with small-linked chains and am sure I’m misreading them. Nik explained we were in New Jersey when we crossed over the Hudson River, but this is a residential area complete with shabby picket fences and small front yards. How did I not realize sooner? Surely New York has one of the larger police forces in the country...
“This isn’t a police station,” I say. Although, he never actually said he was taking me to the authorities; I assumed. I never should’ve trusted him. I’m not this foolish. No. I am. My mother always says I’m too trusting. Panic picks at the edges of my newfound sanity, sending pieces swirling back into the void in my abdomen.
Nik cuts the engine without looking in my direction. His jaw clenches tightly and the joint bulges. “I know.”
“I thought you were going to help me.” My voice rises, bordering on hysterical. “You let me think you were.”
“I know, I know.” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. Things are... complicated. I am going to help you, I swear. Walter won’t come anywhere near you.”
I narrow my eyes. I feel entirely betrayed—mostly by myself for believing I could escape so easily. Fate is playing some sort of cruel joke on me and isn’t done laughing yet. That’s really the only explanation. So many people can’t fall in my path and condone kidnapping. This is all one long, horrible nightmare.
“As if I’d believe anything you say now,” I growl through my teeth.
“Augustine won’t want something like this linked to her troupe,” Nik says in a strained voice. “She’ll likely send you home herself just to avoid the scandal.”
“Likely?” I make a low, desperate noise in my throat. “Great odds. Probably the same as if I tried to run right now.”
Nik’s lips twitch. “You’re welcome to leave whenever you want, but I’d caution against it. Strange city and all.”
Walter opens the truck door and grabs my arm. I’m eye level with him for the first time. “Don’t touch me.” Swinging my feet around, I kick him in the groin, and he releases me. “Where do you think I’m going to g
o?”
Sliding across the cab, I follow Nik out the driver’s side door. I spit in the grass, something my mother would scold me mercilessly for, and glare at Walter through the open vehicle. “Pig.”
“Well, then.” Nik fights a smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Where’s my little boy?” A woman with brown hair, streaked white, rushes across the lawn. There’s no denying who her little boy is. The resemblance to Walter is uncanny, and they both speak the same dialect of Dutch. Their jowls, rounded nose, and dark eyes are identical. “Get over here.” She sweeps him into a hug.
At least someone is getting a happy reunion.
“Come on,” Nik says softly. “I’ll ask one of the girls to lend you a dress.”
I pick at the limp bow on my shoulder, feeling numb. The ends of the lace collar are frayed from weeks of constant fiddling. Rips mar the skirt, earned in different ways over the last two and a half weeks. All the detergent in the world won’t be enough to remove the stench from the fabric, but I don’t know what else to do so I follow Nik through a screechy screen door.
Inside is a small sitting room with a brick fireplace and faded green chairs. Gray medallion wallpaper is darker where pictures once hung, and the navy blue runner in the entranceway is worn down from years of footsteps. The hardwood beneath it is stained and chipped. Dusty crown molding circles the ceiling. It must have been a grand home at one point.
“Whoa.” Walter swings the door open, following us inside the house with his mother trailing behind. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Where does it look like we’re going?” Nik steers me toward a narrow staircase along the right wall. The pieces of rug here are just as threadbare, and the stain on the banister bubbles off. “Worry about yourself. It looks like you’re good at that,” he mumbles, more to himself than either of us.
I peek over my shoulder at Nik and find myself wanting to smile. But that’s crazy because he’s holding me here just as much as Walter. He may not appear happy about it but that doesn’t change things—he’s still going along with it.
We hit the landing, and he hesitates before pointing down the hall. “The bathroom is the third room down.” He turns, knocking on the second door.
“You’re not coming with me?” I ask.
“To the bathroom?” he asks carefully. “I… thought not to.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks, reaching down my neck and beneath the stained fabric. Stupid. Of course, he isn’t, but I suppose I hoped he would stand guard outside the door. The thought of going off alone with Walter lurking downstairs makes my breath stick.
“Walter won’t bother you.” Nik touches my hand, stopping me from digging unconsciously at my uninjured elbow. “Go on. Someone will be in with a change of clothes.”
The door downstairs slams shut. Walter’s voice drifts up the stairwell, and I duck through the third door, slamming it shut behind me. Sunlight filters in through a window over a mint green sink. Three-quarters of the wall is covered in pink tile with a stripe of black along the top. A white curtain covers an archway while an open door to the left of it reveals a matching green toilet.
“Walter, what were you thinking?” Irena’s strange dialect floats up the stairs.
“You don’t understand,” Walter replies in a hushed voice.
“You’re bringing the same problems here that you’re running from back home,” she says.
“But, Ma, she’s a Symric.”
There was a soft gasp right outside the bathroom door. “No! They’re so rare. Wherever did you find her?”
Unwilling to listen to Walter’s tale of my magic, I leap into the tiny room and scramble onto the toilet lid. I close the door as quietly as possible. The stench of bleach is overpowering but at least I know it’s clean. Besides, any smell is better than the ship. Or myself—I’m worse. It was easy to ignore before, but now I’m not sure how I managed. I bring my legs up and bury my face in my knees. With shallow breaths, the combination of odors is a little more manageable.
