The loft was clean and dim. A small window set into the roof admitted a shaft of pale afternoon sunshine; outside, the sky was uniformly white. Storm weather, humid and close. A thin layer of cloud stretched from horizon to horizon, softening the contrast between brightness and shadows.
On one side of the loft was a narrow staircase, leading to a concealed entrance on the first floor of the Major East house. On the other side was an old mattress, a bookcase, and a small couch where Osan and I sat. He watched birds through the window. I threaded a needle with gut twine.
“Did you sleep with him?” he asked.
A bowl of water stood on the floorboards next to me, murky with blood. Beside it was a cheap bottle of brandy.
“No,” I said. “Of course not.”
Osan glanced at me over his shoulder. “Everyone will believe that you did.”
“I can’t blame them. I would have assumed the same thing in their position.”
Some of Osan’s stitches had torn and the skin surrounding the wound looked bruised and ugly, but it could have been worse. Much worse. This was only a setback in his recovery; before our mad rush to reach the execution grounds, the wound had been almost healed. I peered closer, straining to see in the low light.
“Could there have been another Sister he was interested in?”
“You mean, could Finn have had sex with another Sister?”
“I was trying to be sensitive.”
I pressed the needle through Osan’s skin. He held still, although I noticed his fist clench. I swallowed. I wasn’t squeamish; I just knew that I was hurting him.
“Finn might have slept around,” I said. “It’s possible. I just struggle to imagine him being that stupid.”
Unless he didn’t realise she was a Sister. Or if he wasn’t given a choice. I pulled the twine through and stuck the needle into Osan’s skin again. My fingers were slippery with blood.
“So you didn’t know of anyone else?” asked Osan through gritted teeth.
“No. I assume he contracted it from the air, from being close to me. We grew up together; he was always at a much greater risk. And if I’m a Renewer, well, that probably pushed up the odds. More lace. More of a chance of making him sick.”
“You know, I always thought ‘airborne infection’ was a Sisterhood euphemism.”
“It still happens, very rarely.” But maybe that was just what I wanted to believe.
He hissed as I drew the twine tight again.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Almost done.”
“At least you’re more sympathetic than the Commander,” he said, strained. “For the record, I don’t recommend being shot.”
I tied off the last stitch, cut it, and picked up the bottle. “Okay, brace yourself.”
Osan nodded. I poured brandy over the wound. His muscles went tight, and he made an agonised sound. I set the bottle down. Blood and alcohol seeped across his back, and I gently dried the mess with a towel.
“Done,” I said.
Osan groaned, fists clenched around the edge of the couch. A setback, I told myself. Could have been worse. I leaned back against the cushions, giving him time to compose himself.
After we left the execution grounds, he had brought me to this place. I assumed it was where he lived. The loft struck me as a little sad—although it was secure, it seemed bare and lonely; there was no evidence of sentiment, nothing of his personality here.
He had departed soon after that, only to return a few hours later, haggard with pain. Rhyanon and Jaylen were safe, and Asan had been released from custody. As far as he could tell, no one had followed him.
It was all too much, the risks he had taken on my behalf. And how could I convey my gratitude, when I required still more from him? He sighed when I picked up the roll of gauze and some tape from beside the water bowl. I carefully wiped his shoulder dry and laid gauze over the wound.
“I expected you would be more upset,” he said quietly.
“I am.”
“And yet?”
I shrugged. “Would you prefer it if I fell apart? And at least Finn’s not dead.”
“He’s a Haunt.”
“Yes.” I taped the gauze in place. My voice dropped. “And I’ll take that over dead.”
Osan sighed again.
“He’s not going to remain the man you love,” he said.
“I know. I know it’s selfish. It just seems…” I stopped. Busied myself with the tape.
Osan didn’t say anything. I handed his shirt to him.
“I get it,” I said. “Wishful thinking.”
“Men don’t come back once they’re infected. You of all people should know that.”
I shrugged.
“Elfreda—”
“He’s still human now. Let me have that.” I submerged my hands in the bowl of water, washing them clean. I softened my tone. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. And for getting you hurt again.”
“I wasn’t dragged anywhere.”
“No, I’m … I would never have managed without you.” I glanced across at him. “Thank you.”
“In that case, you’re welcome.” He pulled the shirt over his head. “So, what now? Rhyanon wants you to join her at the new safehouse and wait until the situation calms down.”
I shook my head.
“Yeah, I told her you wouldn’t like that. So?”
I stood up. “Can you find Daje Carsel?”
“I could. But what do you want with him?”
I explained my idea. Osan’s expression grew grimmer with every word, but he kept silent. When I was done, he did not tell me that my plan was insane, although he must have been thinking it. Even I could see the multitude of ways that this scheme could come crashing down around me, and even if it worked, what would I really gain?
On the other hand, how much did I still have to lose?
“Are you sure about this?” he asked at last. “I can still take you to Rhyanon. There might be another way.”
I smiled at him.
“No,” I said. “I have to break Finn out of the Renewal Wards myself.”