Dahlia

  Resigning myself to ending the night early, I trudged down the busy street with Elaine by my side. She prattled on about nonsense—about anything she saw or thought of as we walked—giving me little time to speak. I wasn’t the type for small talk, but I didn’t mind having such a chatty companion to fill the silence between us. She hardly expected me to respond, after all.

  When my mind inevitably turned to Hawthorne, and I thought of his furious expression when he took off after the human man, I felt a flutter of pleasure within me. I liked that he had been so quick to defend me. We weren't even sure the man intended to harm me, and yet, he was ready to intervene in an instant. Was that all it took to win my heart?

  I certainly hoped not.

  When there was a break in Elaine’s mindless chatter about the vivid colors of each of the doors we passed, I cut in with my own thoughts, “What will Hawthorne do to that man?”

  Elaine looked down at me with a frown, “Why? He’s a predator. Don’t worry about him.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was calling the human or Hawthorne the predator—the label seemed to fit them both.

  “That man didn’t try—”

  “He would have. I’ve been around long enough to recognize the signs,” She sniffed before repeating in a firm tone, “Don’t worry about him.”

  “But what will Hawthorne do?” I asked—more urgent now.

  “I would’ve castrated the man,” Elaine shrugged, unbothered, as if this was something she did every day.

  She didn’t answer my question, confirming I wouldn’t like the answer.

  As we passed the gates to the Redmond compound, home to all the Predictors in Firen, I studied the murals of Hastings painted on the walls there. These were her own doing, given that most of the artists in Firen didn’t give a damn about her. The portraits made her look nearly twenty years younger than she had been when she was appointed to the head of the Council just five years before, though the scar that marred one side of her face was proudly on display.

  Elaine broke her incessant chatter to point at the clock tower within the compound, “Have you been in there—the library?”

  “Of course not—I’m not a Predictor,” I replied—making it obvious that I’d never have that opportunity.

  Not without sneaking in, that is.

  And sneaking in was becoming more tempting lately as I struggled to understand my own identity. Perhaps there were some books in there about the Sight—or about the reason Red Halflings were unlawful when Halflings from other worlds were widely accepted. It wasn’t like my father would discuss this with me. I'd tried and failed to broach the subject with him on dozens of occasions.

  “I’ve been in there twice,” Elaine smiled, “It may be the best library in all the worlds—besides the one in the Havens, of course.”

  I’d heard of the library in the Havens—another peaceful human world where the people devoted themselves to scholarship. Most of our medicine came from the Havens—medicine like the one I took each month to avoid pregnancy. Their library was filled with work from all the worlds. The Imm family who reigned over their world was especially devoted to the humans there—supporting their search for knowledge in a way few Imms could match.

  Sure, the Calos weren’t cruel to the people of the Red, but the Imms in the Havens treasured their humans in a compassionate way I couldn’t quite imagine, given my own experiences with the Imms.

  “Are there no comparable Imm libraries?” I asked distractedly.

  “There’s a library in the castle in the Circle. There are also some impressive private collections dating back far before our time, but there is no need for Mirnen libraries, really,” Elaine explained with a frown, “We can just use whatever human library we want—like the one in the Havens.”

  A typical Imm answer—just take what the humans have.

  “Have you been there?” I asked—not really caring to know the answer.

  “Where? The library in the Havens?” Elaine asked absently before answering her own question, “Of course—my brother married into the Barrett family there. I can travel there anytime, if the urge strikes.”

  Barrett. The name was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it.

  But I also didn't care. Right now, I had an audience with an Imm woman who was willing to talk, maybe about the things my father refused to dicuss with me.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “What’s it like to travel through the Seams?” I asked—desperate to know more about the doorways between each of the worlds.

  “Hmm,” Elaine considered my question before replying, “It’s strange, really. The Seams are difficult to spot—impossible for humans, I’m sure. They move, you know.”

  “They move?” I asked—not understanding what she meant by that.

  I’d seen the Seams depicted on maps before—in fixed locations. I pictured a map from school in my head that showed the Seam connecting us to the Circle, just beyond the nearby mountains. To our south, there were several other Seams connecting us to the Havens, the Sands, and a few others I couldn’t remember the names of. If they moved, how did the Imms travel through them so regularly?

  “Not much,” Elaine explained as she jumped up onto a short stone retaining wall beside the road and continued walking—never breaking stride, “They squirm—move around within an acre or so of land. This just makes it hard to find them right away because they are so hard to spot—no wider than a rope, really.”

  “And you just walk through them?” I asked, “How can you do that when they are no wider than a rope?”

  “You have to open them,” Elaine explained, though I couldn’t imagine what that meant, “And the size depends on how far you stretch them. Think of them as sizeless doorways covered by two heavy curtains. You open the curtains to walk through—but you can’t grasp them without strength and the right…tools.”