The door to the bathroom opens and shuts with a soft click, and I stop breathing completely. I’m not sure what Walter will do if he corners me. What else can he do? The trunk is gone, left in the alley, and even though I told the truth, I’m right where he wants me.
A soft knock comes on the door directly in front of me, and I hug my knees tighter, refusing to look up.
“Are you all right in there?” asks a soft, feminine voice. I stay quiet, not ready to face anyone. “Nik asked me to bring you a few things.”
I should tell her to leave them and go. I don’t want to be social, but I don’t want to be left alone even more. Staring at the silver doorknob, worn black from years of touch, I almost forget I’m not attached to a fixed object anymore. The burned soles of my feet hit the cool burgundy floor tile, and I push myself up. “I’m here,” I say, and crack the door.
A woman in her early twenties with carefully pinned, deep red hair stands on the other side. She blinks slowly with the longest eyelashes in existence—they aren’t even fake. And she’s tall, much taller than I am. I want to be jealous but the gentle, startled look on her face won’t allow it.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello.” She steps back, forcing a smile. “I thought maybe you ran off for a second.”
The thought crossed my mind but not in any serious way. Nik was right when he said it’s a strange city. I wouldn’t even know which direction to go. I have no money, no connections... If there’s a chance this Augustine person will help me get back to my mother and Christian, I’ll wait things out a bit longer. I can always run later if I have to. I force my lips into what I hope passes for a smile and slip by her.
“I needed a minute alone.” I paw at my hair. Hers is so perfect; shiny and flawlessly curled. Mine doesn’t look like that on a good day.
She reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Jackie.”
I cross my arms, tucking my hands tight against my sides. It looks like this girl stepped out of a catalog; there’s no way I’m going to touch her with my grimy hands.
“I brought these.” She holds up a stack of folded clothes. “They might be a little big but they’re fresh from the laundry.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. Judging by her height and the longer hem of her cream dress, the clothes will swim on me, but most things do until I alter them. With a tight belt and a few pins, it’ll stay in place well enough. I take them from her, and hold them away from my body.
On her other arm hangs a tightly woven basket. “Soap.” She picks a white wedge from inside. “Shampoo. There’s a tube of Pepsodent, but I don’t have an extra toothbrush. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” While a brush would have been amazing, my finger will do the job for now. Jackie sets the basket on top of the clothes. “Thank you.”
“You’ll need a towel.” She spins to a door halfway up the wall. “The owner of the house keeps them here for us to use. The family is actually quite accommodating. Some of the boarding houses we stay at barely have clean running water. The one in Boston doesn’t have a bathroom at all. I think we get such nice treatment here because of Madam Augustine’s connections, but she’ll deny it. They know talent when they see it, she says. Whatever the reason, I’m glad we stay here the longest. We’re trying to catch our big break now. After ten years, I’m starting to wonder if it’ll ever happen.” She laughs and waves a hand through the air. “Not that I’ve been here ten years, of course. I didn’t start dancing professionally at eleven.” She turns with a stiff, folded towel. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“A bit.” Even if I have no idea what she’s going on about, it’s a nice distraction from Walter’s boisterous laughter in the hallway. “I don’t mind.”
Color rises in her cheeks. “I tend to talk when I’m nervous.”
She’s nervous? What could she possibly have to be nervous about? She didn’t just get dragged off a boat and tossed at the mercy of strangers. “It’s fine, really.
”
Jackie chuckles before tossing the curtain aside to reveal a green tub. “Well, I recommend a shower instead of a bath.” She looks conspiratorially over her shoulder. “Everyone shares the bathroom, but not everyone knows how to clean it. If you do want a bath though, there’s a trick to getting the right temperature.”
I stare at the straight piece of pipe jutting from the wall. My mother and I had to drag a tub into the kitchen once a week and fill it with buckets from the well. It might be nice to experience a shower. And, considering the layers of filth coating my skin, I’d rather not sit in a pool of black water. “A shower.”
“Right, then give it a few seconds to warm up before jumping in. I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything else.”
She steps toward the door. I lurch forward to grab her, stopping myself just before making contact. “Wait.” I don’t want to be alone. Not in the same house with Walter, and definitely not in the shower. Nik disappeared, and he’s the only one to believe me so far. Maybe Jackie will, too, but I want the shower more than I want to explain everything. “Will you stay?”
She freezes. Her mouth opens and closes twice before she gets any words out. “Nik didn’t give me any specifics and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I have to ask… What happened to you?”
This isn’t something that will stay a secret, even if I wanted it to. A part of me wishes Nik had filled her in so I wouldn’t have to. I can keep quiet and let someone else do it later, but will it be the truth? Or Walter’s version of it? I’ve seen firsthand how convincing he can be.
I shrug, trying to make it less ominous. “Walter brought me from Holland against my will because apparently fairies blessed me with magic,” I say with an eyeroll. “I’ll be going to the police soon though, and they should help me get home.”
“Irena’s son kidnapped you?” she says in a high voice. “What... I mean, how...?”
When Stars Are Bright Page 6
