Free Dearly, Beloved by Lia Habel

beating and biting Wolfe. The idea that my father might be capable of the same thing made my skin crawl.
    Compared to what I’d seen on the news the city had quieted down significantly, though parts of it still appeared on edge. Eventhrough the closed windows I could hear sirens in the distance. Bram chose a route that took us off the main streets but kept us close to the EF, and we ended up driving through an upper-class neighborhood—nothing like the dominions of the very rich in the countryside surrounding New London, but nice enough—where several houses stood with their front entrances thrown open to reveal lavishly lit interiors, the fences surrounding them bedecked with flowers and strings of electric bulbs. Competing parties—maybe debuts. Well-heeled ladies and gentlemen walked past, laughing, seemingly ignorant of the current state of the world. The Season was on.
    Seeing them actually gave me some hope, though it was impossible for me to enjoy the sensation. More smothering mourning crepe had been sold in the last few months than snowy debutante satin, and yet some people were still celebrating, carousing, living . The entire city should look like this.
    After allowing me a few silent minutes to marvel, Bram started back, turning onto West Herbert Avenue. The lights were on in the police station there, and people were still tramping in and out—most of them clad in black. Everybody was in mourning for somebody. Shops were closing down for the day, peddlers packing up their street carts, and the few people abroad seemed to hurry from one pool of lamplight to the next, wary of the shadows. Living people either tried to stay close to the zombies accompanying them or attempted to avoid the zombies they passed entirely.
    I finally rubbed at my eyes, and Bram reached over and touched my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
    I nodded. I felt like I should cry, but I was too confused. “He’s never spoken to me like that. I mean, I half think I deserve it for some of the things I’ve done, but still …”
    Bram pulled the carriage over to the side of the road and took my hand once more. I gave in and let myself tear up. He leanedover and kissed my clothed right shoulder, where he’d once bitten me, and my cheek.
    Shutting my eyes, I tried to concentrate on the sensation of his touch. “He’ll come home to scream at Elpinoy, but he won’t answer my emails.”
    “He’s scared,” Bram said, his deep voice right in my ear. I could almost feel it in my bones, more nourishing than my own blood. “Like you said, he has everything riding on him. But he loves you.”
    “I know. He’s done this before—thrown himself into his work. After my mother died, he did the same thing. I know I have to think of it that way. It just hurts.”
    Bram looked down at my hand at the mention of my mom. “Yeah.”
    Releasing a shaky breath, I said, “I still keep wishing things would just go smoothly. For everyone.”
    “Chances of that happening?”
    “Slim to none.” Doing my best to convert a hiccup into a sigh, I wondered how much I ought to rant—for I knew half the things I wanted to complain about were petty. I wasn’t so consumed by my own drama that I couldn’t see it. “He didn’t even see me. He didn’t want to deal with me. And he thinks he gets to tell me what to do? That he knows what’s best for me?”
    “If it’s worth anything, I need you.” Bram wrapped me up again, and tangled his fingers in my hair. “You guys aren’t the only ones feeling the pressure. I lost it, for a few seconds. Beat up some guys spouting conspiracy theories that sounded an awful lot like Averne’s. They said your name, like they had any right to, and I went off. That’s what Coalhouse was talking about.”
    This statement didn’t offer me any comfort. It caused me to hook my chin worriedly over his shoulder and loop my arms around him, eyes on the carriage window. He’d told me he had maybe three years left before he gave in