The trek up the rest of the way is surprisingly tiring. But once Peter's tall, slender house comes into view, my organs practically flip inside-out in pure anxiety.
Kamal must sense this, because he slips his hand in mine and squeezes. "It'll all work out," he says carefully, even though he sounds like he doesn't quite believe it himself.
The neighborhood is filled to the brim with towering, bent, crooked houses. There's barely any room to walk. Even though I can barely see the brightening sky at this point, I spot his house immediately. My gaze traces the blue paint that peels at the edges and the two spruces that guard the front door. I can't seem to look away.
"What's our story, again?" Kamal says in a hush as we approach the house.
I pull in a long breath. "We're recently married. We're running from Rose, and we're hoping to find solace in his Doxemity teachings. If he brings up the Isthmus, we can inquire. If not, it's up to us to subtly mention it, and make it seem like it's his idea to give us the charts." I shake my head. "That is, if he even has them."
"What if he doesn't trust us?"
I glance at him. "I might have a solution to that."
He doesn't need anything else—he just nods and looks ahead.
I take my hand out of his and check my pocket, making sure the necklace is still inside. When my fingers touch the cold metal of the chain, a small breath of relief escapes my lips.
The front door comes closer with every step. A part of me screams at my legs to stop moving, to turn around and run in the other direction.
But no. I can't run now. Not when we've come this far.
Within moments we're standing on a welcome mat decorated with hand-embroidered flowers, surrounded by the dark green glow of spruce trees. My pulse is uneven and panicked. Kamal waits for me to knock, but when he sees me frozen in place, he does it for me.
One, two, three times his knuckles hit the door. My ribs rattle uneasily each time.
We wait. My nose is infested with nervous, runny snot from the cold, so I have to keep sniffing. We keep waiting. Kamal knocks again.
One two three. Four five six seven.
There are footsteps from inside the house. They sound rushed. I hear the creak of stairs beneath the weight of aged joints.
From behind the door, there's the muffled rattle of locks being unlatched. The locks keep unlocking, one after the other. I can almost hear Kamal think, How many locks does this guy have?
The doorknob turns. I watch the bottom of the door as it comes to a slow open. But it doesn't open any further than a narrow crack.
"Yes?" someone rasps from inside. I look up to see a man peering out at us from the crack. He's got bags under his sunken eyes and a wrinkle-ridden forehead, and the fingers that hold open the door are thin and bony.
It's him.
My lips crack open, and unspoken words remain lodged in my throat, unable to hit the air.
Kamal speaks for me. "Good morning, sir. We're, uh, looking for Peter?"
His eyebrows lower as his gaze moves slowly from me to Kamal. He shakes his head and swallows hard. "I already told the agency to leave me alone," he grumbles, turning away and moving to close the door.
"Wait," I croak, stepping forward. He stops. I watch his eyes for any flash of recognition when I say in the best British accent I can conjure, "We need your help."
In his eyes, I see nothing. No emotion, no movement of thoughts. It's now that I realize I am staring at a shell of a man. There's nothing left in his soul. And it's my fault. I took it all away when I killed his wife. I took everything from him. All of it.
His breath is long and fatigued. "Look, I know what you're trying to do, but I'm not in the mood. Now scram."
"We heard you used to be a Doxem priest," Kamal says quickly before he can shut us out. "Peter, right?"
He squints at us. "That's right." He's still unsure. Wary.
I take Kamal's hand and move closer to him. "We need somewhere to hide—I mean, to stay. At least for a few hours," I say in my accent, making sure to sound desperate. "And we heard you'd be our best bet."
"Please," Kamal pleads. "We would be eternally grateful." He even glances around warily, making it seem like we might have been followed.
Peter stands there, staring at us for what feels like hours. Until finally he opens the door further and grumbles, "Come in."
The two of us bombard him with gratitude as we enter his home. On the inside, we're hit with an overwhelming breath of not-so-fresh air. As we follow him up the narrow, creaking staircase, I have to resist the intense urge to gag, because this place smells like alcohol paired with a good serving of vomit. I exchange a glance with Kamal and see that I'm not the only one that smells it.
"Sit," Peter grunts, scratching at his balding head. He sighs heavily, as if even walking across the room is a burden. "Want some tea or something?"
Kamal clears his throat. "Oh, um, I think we're okay—"
But he doesn't listen—instead, he disappears around a corner. I can distantly hear pots clanking and cupboards opening and closing.
My gaze meets Kamal's. I give him a look that says, This is so weird.
He just nods, eyes wide and unnerved.
Eventually Peter comes back and sits across from us at the rickety table. The surface is cluttered with unopened mail and empty malt bottles, and he doesn't bother clearing any of it off for us.
"What're you running from, then?" he says through a cracked breath, leaning further back in his chair and crossing his hairy arms.
