Chapter Text
Caitlyn looks at the cupcake her father gave her.
It’s supposed to cheer her up. But it doesn’t. Jayce is out there in the rain and even if she is a misfit, she’s on one side of this fence and he’s on the other. He pushed her back, he saved her life. He’s her friend. Possibly her only friend, if she thinks too hard about it. And now she doesn’t know if she will ever see him again. Not only that but it’s raining so hard, she cannot even clear her head outside without getting scolded. She hides herself on the top of the steps because she knows both her parents are downstairs.
Suddenly there’s a commotion at the door.
Caitlyn’s heart jumps. Maybe it’s Jayce. Her mother never changes her mind but maybe she has about this. She’s on her feet when she hears Sheriff’s Grayson’s familiar rasp. Instead of running downstairs, she pulls herself back a bit further so she can hear but they cannot see her.
“Have you lost your mind!” Her mother gasps, indignant and annoyed, “that is a child!”
“All the same, I have a signed confession. She described the events accurately.”
“For Gods sakes,” her mother lets out sharp breath. The one she uses for when Caitlyn is being particularly frustrating or her father talks to long about medicine, “House Kiramman is not throwing a child in jail. She is protecting someone. Aren’t you dear?”
“I did it,” a voice tight with anger states, “I dropped the crystal after I heard something fall on the ground. I blew the building up.”
“Dear—“
“I did it,” the voice repeats, “I—“
“Dropped the crystal,” her mother cuts in, “how did you get in there?”
“Through the roof. I picked the lock.”
There is a hushed exchange and someone moves up the stairs. She can recognize her father’s footsteps and relaxes slightly. He gets high enough up to see her. His gaze softens fractionally and they just stare at each other for a moment. Long enough that it seems plausible for her him to find her a bit closer to her room. She gets to her feet, straightens her skirt and follows him down the stairs.
Standing between her mother and Sheriff Grayson is a girl. At least, Caitlyn thinks it’s a girl. Everything about her is dirty or bruised. She’s dressed in hand me downs that hang off her frame. Underneath the layer of muck is a riot of strawberry hair. But it’s shaved on one side, long on the other. It’s so plain compared to the haircuts she sees her friends at school wearing. Blue grey eyes lift. The world goes quiet as they stare at each other for two heartbeats.
“Caitlyn,” her mother says, drawing her attention back, “would you please get us some clothes.”
“What?”
“What?!”
Their voices overlap as they look at her mother. Cassandra arches an eyebrow in Caitlyn’s direction at her terrible manners. She looks down her nose at the girl but the look is more annoyance than the disgust she looked at Jayce with. Immediately the girl lifts her chin, as though daring her mother to look down at her. Her mother who sits on the Council, who has to give people permission to look her in the eyes.
“Clothes,” she says to Caitlyn. Then she focuses on the girl, “you will stay here and we will discuss this in the morning. Sherrff?”
“As you wish,” Sheriff Grayson says. She undoes the cuffs around the girl’s wrists. She and her mother trade a look and she says something quietly to her.
“Caitlyn!” Her mother says, “clothes!”
Caitlyn tears up the stairs. Caitlyn has never had to share anything before. No-one ever cares for her clothes. She grabs her looses pair of pants and a thick oversized sweater. Things she likes to wear when she comes out of the rain. At the last moment she grabs underthings and a pair of socks as well, shoving them between the heavy garments. She hurries back and nearly steps on the cupcake. Instead she places that on top of the stack.
Her mother and the girl are exactly where she left them. Her mother is contemplating something and the girl looks like she wants to dig into the center of the floor. Caitlyn has no idea why. People always want to come over to their house. So badly they pretend to be her friend until she lets them in. Jayce was willing to stand at the gate and get soaking wet to come inside. But this girl already has the look of wanting to leave.
“Caitlyn this is Violet,” her mother says, “Violet this is Caitlyn,” Violet rolls her eyes and breathes something like I know.
Delight surges through Caitlyn. Her mother has said her name multiple times but anyone else wouldn’t dare to point that out. She holds the stack of clothes out to Violet. Violet’s eyes drag from the clothes to her to the cupcake sitting on top. The anger eases for a moment at the sight of the treat. Then her face hardens again. But if she can show how smart she is, Caitlyn can do the same.
“Perhaps we should get Violet some food?” Caitlyn suggests.
“An excellent idea,” her mother says and nods at two of the Enforcers the Sheriff has left behind, “she’ll be downstairs.”
“Shouldn’t she be in a guest room?” Caitlyn blurts out. All of their eyes lock on hers, “since she’s a guest?”
