Free Alice by Christina Henry Page A

still.
    “Let’s go, before someone else comes around,” he said, leading her past the two bodies, his hand around her upper arm, guiding her.
    “I th-thought the second man might raise an alarm.”
    Hatcher looked at her sharply when she stuttered. “And he would have, too. Don’t regret what’s done, Alice. We would have had to fight those two and more if I hadn’t killed them both.”
    “I don’t,” she said. “Not really. I know they weren’t good men. It’s only . . .”
    “Only what?”
    “Why did you kill that other man, anyway? The second man wouldn’t have yelled out if you’d left the first one alone.”
    Alice was shocked to realize she was angry—terribly, terribly angry. She could not recall the last time she’d been angry, when she’d felt something other than fear and confusion and cold.
    “I don’t know,” Hatcher admitted. “He touched me and then there was red in my eyes. I didn’t really think about what I was doing.”
    “You were the one who told me not to draw attention,” Alice hissed. Her voice was low, as was his. They both instinctively did so, unwilling to attract any more notice than they already might have done. Hatcher had moved quickly away from the thoroughfare, darting into a nearby alley and continuing on wherever his mind said they should go.
    “Aye, I did,” Hatcher said. “You’re right. It was a foolish thing to do. But it’s done, and it’s nearly dawn, so let’s find a place to rest.”
    A half hour earlier Alice would have given anything for food and a warm bed. Now her blood ran so hot and busy she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to sleep again.
    “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
    Hatcher gave her a sideways glance. “I’ve never seen you mad before, Alice. It’s brought some color to your cheeks.”
    She grabbed his wrist then, though a small part of her knew it was dangerous to do so, dangerous to do anything so unpredictable around a man who’d just murdered someone for no particular reason.
    “Stop treating me like a child,” Alice said, yanking him around to look at her.
    There was a momentary flare in his eyes; then it was banked, and she knew he would not hurt her.
    “I know I’ve acted like a child. I know I’ve been helpless. But you just killed two men for no reason that I can see. You might have attracted more attention than I ever could, and I would be the one to pay for it.”
    They stared at each other, Alice breathing hard. Her hand latched on his wrist, and Hatcher was still as the sea before a storm.
    Finally he moved, and his hand went to her cheek, the scarred one. “You’re like me, deep down,” he said, his eyes drawing her near, like a snake charmer from the East. “You’ll do what you must. I see that now. But me, Alice—I’ll do what I must, and I’ll do anything for you. No one would have taken you. I would never let you pay for my mistake.”
    His hand dropped, and he turned away. Alice’s fingers loosened of their own accord, letting him go. She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but she knew her anger had run out of her, leaving her feeling deflated.
    She walked beside him, sensing something had shifted between them, but uncertain as to what that “something” was. The sun was coming up now, so far away, its light piercing the fog but not bringing any heat to pierce the cold and damp.
    Hatcher paused as they reached the thoroughfare, busy with morning activity, carts and sellers setting up for their trade. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wet it with his tongue.
    “You’ve blood on your face,” he said, wiping her face with same attention as a mother preparing her child for Sunday worship.
    “You also,” she said, and took the handkerchief from him.
    It was the first time she’d really looked at him since he’d shaved off his madman’s beard, really took in the hollowness of his face, the shadows under his eyes. He was haunted, same as she was, except he didn’t