Lydia's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Lydia sat on the cold tile beside the blanket nest. Night pressed against the small paned window. She had promised herself she would learn who hurt Malia tonight. She stroked the girl's hair and waited. The stuffed wolf lay crushed against Malia's chest. Lydia kept her voice soft. "Sweetheart. You can tell me. Nobody here will hurt you." For a long time Malia said nothing. The low cartoons flickered on the old TV. Then she lifted her head. Her eyes were red and swollen. "It was my brother," she whispered. "That's who hurt me." She grabbed Lydia's sleeve. "But please don't go after him." Lydia's hands went still. A heat rose through her chest, old and fierce, the banshee part of her that screamed when something was wrong. She breathed through it. She would not let Malia see her shake. "That's not okay," she said. Her voice was flat and certain. "You're staying with me." "He's my guardian, Lydia." Malia's chin trembled. "He's supposed to take care of me. He's all I have." Lydia cupped the girl's face in both hands. She looked straight into her eyes so Malia could not look away. "He doesn't get to be your guardian when he does this to you." She touched the hem of the dress, gentle, where the bruises hid. "A guardian doesn't do that. Not once. Not ever." She made her choice out loud, the way she made every choice for her pack. "You're going to come live with me." Malia searched her face. She was looking for the catch, the trick, the way adults took back what they said. Lydia held steady and let her look. "I mean it," Lydia said. "This is your home now. Every full moon. Every day between. You don't go back there." Something loosened in the girl's shoulders. The grip on Lydia's sleeve relaxed. Malia nodded once, small and tired. Then she lowered her head back onto the blanket nest. Her eyes slid toward the flickering screen. Within a minute her breathing went slow and even. She slept. Lydia pulled a blanket to the girl's chin. She sat a while longer in the dim bathroom, listening to the thatch creak in the wind above the cottage. The danger had a face now. Not a hunter at the tree line. A brother with a key to Malia's door, a man who would notice an empty bed. She stood, slow, her own sore stomach pulling tight. Four wolves still slept on her cottage floor. Now Malia stayed too. She had taken the girl in and said the words that could not be unsaid. Tomorrow the brother would come looking. Lydia pressed her palm flat against the door. She was ready for him to find her first.