  Somehow, the explanation didn’t help.

  “Where did the Seams come from?” I asked—desperate to know more about the small pathways between the worlds.

  Elaine sighed, “Now that’s a big secret even I don’t know the answer to, curious human.”

  She leapt down off the retaining wall just as I heard voices and the crunch of wooden wheels on the stone road up ahead. The sound was strange at night, but I didn’t think anything of it until Elaine reacted. Something about the approaching people made her reach for my arm—stopping me in my tracks.

  “What—” I began.

  “I smell blood—from more than one person,” Elaine whispered before dragging me into the dark alleyway at the end of the retaining wall.

  We huddled in the dark as the sound of the wheels grew louder. Finally, I saw two figures pulling a cart past our hiding place with a third walking beside them. Relying on the Sight now, I examined the people first. All three figures were clothed in gray, hooded robes. Though they had spoken before, they were quiet now—all I could hear over the sound of the wheels was their rasping breaths—harsh from the effort of pulling the cart.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to me until my eyes moved to the cart itself, and I saw it was covered in spatters of blood as though someone had butchered an animal on it. As I watched it pass, I noticed the blood dripping off the back of the cart—falling in slow, sticky drops onto the dusty, cobblestone street.

  A chill ran down my spine.

  Elaine’s grip on my arm tightened, not enough to be painful, but enough to draw my attention. I realized she had noticed the blood, too. Even in the dim light of nearby buildings, her Imm eyesight was sensitive enough to see the discoloration where the blood had stained the wooden cart.

  The sound of the cart’s wheels finally stopped, and Elaine released her grip on my arm as she whispered, “Don’t move.”

  So, I stayed in the safety of the alley as Elaine crept forward to get a better look. From my position in the shadows, I heard the creak of a metal gate, a few mumbled, whispered exchanges, and then the sound of rolling wheels started again. Within a few seconds, the gate slammed shut, the sound echoing down the quiet street.

  Elaine turned to me—expression guarded, “Let’s go.”

  “What was that?” I whispered before remembering myself and feigning confusion, “Was that blood on the cart?”

  “Yes—human blood, I think,” she murmured before pushing me forward firmly but gently, “Let’s pick up the pace.”

  So, we set out for home as I contemplated the bloody wagon. Were the Predictors transporting bodies? If so, where did the bodies come from? Who were they?

  Elaine’s mood had shifted, much like my own. Before, she was talkative and friendly. Now she was distant, lost in her own thoughts.

  Unable to ignore the change in her, I asked, “What is it? What are you thinking?”

  She looked down at me and shook her head, “The Predictors must be up to their usual, questionable behavior. It’s nothing for you to worry yourself about, human. You aren’t in any danger where they are concerned.”

  “What danger?” I stopped in my tracks, thinking of Carmen's letter and the warning within, “What do you know?”

  Elaine pushed me forward—forcing me to keep walking, “I know that the longer it takes to get you home, the less likely I’ll be able to track the blood that was dripping off that cart.”

  For a moment, I thought I misheard her. “You’re going to investigate human deaths?”

  Elaine burst into laughter that echoed loudly down the street, “No, human. Your people are far too fragile to warrant investigation.”

  I bristled but wondered, “So why follow the blood trail?”

  “Some of us like to keep a close eye on the Predictors, human—especially that Hastings woman,” Elaine grinned darkly, baring her pointed teeth, “But tell anyone that little secret, and I’ll rip out your tongue.”

  She didn’t sound particularly threatening to me—not like Hawthorne had sounded years ago when he’d threatened to cut off my arm—so I didn’t quite believe the threat.

  I rolled my eyes, “You nearly had me fooled with that sweet, talkative disposition of yours, but threatening to hurt me? That’s more like what I’d expect from an Imm.”

  Elaine nearly choked on her own laughter, “It’s not every day I meet a human who isn’t terrified of me. Live long enough, and maybe we can be friends.”

  “We can’t be friends, Imm,” I stubbornly explained, “I appreciate you helping me earlier and walking me home, but I don’t have Imm friends.”

  “You have Hawthorne,” Elaine shrugged.

  “And he’s not my friend,” I protested stubbornly under my breath.

  Elaine shrugged again, “Hawthorne could use a human friend to teach him to be gentler with his toys.”

  Again, I bristled—I wasn’t a toy—but I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I thought about the bloody cart, Carmen's warning about the Predictors, and Elaine's comment about watching them. There was something more happening here, something I was missing.

  When we finally made it to my home, it took every ounce of willpower for me to watch Elaine disappear into the night without following her. Though I was sure I could maintain enough distance between us to avoid detection, this wasn’t the right time to test my skills—no matter how desperate I was to find out what the Predictors were up to.

  I would have to learn their secrets on my own.