Free Wilder by Christina Dodd

out.”
    He did as she instructed.
    The big room was warm and bright.
    The woman watched her suspiciously.
    The old man observed her with bright, birdlike curiosity.
    “I have to give a message to Irving,” Taurean shouted.
    “I’m Irving,” the old man in the wheelchair said.
    She frowned. “No, you’re not. Irving Shea: tall, dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyes, first African-American CEO in charge of a major corporation in New York, drinks tawny port and coffee.”
    “I am Irving. I’m simply much, much older now. See?” He pointed to his face. “Dark skinned.
White
haired. I have arthritis.” He showed her his twisted fingers. “And hearing aids, so you don’t have to shout.”
    She walked toward him, head bent, staring hard. “You are Irving Shea. You’re like a fine house with good architecture that’s too old to salvage.”
    Irving chuckled. “Exactly. And I think if I remember correctly, you are . . . Jessica? Jessica Bellwether?”
    Taurean jerked back. “No, I’m Taurean. Jessica’s dead. I haven’t been Jessica for a long, long time.”
    “I see.” Irving tapped his spoon on the table. “I’m eating my breakfast. Would you like to join me?”
    She thought about it.
    “When a warrior eats at my table,” Irving said solemnly, “I honor her presence whether she be friend or foe.”
    She relaxed. She understood that kind of reassurance. “All right.”
    The woman in black spoke, harsh and abrupt. “You’re dirty. You need to wash before you sit down at the table.”
    Taurean glanced down at her hands and clothes in bewilderment. They were black. She rubbed at the stains on her hands. “How did I get dirty?”
    “From crawling under the fence and living like a—” the woman snapped.
    “Martha, that’s enough.” Irving cut her off. “Taurean, there’s a powder room in the corridor outside the kitchen. McKenna can show you the way.”
    The man, McKenna, stepped toward her.
    She shrank back. He was male. She was in a mansion. He wanted to take her off alone.
    He stopped. “You smell a little like gunpowder. Were you setting off fireworks?”
    Taurean’s mind cleared. She remembered. The tunnel. Guardian. The police. The people with the nets. “Yes. We scared the monsters away.”
    “Good for you.” McKenna waited.
    Taurean thought he was the kind of man who waited without chafing at the delay. He was also short and rather hobbitlike in appearance, with wild eyebrows and a kind smile with white teeth.
    She was over six feet, scrawny, and she knew how to punch.
    McKenna was no danger to her.
    She went with him to the powder room.
    He showed her the soap and towels and left her alone. She locked the door and took a sponge bath. After all, she might be insane, but she recognized French milled lavender soap when she used it.
    It took her a long time, and when she was done, she quietly opened the door and crept along the corridor toward the light. The people were still in there, three of them, and she heard Irving say, “She testified at the trial, but the Beckers got the best lawyers and the boys walked free. She disappeared after that and I heard rumors that she—”
    McKenna looked up, caught sight of her, cleared his throat.
    Irving stopped talking.
    “Taurean, the gunpowder is all gone,” McKenna said. “For Mr. Irving, Martha prepared oatmeal. Would you like that, or would you prefer bacon and eggs?”
    “Do you have watermelon?” Taurean asked.
    “For breakfast?” Martha said. “I mean, no, we don’t have watermelon.”
    “Then I’ll take soup.” They’d set a place mat and silverware across from Irving, and Taurean seated herself there.
    “Last night, I made a cream of tomato basil soup, and have some leftovers. Would you care for that, or does something else appeal?” Martha seemed a lot nicer now. Probably because Taurean was clean.
    “I’d like that.” Taurean put her napkin in her lap, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like . . .