Vagabonds

Chapter Four: A Shape in the Window

She woke to the deep bass ticking of a grandfather clock.

"Urg," Eliza groaned as she fought to open her eyes, a knot of pain tightening at the base of her skull. She reached for her head to make sure it was still in one piece.

"I'm glad you're awake, my dear. You gave me quite a fright."

Eliza's eyes flew open at the unfamiliar voice. She threw herself upright only to groan as the world spun, tilting on its axis like a cheap carnival ride.

"Careful, careful, take it easy. That bruise is not nothing, you know."

Forcing herself to squint through the brewing storm of a vicious headache, Eliza glared at the man sitting in front of her. He was old, with tufted gray hair and kind eyes, wearing a padded red dressing gown over elegant pajamas.

"Where am I?" she croaked, peering around the room. It was as opulent as the man's robe, plush and welcoming despite the subtle aura of wealth. It was still night, the huge windows dark and reflective. The man leaned away from her as she straightened.

"Why, you're in my home, dear. I was ever so worried when you tumbled off my roof, but I'm glad you seem to be alright."

"What?" Eliza mumbled, clutching her head and leaning over her knees as she struggled to remember what had happened.

Had she... climbed a roof?

"Well, don't you worry. I won't be pressing charges. As the young people say, no harm no foul."

The man's chuckle was warm, but there was something beneath it that made Eliza prickle with unease. She closed her eyes, focusing on her body. The agony in her head sought to drown everything out, but as she breathed through it, she realized that there was another pain.

Her elbow.

The fence.

"Now, I've called one of those Ubers to take you home. You can get some rest and we can pretend this little mishap never —"

"Fitzgerald Base," Eliza said, opening her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I wasn't climbing your roof," she said, almost to herself. "I was sneaking into Fitzgerald Base."

She tilted her head to see his expression, just in time to catch the ghost of a frown. He covered it with a wheezy laugh.

"Well, dear, that wasn't a very wise thing to do."

Eliza wasn't listening. She was staring at her hands, at the fingers scraped from the chain-link barbs. Green with grass stains.

"I was rescued there..."

"My, my, aren't you a fanciful —?"

"By a boy with wings."

The man went silent. Eliza chanced another look at him, but his expression had gone completely blank, his kind smile gone.

And with his face set into that serious glare, she recognized him.

Ian Eckelson, Scottstown's reclusive millionaire who lived in a huge gated estate outside the city center. She'd seen his likeness in Meru's main hall, walked by his portrait almost every day.

Eliza frowned back at him.

"Mr. Eckelson why am I here?" she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral.

"You should go home, dear. I think your injury needs tending."

"I know what I saw —"

"Clearly that's not true," he said with what might have passed for a grandfatherly smile, if not for the frozen warning behind it. "And if you keep on with these... inventions, I'm afraid I'll have to tell the police the real story."

"And what's that?"

"That you attempted to break into my house and rob me."

Eliza pursed her lips, but there was no leeway in his steely gray eyes. He had her and he knew it. Eliza came with a record. A history of breaking rules.

And if she got kicked out of Meru, she'd never find out what really happened last night.

"I think I'll go home then," Eliza said.

Mr. Eckelson's face melted back into that friendly smile and he pushed to his feet, saying something about asking Mrs. Fields for a car.

Eliza followed the old man to the entrance, letting him ramble on about head injuries and missing housekeepers as she took in the enormous central staircase, portraits, thick carpet that squished like moss beneath her feet. The mansion was beautiful, yes, but there was also a worn comfort to it. As if people actually lived here. Scratches on the bannister, the folded edge of a carpet.

A comic book barely visible on a side table beside the kitchen doors.

Eliza paused, staring at the comic book, but Mr. Eckelson grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the front door.

"Come along, don't want to keep the kind Uber-man waiting."

As much as Mr. Eckelson put on a show of shuffling age, he was surprisingly strong as he shoved her outside.

"Now, remember what I said. No harm, no foul, right Mrs. Elizabeth Mason?"

Eliza froze at the use of her full name. She turned back and found those steely eyes, holding her there like a challenge. She met them, unblinking.

"No harm, no foul," she repeated.

Mr. Eckelson nodded, stepped back, and slammed the door in her face.

Eliza stared at the closed door for a long moment, thinking about that comic book.

Do housekeepers for wealthy hermits read comic books? she wondered as she trudged down the marble steps toward the white Honda waiting for her in the circular driveway. The memories of the night before were tugging at her mind like impatient children. The soldier with insane strength. The headlights of the jeeps.

The voices in the forest.

Eliza reached the car and yanked open the door, burning with frustration. She turned to glare back at the mansion, wishing she could march inside and demand answers from the old man.

But something caught her eye.

There, in the top window, backlit like a ghost, was the blurry shape of a person. A boy, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, one arm holding back a thick curtain.

And behind him, barely visible from this distance, were the sloping mountain-peak edges of his shadow.

Wings.

Eliza clutched the door, unblinking. She willed her eyes to be stronger. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was the shadow of a dresser, or a strangely shaped lamp.

But that didn't explain why there was a boy in Ian Eckelson's mansion, or why he was hiding on the top floor.

As if sensing her eyes on him, the boy dropped the curtain. It rustled shut. Eliza frowned at the black glass for a moment longer. The only sign that anyone had been there was the gentle fluttering of the curtain's edge.

"Hey lady, are you gonna get in or what?"

"Yeah, sorry," Eliza said, ignoring the driver's hot glare as she slid into her seat. The man huffed, asking for her address, and she gave it with numb instinct, her mind miles away.