Page 201 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“I never should have opened the door. Mom always said there was a good reason to be wary of strangers.”

"Your mother sounds like a smart woman."

Helene huffs. "Funny. It didn't save her. Did it?"

When the first crests of buildings waver in the gloom, Helene pushes against me. I set her on her feet, steadying her until she can manage to walk on her own. Eventually her arm laces through mine at the elbow.

I clamp down, jaw tight, keeping a hold on whatever fragile stability I provide like this is a concession.

With the heavy hush of the blue world, with the muffled peace of the snow around us and the distant cutting of the occasional plane engine overhead, I might imagine an existence where this cycle is the last.

I know better than to dream of success.

I know better.

Chapter 41

Helene

Safety is relative.

It’s one thing you learn pretty early in life, if you’re smart.

Safety isn’t a place but a state of mind.

The apartment, with its slanted partitions like crooked teeth in a failing smile, used to feel safe. Gaps in the windows and walls seep air into the space, too hot in the summer and rigid in winter, but it’s ours as long as there’s money to slide toward rent.

Mrs. Laverne is a decent type of lady who always says she’ll do something about the mouse problem and never does.

Right now, I’m warm.

Blankets cocoon me in normalcy, the weave on the indigo quilt loosening and the ends dragging the floor. I pace frantic lines from one wall to the other, only five paces before it’s time to turn around.

But warmth and security are different things, as well.

I’ve got one of them. The other I might never have again.

There’s no safety, and no rest. Anxious energy winds me up like someone cranked a cog in my back and set me loose. The apartment isn’t the same.

I hike the blankets higher up on my shoulders. Neither am I.

I close my eyes, and the creature’s ice teeth flash, dangerously flush with my neck.

The drip of blood down my torn wrist haunts me. I scrub my opposite palm across the lines of the bandage.

“Pretty monster, I beg of you. You’re making me dizzy with your pacing.” Wren lounges on the couch and takes up the entire space with his long limbs. “Sit. I’ll donate my lap to the cause.”

I shake my head and awful laughter clogs my throat. “If you don’t like it, you can go,” I say.

His shadows toy with the curling edges of wallpaper, lifting them into place before allowing them to gradually unwind down. The walls beneath are yellow and black spotted, age and mold continuing to warp plaster and lathe from their original positions.

Safety and trust are not mutually exclusive.

Both come slowly no matter how badly I want them. How can I trust Wren? Or any of them?

They have a bad habit of showing up whenever Audra and I get attacked by things that should not be a thing.

Wren stops, working shadows like a coin over his knuckles, between his fingers. “You’d rather be left alone?”