SEVENTY

Caitlyn was half asleep, sitting upright against the outside wall of the shanty, when a high-pitched wail snapped her out of the pleasantness of warm sunlight and emptied thought.

It only took her seconds to understand what had happened.

A couple of the older children had been playing with Jasmine, the sickly three-year-old girl. Jasmine had tripped, skinning her knees. It was probably the shock of falling; she seemed inconsolable, her face contorted as she wept.

Caitlyn had never thought of herself as motherly, but then again, she’d never been around children much. Although it was just skinned knees, and rationally Caitlyn knew it was a minor issue, she couldn’t help feeling a rush of compassion at the girl’s sorrow.

The older children crouched over her, but Jasmine brushed away their attempts at comfort.

Caitlyn rolled to her feet and scooped up the little girl, who clung to her neck.

No one had ever depended on her like this, trusted her so completely, and Caitlyn clung back, startled at how good it felt to hold a child like this.

Jasmine’s sobs began to subside as Caitlyn rocked her.

But it didn’t help the little girl’s scraped knees.

As Caitlyn stroked Jasmine’s hair and soothed her with a low humming noise, Caitlyn had a thought that she tried to dismiss. But couldn’t.

The three had led him to Caitlyn, where Mason’s viewpoint of the shanty allowed him a clear view of Caitlyn as she slept. He was tempted to rush in and brush past the children playing tag on the hard-packed dirt.

But watching Caitlyn and daydreaming about the ways he would make her scream provided a nice diversion as he waited, and he was also aware that taking Caitlyn by force right now might have complications. Short of killing her, he’d have to fight her the entire distance he’d need to go to be alone with her. He didn’t want to kill her. At least not quickly.

So he continued to wait and watch.

One of the smaller girls fell and began to shriek. For Mason, it was a sound like nails against a chalkboard.

When Caitlyn picked the girl up and stroked her hair, Mason relaxed, but didn’t lose his focus on Caitlyn and continued to stare at her with his one eye.

Then she did something that puzzled him.

She brought the girl back to the wall of the shanty and held the girl in her lap with one arm.

With her other arm, Caitlyn reached behind her and pulled out a short dagger.

That wasn’t what puzzled him, however. He’d already known about the knife from Everett.

It was what she did with the knife.

Caitlyn punctured one of her fingertips. Then smeared her blood across the little girl’s bloody knee.

To Caitlyn, within minutes after spreading her own blood across Jasmine’s knees, it seemed like a thin, pink fabric slowly grew across the edges of the bleeding scrapes. Before the advancing fabric had fully knitted into a scab, a second layer began to spread across the first, gradually began to cover the thin layer of pink. This new layer was light-colored marble skin. As it advanced, it looked like new skin had been grafted into place.

Caitlyn was mesmerized.

And terrified.