It's odd to think this man used to be my friend. A mentor, of sorts. He was there for me when my grandma passed—at least, for the most part. He fed me and kept me safe in the time between my grandmother and Rose. But after a few months, Rose discovered he was helping me. And it didn't take long for her to scare him away.
This isn't the Peter I remember. This isn't the helpful, caring, compassionate priest I once knew. This is someone completely different—someone ripped of their love and their life. Someone broken.
I swallow hard and summon my accent once more. "Someone powerful. And we got on her bad side."
I watch his eyes carefully in the next moments. At first there's no reaction, but a second passes before his thick eyebrows lower. Then he straightens, suddenly alert.
"Her?" he gasps, eyes wide. "No, no, no. No." He stands quickly, and the feet of his chair scrape loudly on the floorboards. "I will have nothing to do with Rose. No. Get out."
The two of us sit there in complete shock. Kamal's the one to speak first.
"P-please, we don't have anyone else to—"
"It's not my problem!" he shouts. He points to the door. "Get out. Now! Get out!"
We both stand, but I hold Kamal from moving to the door. "Wait," I say calmly, holding up a hand. "Just . . . wait."
But he doesn't wait. He shakes his head. "The last time I got involved with Rose, my wife was taken from me, hear me? I will not have anything to do with this! Now listen to me and—"
When I pull the necklace out of my coat pocket and hold it up for him to see, he stops. His jaw hangs open. His hand falls back to his side and his shoulders slouch.
"W-what?" he whimpers, blinking over and over again.
I keep my fist closed around the chain as tightly as I can, in case he tries anything funny. "You used to be a priest, correct?" I ask carefully. He nods slowly. "Then you must know what this is."
There's a long hesitation before he manages to speak again. "That should be in my possession," he says, his voice trembling with desperation. "Give it over. You don't know what you're dealing with."
"I do, actually." I examine the turquoise loop admiringly before tucking it safely in my pocket. "Rose doesn't know about it. You're safe. But we're not." Slowly, I pull Kamal back down into our seats. "She's after us, but she doesn't know we're here. We just need your help."
His eye twitches in what looks like uncertainty. I watch his movements closely as he sifts through the thoughts in his head.
"What do you want?" he sighs.
Kamal exchanges a glance with me before saying, "We're looking for passage to the Isthmus of the Sky."
Peter seems to jump in place at the mention of the Isthmus. "You realize that the Isthmus belongs to Rose," he tells us with wide, wary eyes. "That would be trespassing."
"It doesn't matter," I say, shaking my head. "We have to get out of here. We have to get to Starfall."
He doesn't waste a second to burst into scoffs and sounds of incredulousness. "You'll never get there. The Isthmus may sound promising, but even with that little key of yours," he gestures to the necklace in my pocket, "you'd still have to go through Hell and back in order to even catch a glimpse of Starfall."
"Is that what you taught during your religious days?" Kamal tests, raising his eyebrows.
This, for some reason, catches Peter. He scowls at nothing in particular, his mouth popping open and closed in some kind of indecision. Before he has the need to actually respond, the kettle from the other room whistles aggressively, signaling that the tea is finished.
His eyes slide from me to Kamal and then back to me as he stands up. I try not to maintain eye contact with him, but in the moment our gazes meet, I see something flash across his eyes. I look away quickly, hoping he's still oblivious to my true identity.
A frown flickers its way into his expression as he turns away. Before he rounds the corner, he calls, "What're your names?"
My pulse quickens the slightest bit. "I'm Elisabeth. My friends call me Beth."
"Adam," Kamal says, eyeing me.
There's a stretch of silence. Finally Peter responds. "Do you guys want sugar in your tea?"
After Kamal tells him no for both of us, the silence returns. There's just the muffled mountain wind hitting the side of the house and the distant creak of floorboards.
It takes an uncomfortable amount of time for Peter to come back into the dining room. He comes out of the kitchen with a tray of teacups for the three of us, along with a small glass container of sugar.
He shoves some of the clutter off the table, making room for the tray. Kamal takes his cup, so I do too, but when I bring it to my nose and take a sniff, I get a queasy feeling in my stomach. So I set it back down in front of me and smile politely as the two of them take a sip.
"I may have devoted half my life to Doxemity, but I don't know the path to the Isthmus." He takes another drink of the tea. "If I had, I would have left a long time ago."
While I nod along, I nudge Kamal from beneath the table, trying to get him to realize not to drink the tea. It takes him a moment, but eventually he sets his cup down.
"Here's the deal," Peter says, his voice gruff and thick. "I might know someone who can help you. But if you get caught—if Rose finds you before you get into Starfall, you don't say anything about me. Nothing—not a single word." He looks directly at me with an intensity that I haven't seen up until this moment. "Do you understand me?"
Both of us nod over and over again in truthful desperation. "Yes, understood," we say in almost complete unison.
"Good." It takes a second too long for his stare to peel its way off me. He stands, and we follow. "The man you want to see will be at a local tavern down the valley. It's called the Airlock. He always orders an alcohol-free malt cream at five o'clock each night. He'll get you to the Isthmus." He gestures for us to go down the stairs. "You'll know him when you see him."
