Clare drove slowly, creeping along the dirt path towards the main house. Figures were appearing between the buildings—more young men and several young women, all with the same tall, thin appearance, all wearing old, grimy clothes. Clare couldn’t tell if they looked similar because they were dressed alike and all had long, straight hair, or whether they were actually related. She was leaning towards the latter. Adam’s apples stood out on their throats, and their eyes were almost universally deep in their skulls, leaving thick lids hanging over them.
We shouldn’t have come here. It was too late to turn around, though; the gate had shut behind them. But Clare’s instincts were screaming. Her mind leapt to their choices for defence. They still had axes, knives, and implements for bludgeoning.
She had killed plenty of hollows, but murdering another human was a different matter. The fear in the back of her throat tasted like a thick, bitter ooze. Dorran’s breathing was quick and shallow.
The door to the main house groaned open. The hinges were audible, even inside the bus. Clare squinted to see the figure in the doorway’s gloom.
Chapter Five
An old, wizened woman stood there. She would have only come up to Clare’s shoulders, even though Clare herself wasn’t especially tall. Her long, pure-white hair had been braided tidily, and the thick plait ran over her shoulder and down to her waist. The skin around her eyes crinkled as she smiled, and she lifted a hand in a cheerful wave.
She looks nice. Some of the fear ebbed. Clare relaxed her grip on the wheel and pulled the bus to a halt near the house. Dorran kept his attention moving between the elderly woman and the young adults who watched sullenly from the buildings surrounding them. “Stay alert. Be prepared to run if things turn sour.”
She gave a short nod and took a small blade from where they stored it beside the driver’s seat, tucking it into her pocket as insurance. Then she pressed the button to open the bus’s door.
The scents of mud, decaying hay, the crisp freshness of pine trees, and the sharp chill of mist all swirled together. A bird sent up a chattering call from somewhere outside the walls, and dripping sounds came from many directions.
“Welcome, friends.” The woman’s voice sounded like a cooing bird. It warbled, shaky and dainty, filled with cracks from age. “I’m Mother Gum. Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”
When she spoke, Clare saw she was missing her front teeth. Her lips stuck to the gums, faintly concave, adding to the creases around her mouth. She had warm eyes, though, and the layers of shawls and cardigans she wore looked hand-knitted.
Mother Gum turned and shuffled back into the cottage. The door, not entirely straight, began to glide closed. Clare hurried to catch it and hold it open.
Inside the house was cosier than she would have thought. Bunches of drying herbs hung across the walls. An odd assortment of china and crockery in at least a dozen different patterns was stacked on hand-carved shelves. A large fur rug covered most of the floor ahead of a rough wooden table, where Mother Gum was setting out three mismatched cups.
“Have you driven far, lovelies?” she asked.
Clare squinted as she stepped inside. A fire kept the room warm, though the chimney must have been choked. A thin haze of smoke tickled her throat. “A way, yeah.”
“You look it.” Mother Gum winked. Her eyes were a watery green, the same shade as the herbs she tipped into the teapot. A cast iron kettle was already boiling by the fire, and she crossed to it. “I can tell when people come from a long way. They have a look about them. A look that says they’re missing home.”
Clare exchanged a glance with Dorran. His smile was thin. Even after Evandale, he was still uncomfortable talking to strangers.
“Find yourselves a seat. Move the cat if he’s in the way.” Mother Gum shuffled back towards the table, the teapot sloshing with each step. She poured the liquid into the cups she’d laid out. “I make this from my own garden. It’s good for the body and good for the soul.”
“Thank you.” Clare gently sat in one of the wooden chairs. It had a thick, quilted cushion on the seat, and the legs were so short that she had to stretch her feet out to one side to get comfortable. Dorran sank down beside her. Lounging on the chair to his other side was a massive ginger cat. It was so still that Clare would have thought it was a toy, except for the way one eye lazily drifted open to fix on them.
Dorran made a soft noise as he held one hand out for the cat to smell. The black of its eye narrowed into a slit, but it didn’t try to greet the offered fingers.
“Don’t hope to be too friendly with him.” Mother Gum chuckled. “He’s a sour puss. He’ll shred your fingers before he lets you pet him.”
Dorran withdrew his hand.
Clare took one of the cups Mother Gum pushed towards her. Steam rose off the swirling green liquid, carrying the faint scent of herbs and flowers. She wrapped her fingers around it to keep them warm. “I hope it’s okay to stop. We saw the sign—”
“Of course, my lovely.” Mother Gum took her own seat, her lips puckering as she smiled. “I welcome all visitors. It’s the only way we’ll make it out of this dark time.”
“That’s very kind. It’s nice to talk to another person.” Clare glanced at Dorran, who remained quiet, letting her take the lead in the conversation. “I noticed some other people outside. Are they family?”
“Oh, yes. Not all are my flesh and blood, but they’re all my children, regardless.” She bobbed her head in a happy nod. “My daughter says I have a compulsion to take in strays. Both the animal and human kinds. People who weren’t well-liked by the rest of the world, but who just need some love.”
“They’re lucky.”
“We all are. There’s nothing better than family. And my family is very good.”
Clare glanced at the teacup. Beth would have cautioned her about accepting food from strangers, but as she watched, Mother Gum lifted her own cup to her lips.
She’s nice. And I can’t survive by being as hostile as Beth was. Clare sipped the tea. It made her throat tingle and had an unpleasantly earthy taste. She tried not to cough. “How many live with you?”
“Nearly twenty now. It is such a blessing.”
Clare tried to hide her surprise. Twenty is a lot. They must have found a way to get enough food for everyone. I didn’t see any farms inside the compound.
Mother Gum blinked then laughed. “Silly me, you’d probably like some biscuits with your tea. Luckily for you, I baked some just this morning.”
Dorran tried his drink. His expression remained perfectly passive, but as Mother Gum turned to look at the cabinet behind them, he grimaced. He carefully leaned over the ginger cat to empty his teacup into the potted plants on the windowsill, then he sat back, lips pressed tightly together.
Clare bit down on her laughter as Mother Gum turned back to them, carrying a metal tin. “Here, my special biscuits. Take some.”
“Thank you, I’m fine,” Dorran murmured as Mother Gum shook the tin under his face. Evidently, the tea had been more than enough for him.
Clare took one to be polite, but they smelled like grass. She placed hers on her saucer and hoped it wouldn’t be too rude if she left without sampling it.