This Savage Song (14 page)

“Rough night?” asked Kate, climbing the bleachers.

Freddie's head was bowed over a book, but she could see the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

He didn't look up. “That obvious?”

She dropped her bag. “You look like hell.”

“Why, thank you,” he said dryly, raking a hand through still-damp hair.

He kept his eyes on the book, but never turned the page.

Questions swam through her mind, each one trying to surface, but she held them under. She started rapping her fingers, then remembered Dr. Landry's observations and forced herself to stop. She was going to bring up the violin, but he didn't have it with him today. She tried to see what he was reading, or pretending to read, but the words were too small, so she sat there, trying to re-create the feeling she'd had the day before, the
comfortable quiet they'd shared. But she couldn't sit still. Exasperated, she dug her earbuds out and had them halfway to her head when Freddie spoke.

“What did you do?” he asked, turning the page.

Kate tensed a fraction, glad he couldn't see. “What do you mean?”

Finally, he put the book aside. Plato. What kind of junior read philosophy for fun? “To get kicked out of another gym class.”

“Oh,” she said, touching her abdomen. “I have a terrible stomachache.”

Amusement flickered in his pale gray eyes. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, I hope I'm not coming down with something,” she said, slumping back against the bleachers with a smirk. “But you know what they say.”

“What do they say?”

“Fresh air is the best medicine.”

It would be too generous to call his expression a smile, but it was warm enough. She tucked her hair behind her ear and felt his gaze go straight to the scar. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed, but it was the first time he asked. “What happened?”

Weakness invites a knife.
But the words rose up before she could stop them. “Car accident.”

Freddie didn't automatically say
sorry
, as if it were his fault. (She hated when people did that). He only nodded
and ran a thumb over the black lines on his wrist. “I guess we all have our marks.”

She reached out and brushed her fingers over the nearest tally, feeling him tense under the touch. “How many days sober?”

He pulled gently free. “Enough,” he said, tugging the cuff down to cover the skin.

The questions rattled in her head.

Who are you?

What are you hiding?

Why are you hiding it?

They were trying to get out, and she was about to let them, when Freddie spoke.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Kate sat forward. “Yes.” The word had come out faster than she'd planned, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes found hers, and there was something heavy about his gaze. Like she could feel it weighing on her. “What is it?” she pressed.

He leaned in. “I've never seen a forest up close.” And then, before she could say anything, he was pulling her down the bleacher steps and toward the trees.

“They smell like candles,” said Freddie, kicking up leaves.

“I'm pretty sure candles smell like
them
,” said Kate. “What kind of guy hasn't seen
trees
?”

He lifted a crimson leaf, twirled it between his fingers. “The kind who lives in the red,” he said, letting it fall, “and has very protective parents.”

Kate's pulse ticked up at the mention of family, but she kept her voice even. “Tell me about them.”

Freddie only shrugged. “They're good people. They mean well.”

What are their names?
she wanted to ask.

“What do they do?”

“My dad's a surgeon,” he said, stepping over a fallen log. “Mom grew up in Fortune. She was just on the wrong side of the border when it closed.”

“That's awful,” said Kate, and she meant it. It was bad enough that the Verity citizens were trapped inside; she often forgot about the foreigners. Wrong place, wrong time, a life erased because of bad luck.

“She doesn't let on,” he said absently. “But I know it weighs on her.”

The mention of weight pulled Kate's thoughts back to the iron pendant and the black ledgers.

Where did you get your medallion?

She swallowed. “So, only child?”

“Inquisitor?” he shot back, and then, to her relief, he said, “Youngest. You?”

She liked that he asked, even though he had to know.

“Only,” she answered.

In the distance the lunch bell rang, and Kate hesitated, but Freddie showed no signs of turning back. Instead he slumped down against a tree, his back against the trunk. Kate sank against its neighbor and mirrored the pose. Freddie dug a crisp, green apple from his bag and held it out.

Who are you?

She reached for the fruit, fingers purposefully brushing his, and again she relished the small shiver that went through him, as if the contact were something foreign, something new.

She took a bite and handed the apple back. He rolled it between his palms.

What are you hiding?

“I wish the rest of the city were like this,” he said softly.

“Empty? Green?”

“Peaceful,” he said, passing her the apple. He never took a bite.

She traced her thumb along her own teeth marks. “Have you ever seen a monster up close?”

Freddie chewed his lip. “Yes. You?”

Kate raised a brow. “My father keeps a Malchai as a pet.”

His eyes narrowed, but all he said was, “I prefer cats.”

Kate snorted and tossed the apple back. “So do I.”

Their voices trailed off, and for a second it was there, that glimpse of easy silence. A gust of wind rustled the branches overhead, sending down a shower of dying leaves, and between the fruit in his hand and his colorless eyes and the golden leaf stuck in his black curls, Freddie Gallagher looked more like a painting than a boy.

Who are you?
she wanted to ask.

Instead she reached for the apple, and took another bite.