"Thank you so much, sir," Kamal says, opening the door with a shaking hand. "It was nice meeting you."
Peter's just about shoving us through the doorway now. "Bye now, Elisabeth," he says. Something about the way he says my fake name gives me shivers. Out of pure wariness, I turn back to the front door, but see that he's already shut us out.
Neither of us exchange any words as we hurry away from the house. The neighborhood feels even bigger now—it's as if every towering house bends toward us as we pass.
Even though we're out of sight of Peter's house now, I hook my arm into Kamal's and lean into him as we walk. It makes me feel a bit safer.
"We're okay," he tells me. "Everything is fine, see?"
I nod. My breaths come inconsistently. He's telling me it's fine, but it's not. Nothing is okay.
"What is it?" Kamal asks, even though he must know the answer.
"This isn't right," I gasp, tightening my grip on his arm. "I think he recognized me. I think he did, Kamal."
He shakes his head. "Are you sure? I don't know if he did. He wouldn't have made us leave—he would've kept us locked in his basement."
I pull in a long, trembling breath through my nose. "Okay." I nod. "Okay."
Maybe Kamal's right. If Peter had recognized me, he would have done just that. He'd drag us into his basement. He'd lock us away where no one could hear our screams, and he'd make me watch as he killed Kamal. He'd make me watch as he took my family away from me, just like I did to him.
He didn't recognize me. He didn't recognize me. Everything is fine.
I'm stuck deep in my head as we weave our way out of the neighborhood. My thoughts are so loud and overbearing that there's nothing to do but listen to them.
"Okay, now we just have to find Leola and Ben before five. That gives us about ten hours . . . shouldn't be too hard, right?" Kamal pulls me closer and gives me a reassuring pat.
Before I even have time to respond, someone sprints out from one of the alleys. I don't see the person until they've run directly into our path. Within milliseconds, the three of us have collided. The person falls to the ground, and I move quickly to get around him until he says my name.
"Elyse?"
I look down. It's Ben.
He looks like a mess. His hair is stuck up in all different directions, his dark eyes are wide and crazed, and he looks like he's just had a visit with Death himself.
"Ben? What—?" I can't seem to form words as I help him up to his feet. Once he's standing, he's looking from me to the street, as if he's just missed a commercial flight and it's my fault.
"Where's Leola?" Kamal says, looking around to see if she's hiding anywhere.
He just shakes his head over and over as he takes deep breaths. "I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Kamal steps forward threateningly. Without missing a beat, Ben steps back and holds his hands up defensively. "You left her? Seriously? You've literally broken all of Elyse's rules, and now—"
"I didn't leave her! I didn't leave her!" Ben protests, stepping further back. He looks scared, which is entirely a new look for him. I'm not sure I like it. "She left me, okay?"
Kamal doesn't like this answer. "Really? Why? Why would she just leave you alone in Parlem City?"
For the slightest second, he stiffens. But as soon as I see it, it's gone. He keeps shaking his head. "I don't know! One second we were together, then this mob of people got in our faces, and then I couldn't find her. So now, for the past thirty minutes I've just been . . . uh. Following a cat."
"A cat?" I ask, stepping forward and pulling Kamal back. Ben relaxes slightly, but not by much.
He nods. "Yeah. A black cat. I thought . . . I thought it might know its way around the city."
Kamal takes on some of Leola's attitude. "Did you, now? And where did you think it was going to lead you?"
"Well, it led me here," Ben says with a defensive shrug.
This leaves both of us speechless.
In the silence between the three of us, Ben sighs. "Did you guys get to Peter?"
Kamal doesn't say anything, so I nod. "Yeah. We did."
The way he lights up at my response is kind of sad in a way. "Really? Did he get you the info? Can we leave now?"
"We're not leaving until we find Leola," Kamal snaps.
"Right," I agree. "But no. He only directed us to another source."
"Oh. Well, let's go then," Ben says, his eyes flicking from side to side. He's acting like everything is okay, but clearly things aren't. Nothing is okay.
I let out a long breath. "We can't. Not until five."
"What?" His jaw drops. "That's such a long time."
Kamal ignores him and shoves past. "Now we have time to find Leola," he grumbles. He mumbles something else that I can't hear.
Ben and I follow his heavy footsteps. The space between the two of us is wide, though—and I can't tell whether or not it's uncomfortable. So I try not to think about it, and instead think about Leola.
"She can handle herself," I call to Kamal, hoping he'll register that we just had this conversation almost an hour ago.
But he doesn't even give me a sign that he heard me. My jaw clenches in frustration. I get it—I'm worried for her, too—but I don't like how he's suddenly so angry. And at Ben, specifically. He didn't do anything wrong, at least from what I can tell.
I try not to think about it. Because right now, all that matters is finding Leola and getting her back with us.