Free Dust Girl: The American Fairy Trilogy Book 1 by Sarah Zettel

The words repeated in my brain.
Eat yourselves sick
.
    I had to be fast. I ran out the back door, into the narrow side hall that led to the bathroom. In the bathroom was a medicine cabinet. Mama kept a stock of useful stuff in thatcabinet for guests with emergencies. There were bandages and aspirin, but also bottles of milk of magnesia and Pepto-Bismol, in case you needed to hold something down, and syrup of ipecac, in case you needed to bring something back up.
    I stuffed the ipecac into my apron pocket and ran back to the kitchen.
    “There you are.” Letitia folded her arms. I didn’t think it was just the breeze from the door that made her sash ends wave. I didn’t look too hard. “I thought maybe you ran out on us and your little friend.”
    “Just had to use the water closet,” I muttered, going around the far side of the counter to get back to the stove.
    Letitia made a delicate face. Then she leaned over the stove and sniffed at my gravy. “This better be good. My parents are
very
particular, and I think Clarinda’s starting to take a liking to your friend.”
    The back of my brain tried to tell me what that meant. I told it to be quiet. “It’ll only be another minute.” I picked up the wooden spoon, stirred the chowder, and tasted. “You can go tell them.”
    She wrinkled up her borrowed nose. “Nice try, but I’m staying right here.” She stomped her foot. “My parents think you won’t light out on that skinny little boy, but I’m not so sure.”
    “Then can you get the tureen off the shelf?” I pointed. “This is ready.”
    She snorted, but she did it. As soon as her back wasturned, I yanked the stopper out of the ipecac bottle and emptied the whole thing into the bubbling pot.
    “Anything else,
Miss
Callie?” Letitia banged the tureen on the counter.
    “Thank you.” I poured the chowder in, careful not to spill a single drop. “That should do fine.”

8
No Home in This World Anymore
     
    With Letitia Hopper marching behind me, I carried that tureen full of ipecac-laced chowder into the dim and dusty Moonlight Room.
    The Hoppers ringed a table in the exact center of the room. They’d stuffed Jack between Mr. Hopper and the oldest boy, Hunter. Hunter’s jaws moved like he was chewing a wad of gum, and he had one arm draped around Jack’s shoulders. Jack had turned a nasty shade of green, but he clenched his jaw and tried to swallow his panic as I set the tureen down. I shook my head just a little as I lifted the tureen lid, releasing the salt-and-tomato smell of my improvised chowder.
    “Excellent!” Mr. Hopper inhaled deeply. Hunter smacked his lips. William burped, and little Clarinda giggled.
    That was when I realized the dust cloths that had covered the tables and chairs were gone. All of them. Even the dust sheet we’d dropped beside Papa’s piano had vanished.
    Mrs. Hopper glared at her children as she shook out her napkin and smoothed it daintily over her lap. None of the others seemed to have saved theirs. “Is it going to be enough, Desmond?”
    “This is just for starters,” I made myself say. “There’s more food in the back.” I looked at Jack over the Hoppers’ heads.
Don’t eat it
, I tried to think toward him.
Even if they offer, don’t eat it
. But there was no way to tell if his attempt at a grim smile meant he understood.
    “Well, if there’s more, let’s have it,” said Mr. Hopper. “Letitia, help her.”
    This did not sit well with Miss Letitia. “Pa! I’m hungry too!”
    “Do as you’re told, Letitia.” Mrs. Hopper leaned over the tureen, a thin river of spit running down her chin.
    Letitia grimaced, and her mouth parts clacked under her false face. I walked away. Behind me, the buzzing and humming noise of the Hoppers settling down to their feast rose up, and I didn’t dare look back. But as I heard Letitia’s angry clacking, a new plan formed in my head.
    “It’s not fair they won’t let you sit down with them,” I said to Letitia once