Page 45 of The House of Quiet

Chapter Thirty-Eight

An Arrow Powerless

A muffled scream wakes Arrow. Her first instinct is rage—she was with River, and she’s still brimming with a flood of unresolved sensations and desires that can’t be enjoyed now—but then it’s fear. Who’s screaming downstairs?

Arrow darts into the hallway. Birdie’s door is ajar. Arrow pushes it all the way open to see if Birdie’s already gone, but she’s still in bed. How did she sleep through that scream?

No. Birdie’s not sleeping. She’s convulsing . Arrow leans into the hall and shouts. “Help us! Up here, come help us!”

But how can anyone? They’re all locked in their rooms. They agreed not to meet tonight, just in case Cook didn’t lock up the tutor. River’s daylight defiance was one thing, but they can’t afford to have their midnight freedom revealed.

Stay with Birdie, or go get help? Every second is costing them dearly. “I’ll be right back,” Arrow gasps, then sprints down the hall. She takes the stairs two, three at a time, tumbling down half of them, popping back up bruised and battered and undeterred.

“Forest!” she screams as she runs past his door. “Tell everyone to wake up!” She doesn’t have time to pick these locks.

“Wake up!” Forest shouts from his room.

Even though she’s well and truly awake, Arrow’s eyes widen and her pulse quickens.

No trace of exhaustion or confusion lingers.

In the kitchen, she kicks Cook’s door open.

The startled woman falls out of bed, thumping onto the floor.

Arrow doesn’t even break stride. She slides to a stop, grabs the keys out of Cook’s discarded apron, and turns on her heel.

Back through the kitchen, back through the hall, Forest’s door first.

She throws it open. “Birdie’s hurt,” she shouts as he barrels past her to the stairs. She unlocks River’s door next, then shoves the keys at her. “Get Dawn. Maybe she can help. And figure out who screamed.”

“What’s wrong?” River calls, running for Dawn’s door.

“I don’t know.” Back up the stairs, back down the hall.

Forest is on the floor, Birdie held in his arms. She’s still now, except her wildly rolling eyes.

Birdie’s jaw is clenched so tightly Arrow can hear teeth grinding and creaking.

It’s the only sound in the room. It’s worse than silence. So much worse.

Forest looks up at her, terrified. Pleading.

“I don’t know,” Arrow says, sinking to her knees. “I don’t know.” This isn’t fair. All Birdie wanted to do was find an innocent girl. But Birdie’s an innocent girl, too. Doesn’t she deserve to be saved? Don’t they all?

Her mother would know what to do. But if her mother were still alive, Arrow wouldn’t be here at all. Arrow wipes away tears. “Please. Forest, do something. You have to do something.”

Her heart knows the look of pure despair on his face. It’s the same feeling she had when she found her mother lying on thetable.

Arrow crawls to Birdie and puts a finger against her neck.

She doesn’t know how to fix this, but she still learned a lot from her mother.

The injuries that kill slowly. The ones that kill immediately.

And how to know when death is coming and all that can be done is to sing a comforting song and soften a soul’s journey out of this world.

Birdie’s pulse is fading faster than it can ever recover from.

Arrow shouldn’t have demanded Forest do something. Whatever is breaking in Birdie is beyond even his reach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Birdie.”

Arrow slumps in the hallway to give them some space for their last breaths together.

One of the worst things that was done to her people was taking away their right to feel their own emotions.

Everything had to be guarded, muted, quieted.

Nothing could draw the attention of the soldiers.

Even when her mother died, Arrow couldn’t grieve the way she needed to.

All the pain she’s carried with her for so long wells up, and Arrow sinks to the floor. She lowers her head and weeps for a girl she was supposed to murder.