All afternoon, the questions ate at her. The longer they'd stayed in the forest, the louder the doubt. About him. About her. Maybe there was a simple answer for the alias. Maybe he didn't have a choice. Maybe sometimes people had good reasons to hide. To lie.

But Kate wanted to know the truth.

She was halfway down the hall when she heard the violin.

She'd gotten out of her last class a few minutes early from a test and was killing time until the final bell. Her steps slowed as she listened, assuming—hoping—it was Freddie. A glimpse of truth among the mysteries. The music was coming from a classroom down the hall; as she reached the door, it stopped, followed by the screeching of chairs and equipment. She peered in through the glass insert and saw the orchestra students packing up.
The bell rang, and as they poured out, she scanned the class for Freddie, but she didn't see him.

“Hey,” she said to a guy hauling what looked like a cello. He blanched a little when he realized she was talking to him. “Is there a Gallagher in your class?”

“Who?”

“Freddie Gallagher,” she said. “Tall, thin, black hair, plays the violin?”

The guy shrugged. “Sorry, never seen him.”

Kate swore under her breath, and the cellist took the opportunity to escape.

The halls were thinning, and she backtracked to the lockers, reaching them in time to see Freddie packing up his bag. She shot a look at the student one locker down and the girl fled. Kate leaned her shoulder against the metal.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, shuffling his books. “I keep finding pieces of forest stuck to my clothes.”

“I brushed myself off,” she said. “Wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

He stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

She stared at him. He stared back. And then a streak of color shot across his cheeks. “Oh.”

She rolled her eyes, then remembered her purpose and nodded at the locker. “No violin?”

“It's at home.”

“I figured you were in orchestra.”

Freddie cocked his head. “I never said I was.”

“Then why bring it?”

“What?”

She shrugged. “Why bring the violin to school, if you're not in orchestra?”

Freddie closed the locker, not with a crash like everyone else, but with a soft, decisive click. “If you really want to know, I can't play at home because the walls are too thin. Colton has music rooms, the soundproof kind. So, that's why I brought it.”

Kate felt her conviction slipping. “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, teasing. “But if you're not in orchestra, when am I supposed to hear you play?”

A wall went up behind Freddie's eyes. “You're not.”

The words landed like a blow. “Why not?” she asked, temper rising.

He slung his bag onto his shoulder. “I told you, Kate. I don't play for
anyone
.”

“I'm not
anyone
,” she snapped, flushing, suddenly hurt. “I'm a Harker.”

Freddie gave her a disparaging look. “So what?”

“So you don't say no to me, not like that.”

He actually laughed—a single, icy bark—and shook his head. “You really believe that, don't you? That this
whole city revolves around what you want, because you have money and power and everyone's too afraid to tell you no.” He leaned in. “I know it's hard to believe, Kate, but not everything in this world is about
you
.” He pulled back. “Honestly, I thought you were better than this. I guess I was wrong.”

Kate recoiled, stunned. Her face burned, and anger flared through her, hot as coals. Freddie turned to go, but her hand hit the locker beside his head, barring his path. “Who are you?”

Confusion spread across his face. “What?”

“Who. Are. You?” He tried to knock her hand away, but she caught his wrist and pushed him back against the locker. She'd had enough. Enough games. Enough dancing around the point. “You know what I mean, Freddie.” She brought her metal-glossed nails to the pendant on his shirt. “You
really
don't look like a Freddie. Or a Frederick. Or a Gallagher.”

His eyes narrowed. “Let go of me, Kate.”

She leaned in. “Whoever you really are,” she whispered, “I'm going to figure it out.”

Just then another body came crashing, an arm thrown around Freddie's shoulders.

“There you are!” said the boy loudly. “Been looking for you everywhere!” The kid flashed Kate an apologetic smile while pulling Freddie free of her grip. She let her
hand fall away. “We're going to be late. For that thing. You know. The party thing.” He tugged Freddie down the hall. “You didn't forget, did you? Come on . . .”

The other boy waved good-bye without a backward glance, but Freddie cast a last, unreadable look her way before the two disappeared around the corner.

Anger rolled through her as Kate stormed out of the school.

She tapped another pill out of the vial Dr. Landry had given her and tossed it back, berating herself for letting Freddie of all people crack her calm. Stupid, stupid, stupid—but she thought he liked her, thought he
got
her, let him get under her skin. Idiot. If she'd learned
anything
from her father, it was that composure was control. Even if it was just an illusion.

I know it's hard to believe, but not everything in this world is about you.

The rage flared fresh.

I thought you were better than this.

Who did he think he was?

I guess I was wrong.

Who
was
he?

Kate reached the lot, but the black sedan wasn't there yet. She paced and tried to take a few steadying breaths, but it didn't help. She could feel her nerves rattling like loose change inside her chest. She perched on a bench
and dug a cigarette out of the box in her bag, shoving the filter between her lips as she watched the students pour out of the school like ants.