Page 17 of The Lovely and the Lost

I wondered if she was the one who’d taught my foster mother what it took to bring home a stray.

“Sit. Eat.” Ness didn’t even turn from the stove to see if her words were being obeyed. There was a bowl of chili waiting for me on the kitchen table, along with a double helping of corn bread.

I sat, suddenly aware of how long it had been since I’d had food.Eat slowly,I reminded myself as my fingers latched themselves around the spoon in a death grip.The food is yours. No one is going to take it from you.

“Kira. Sister mine.” Jude appeared in the doorway. He lumbered over to the table and took the seat across from me, blocking my view of Ness and the stove. He was freshly showered and wearing flannel pajamas.

Clearly, he’d made himself right at home.

“The hero triumphant, returned to the fold,” he pronounced, giving an artistic wave of his hand in my direction.

“Would ‘the fold’ like some more chili?” Ness asked wryly, setting a bowl down in front of Jude. Apparently, in the last few hours, she’d come to know him well.

“Where there is food,” Jude declared solemnly, “so, too, there is Jude.”

As he dug in, I felt my own grip on my spoon relax. There was a time when I’d refused to eat at a table—and Jude had eaten on the floor next to me.

“Where’s Free?” I asked. I was fairly certain there was at least one line in the Miscreants’ Creed devoted to the core value of never turning down a second helping.

“Upstairs,” Jude replied, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. Glancing at Ness to make sure she wasn’t watching, he then pantomimed climbing out a window, which I took to mean that Free was probably already halfway to town. For someone who was awfully fond of skipping school, she didn’t do “leisure time” well.

Not that I had any room to throw stones.

“Is this the part where you regale us with tales of your heroics and/or indicate that the case has moved in a more hopeful direction?” Jude asked. In preparation for my answer, he pulled a small packet of what I could only assume was confetti out of his pocket.

“Bella made it out of the river.” My voice failed to convey even a fraction of the relief I’d felt at that discovery, but Jude had been fluent in Kira long before I’d spoken in actual words. “Saskia caught the scent again in the mountains,” I continued. “We found a piece of Bella’s windbreaker. Cady and Pad are still out there, searching.”

“Given half the chance, your mother will run herself ragged.” Ness clucked her tongue. “Never was a girl like that one for needing someone to take care of her, but thinking she could face down the big bad world alone.”

“You don’t say.” Jude gave me a look. “Sounds like someone else I know.” He paused. “Rhymes with Mira.”

I would have flicked food at him, but I wasn’t willing to give up a single bite.

“I assume you told Mom we’d be back in the morning?” Jude asked me once he’d realized no edible projectiles were forthcoming.

“Break of dawn,” I confirmed. Technically, I’d told Cady thatIwould be back, but now that we’d picked up the trail again, Jude and Free would be able to offer the bloodhounds a scent path to follow.

“I have a good feeling about this,” Jude announced, jiggling the packet of confetti.

I didn’t take the bait. How could I, when even the best-case scenario would leave its marks on that little girl?

“Saskia needs food,” I said, finishing my chili.

“Gabriel will take care of that,” Ness assured me. “He’s already fed the others. If I know that boy half as well as I think I do, he’s out there seeing to your pup right now.”

I wasn’t sure which was more notable: the fact that Ness had just referred to take-no-prisoners Saskia as apupor the way she seemed to believe that Gabriel could feed Saskia without losing a hand.

“Mayhaps Kira should justcheckon them,” Jude suggested delicately. “For funsies.”

I took that as permission to bolt.

Darkness had fallen outside. The moon was a quarter moon, the stars hidden by a thick blanket of clouds. In a single, fluid motion, I brought my index fingers to my mouth and let out a loud and piercing whistle. Through the discordant buzz of bugs and the rustling of wind weaving through the grass, I listened for Saskia.

I heard human footsteps instead.

“You rang?” Gabriel said dryly. His white T-shirt caught the scant moonlight—bad camouflage for someone who liked sneaking up on people.

“I wasn’t whistling for you,” I emphasized.