Page 119 of Never Lost

“And?”

“And that I could reform him. Turn him into a good slave. One who can be given to a family in need.”

A slave for every family.It seemed that in the two of them, I was looking at the pilot program. But for some reason, when I looked at them, none of the words that came to mind weredignity, security,ororder.

More likechaos.

Meanwhile, his lip curled. “She bought me.” His voice was low, but not quiet. “That’s what you people do, right? Throw money at a problem to make it go away?”

“Isavedyou,” she snapped. “The least you could do is?—”

“Be grateful,” he finished, jerking his chains dramatically. “Right. Although I can’t help but think gratitude might come a little easier if you weren’t the one who got methrown in there to begin with?”

I swallowed hard and glanced again at the shackles she hadn’t taken off him.

She followed my gaze. “I don’t have the key,” she said apologetically.

“She doesn’twantthe key,” he said, as a slow, sardonic, almost satisfied grin spread across his face. “She’s afraid of me. Afraid I’lltake my revenge.”

“Shut up,” she seethed at him.

“Yes, miss,” he growled at her.

With that, she rose and stepped between us. “Louisa,” she said with a resigned flourish. “Meet Riven.”

He nodded at me. “Charmed,” he said. “And don't call me that.”

Much as the idea of forcing them to share one bed their first night delighted me, in the end, I let Riven have my room. Most nights, I didn’t sleep there anyway, because going to bed felt like giving up. Instead, I lay on the wicker balcony sofa, furry blanket draped over me, got high, and watched the stars go blue.

Maeve was right. You were supposed to be here, at the end. And in the beginning. And in every line in between.

If Rebekah's had returned, against all odds, even vengeful, even as her enemy—then so could mine.

So could all of them.

I recited it again. My litany. My paean. My matin and my evensong. My list. My lost.

Max Langer.

Ethan Wainwright-Phillips.

And—

31

HER

November’s ice combed through my hair as I approached Café Jennet for my afternoon shift. In the frosty window, I caught sight of myself and stole a glance at the person staring back: a frivolous West Coast sun bunny doing her best to pose as a serious working Bostonian, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my new white wool coat with the high collar, which, given the coming deep freeze, I didn’t exactlyregretbuying—only spending as much as I had. The pink-and-black plaid cashmere scarf, meanwhile, had been a nineteenth birthday gift from Rebekah. About that, I regrettednothing. I regretted nothing about my new persona at all, even if I wasn’t quite nailing the part yet.

I did, however, regret that my biochem final was less than a month away, my panic was already surging, and I had to resort to studying in snatches between orders. My fingers curled protectively around the solid shape of my textbook where it lay nestled in my leather bag.Today.

Before throwing open the door with its handmade Christmas wreath, I paused to inhale the cold, relishing the pleasant sting in my lungs as I exhaled a plume. To my desert-born heart’s delight, the snow had started sooner than forecasted, its tiny, delicate flakes kissing the ground and adding a layer of silence to the streets. There might come a time when I’d hate winter as most longtime New Englanders seemed to, but that time wasn’t now.

Once inside, enveloped in a blanket of roasty warmth, I cleared a pile of anarchist fliers and a gaudy pine garland off the counter and extricated my biochem textbook from my bag. Then I grabbed a mug and a packet of Earl Grey, my fingers sliding against the damp surface before filling it with hot water. Tea only, this afternoon. Staying awake was important, but too much caffeine would just goose my anxiety, and I couldn’t afford to lose time onthat.

Over at the register, Malin, a freed slave girl Basia had hired to work with us until she could figure out what to do next, stood chewing on her ragged nails as she gaped at the computer display.

Basia put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Malin,” she said with a wink at me. “Take your time.”