They are all silent for a moment. Her mother looks at the Enforcers and then back to Caitlyn. Caitlyn knows they will be outside the door regardless whether they put her in the maids quarters or in the guest room. She tries to give her mother the pleading look that sometimes works. After a moment her mother gives the barest nod.
“I’ll show you the way,” Caitlyn says.
They fall into step behind her. Caitlyn is used to showing people around. But now she doesn’t bother with pointing out the paintings or anything. She wants to get Violet into the room before her mother changes her mind. The guest rooms are a variety of sizes. Caitlyn picks one that’s smaller and near the end of the hall, but almost always made up with clean sheets. She checks first though. The two Enforcers lock into position on either side of the door and Violet’s shoulders tense.
“Come, I’ll show you where the towels are,” Caitlyn says before the Enforcers can stop her from being in the room with Violet.
Violet looks around the room and some of the angry bravado slips. Not a lot, she gets it right back up, but just a bit so Caitlyn can see the mask. It’s like when she looked at the cupcake. Their eyes meet again and Violet scrutinizes her. Like she’s deciding if she can trust her.
“Why are you helping me?”
“Do I need a reason?” Caitlyn asks.
“Yeah,” Violet says and suddenly she’s a lot closer, “what’s your play here?”
“I’m protecting you,” she says. Violet’s eyes dart all over, “you’re a resident of this city—“
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, putting distance between them.
“I thought the Enforcers were outside.”
“I’m not one yet,” Caitlyn says, “but one day—“
“You sound like them,” Violet interrupts, “You may want to rethink your career path, I just watched a bunch die just before I got here.”
Caitlyn’s insides squirm. Both from the news of the death and the way Violet says she should rethink it. Like her mother says it. Caitlyn knows she would be a good Enforcer.
“Well I almost died a few days ago when you blew up the building,” Caitlyn says, “so I would make an excellent Enforcer.”
Violet whips around. For a moment pure panic shows on her face and then that mask is back.
“You were there?”
“I was,” Caitlyn replies, “in the hallway. I heard you whispering to—“
Violet is suddenly right in front of her. She moves so quickly Caitlyn has no time to see where she’s backing up. Her back hits the wall and one of Violet’s hands goes behind her head, the other claps over her mouth. Violet smells horrible. Like ash and soot and rot and metal. She smells like Caitlyn’s father when he goes out with his medical school friends. Some part of Caitlyn says she should scream, but it’s very hard to breathe as her pulse flutters.
This close she can see the blue in Vi’s grey eyes. There’s something almost delicate about the arch of her eyebrows and the curve of her cheek. All of it’s hidden by a layer of grime and so many bruises. Caitlyn tries to get her throat to work around the realization that Violet’s eyelashes are the same dark brown at her eyebrows.
“Okay you got me,” she hisses, “I will do whatever you want. But you didn’t hear me whispering to anyone,” they stare at each other over Vi’s disgusting hand wrap. Vi presses her palm against Caitlyn’s lips and then slowly lifts her hand.
“Who?” Caitlyn asks quietly. Vi gives her the same sharp look
“My siblings,” she says.
“Older?”
“No I’m the oldest,” she says, “this was my idea. I—“
They both turn as the door handle jiggles and Caitlyn pushes Violet to the side. She’s solid muscle. Caitlyn ignores that and dives for the closet, yanking down one of the towels as a maid comes in carrying a tray. Right behind her is her mother. Caitlyn prays her face is not too red and there isn’t dirt down the front of her shirt.
“Caitlyn, why is this door closed?” Her mother says.
“I was giving Violet some privacy,” she says. Her mother gives her a hard look, “and getting her a towel so she can take a bath.”
Her mother looks between them and holds out her hand. Caitlyn hands over the towel. Her mother’s eyes flick across her shirt and Caitlyn can’t bear to look. She’s sure she’s covered in dirt. In a way her mother will not tolerate.
“It’s my fault,” Violet speaks up, “I twisted my ankle when I blew up the building. Caitlyn got to me first.”
The reminder of Violet’s crimes seems to refocus her mother. She sets the towel in the bathroom and motions Caitlyn to follow her. Caitlyn tries to make herself presentable as she follows after her mother.
“Goodnight Violet,” her mother says.
“Goodnight Violet,” she echoes.
“Vi,” Violet says. Their eyes lock again and the word goes a little quieter, “friends call me Vi.”
Something bobs in Caitlyn’s chest. Something that drags her focus from the hot look her mother is giving her. She finds it very difficult to look away from Violet—no Vi’s, angry grey eyes. Though now she knows there’s blue in them. And for some reason she cannot think about much else.
“Goodnight Vi,” she says.