Lillyanne Plume's Arc

Chapter 10 of 22

Morning came gray. Scott handed her a ticket at the platform and said nothing about the spare room or the fire the night before. The train pulled inland, away from the coast, past fields still stiff with frost. Lillyanne sat across from him and watched the strand of white hair fall over his eye. He didn't push it back. He hadn't eaten. His hand rested flat on his thigh, and she saw the small tremor in his fingers he was trying to hide. "You look tired," she said. “Is it your heart?” He smiled without warmth. “It’s cute you’re worried about me.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Scott. If you drop dead in the middle of this game, I need to know before it happens, not after." She kept her voice low. The car was almost empty. "You said I do what you say when you say it. Fine. But I'm not walking in blind about my partner." He stared out the window for a long moment. Then he pulled his collar down an inch. A pale scar ran across his sternum. "Bad heart," he said. "Since my last game. Stress sets it off. Loud rooms. Fear. Anything that spikes it." He let the collar go. "If I go quiet on you inside, or grab a wall, don't touch me and don't shout. Sit me down. Count to sixty. It passes or it doesn't." She swallowed. "And if it doesn't." "Then you finish without me." She sat back. Her stomach turned once, hard. She had chosen a partner who could die from a slammed door. She had also chosen the only living person who had won twice. She held both facts and didn't speak. The train stopped in a city she didn't know. Scott walked ahead through streets thick with pigeons and led her up the wide steps of a library that took a full block. Inside, the ceilings climbed four stories. He moved past the desk without a glance and up a spiral stair to a back room where the light was yellow and the air smelled of old glue. He pulled a book off a low shelf. The cover was cracked leather, blank. "Letter," he said. She took the envelope from her bag. He opened the book to its middle. She laid the envelope on the page. He closed the cover and pressed his palm flat. A soft glow ran along the seam and faded. He opened the book. The envelope was gone. In the hollow of the pages sat a small brass key. Scott lifted it. He walked to a door marked STAFF, slid the key in, and turned. The door opened onto a broom closet. At the back of the closet stood another door. No handle. No hinges she could see. Just wood, and a keyhole waiting. He held the key out to her. "Your game," he said. "You open it."