But it will make things more difficult.
It sounds like Da’s wards make her sick, and there’s no way he’ll be turning them off any time soon. The wards are the endgame. We all left our homes and families and sailed thousands of miles to start a new life to be safe from the Night Witch and other nightmare creatures.
If he ever finds out what Clara is, he’ll…
I don’t know what he’d do exactly—I’ve never seen a witch or a half witch up close and, to my knowledge, my father hasn’t either. But I know it would be bad for Clara.
But I’ll worry about that, and the strange business of my bonny blue locks, later, once my head has stopped spinning in circles.
And after I’ve had a heaping plate of whatever Adrina’s mother is cooking. Sweet Jesus, it smells amazing.
Garlic and onions and fish drenched in lemon and butter—my stomach snarls as we cross the dusty yard to the clay-walled cottage.
Adrina, her arm now looped through Clara’s, laughs as she turns my way. “Easy there, tiger belly. We will feed you. Don’t get angry.”
My cheeks heat. “Sorry. My stomach has terrible manners.”
“I’m only joking.” Adrina motions toward the cottage door as a woman—crinkles around her eyes and a long brown braid draped over her shoulder—steps into the doorway. “Clara, Declan, this is my mother, Mrs. Barolo. But you can call her Mommy. We all do.”
“Or Sofia,” her mother says, her smile lines deepening as she grins. “We don’t have to be formal at home with friends. It’s so nice to meet you both! And did I hear there’s a tiger belly here, too? If so, you’re in luck. I made enough to feed at least two tigers.”
“Three!” Timon shouts. “I’m starved.” He attempts to dash past his mother, but she catches him around the waist, swinging him back through the door.
“Ah ah! Not so fast, little tiger. Show Declan where he can wash up, first. Then help him get settled in the barn. And wash those paws of yours, too,” she calls after him as Timon sighs and stomps across the yard. “And don’t pet the kittens after!”
“You’ll sleep with me, Clara,” Adrina says, motioning her inside. “There’s plenty of room in my bed. And I have an extra nightgown, too.”
With one last glance at Clara—who is still avoiding my gaze—I jog after Timon. He’s already at the pump in the middle of the yard, dragging up and down on the heavy, rusted handle until water sputters from the spout.
“The soap is there,” he says, nodding toward a hunk of muddy lye sitting in a clay dish on an old tree stump. “But if you don’t want to use it, I won’t tell Mommy. Dirt is not so bad, I think. Not as bad as soap that burns the skin from your fingers.” He lowers his voice confidentially. “The girls have nice soap that mother makes. It smells like olive oil shortbread cookies, but I’m not allowed to use it.”
“Why not?” I ask as I roll up my sleeves.
Timon shrugs. “Because I ate it once.”
I laugh and arch a brow. “You ate it? The soap?”
“Yes. But only a little.” He grins, all sparkling eyes and mischief as he rubs his hands beneath the waterspout. “It tasted pretty good. Like vanilla. But it made me sick after, and Mommy was mad. Soap takes longer to make than cookies, and she’s always so busy since Papa stopped going to the village.” He grabs the handle again, pumping another batch of water for me. “Does your father do work?”
“Yes, he’s a priest and a teacher,” I say, wetting my hands and reaching for the soap, which does sting a little. I lather it between my hands.
“What!” The boy’s jaw drops, but I get the feeling he’s playing at being scandalized. “Priests can’t have wives and babies.”
“He had a wife and baby before he became a priest,” I explain. “He took his vows after my mother died.”
For the first time, Timon’s dark eyes lose a bit of their shine. “Oh. I’m sorry. That makes me sad for you. Do you miss your mommy?”
“I never really knew her,” I say, washing the last of the suds from my hands. “She died a few days after I was born, but… Yes, I do, I guess. I think you can miss things you’ve never had. Don’t you?”
Timon’s brow furrows as he rolls that over in his clever head.
Finally, he nods. “Yes. I do think this. I miss learning how to be a blacksmith with my father. I was too young to start before the curse came, but I imagine how good it would be to make the fire with him and shoe the horses and come home with soot on my face and get the biggest piece of meat as a reward for working so hard. Papa always got the biggest piece of meat.” He sighs as he scuffs a shoe through the dust. “Now we never have money for meat. Mending clothes and selling oranges doesn’t make as much money as being a blacksmith. Did you know this thing?”
My lips part, but before I can answer, Timon chatters on. “I did not know this thing before, when I was a small boy, but I do now. And I don’t like it. Papa sews all day and Mommy works as hard as a mule, selling oranges and cakes and bread to the village. We should be able to have pork chops, at least—”
Timon’s tirade is cut off by a call from the kitchen window. “Don’t talk off his legs, Timon,” his mother says. “And be sure to use soap.”
“I did, Mommy, please. I’m not a baby!” Timon calls, before turning back to me to add in a whisper, “You won’t tell that I did not use soap?”
I shake my head. “It’s our secret.”
Timon beams. “Good. I can keep a secret, too. I will get one from you before you go. I’m good at finding secrets.” He beckons with a hand. “Come. I’ll show you the hay loft where you will sleep. It’s very nice. I sleep there sometimes when I’m tired of hearing Adrina snore like an old man.”
I cut a sidelong glance his way. “Your sister snores?”
“No,” he says, with a diabolical giggle. “But I tell the boys in the village that she does so none of them will marry her. I hate it when people get married.” He pulls a face, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. “Yuck. So stupid. Don’t you hate this?”
“I don’t know. No one I know has ever been married.”
Timon’s eyes widen again, then his lips turn down hard at the edges as he grunts. “Well, you’re a lucky one, then. My two oldest sisters are already married, and they are both very boring now. They don’t run or play or make jokes. All they do is talk about crops and sheep and when their babies are coming. They are both having babies soon.” He sighs heavily as he stops to unlatch the barn door. “It’s very stupid. I would say all people should not get married, unless they want to be stupid, too.”
“Sound advice.” I fight a smile, knowing Timon’s feelings about marriage will likely change once he’s older. But I know better than to voice that aloud. I was eleven not too long ago and remember what it’s like to find grown up things a little scary.
And stupid.
Timon leads the way past several empty animal pens to the ladder leading up to the loft, showing me how to climb without putting too much weight on the two loose rungs and where the blankets are stored in the eaves.