seat, but the scent of him kept wafting up, smelling of cut
grass, baking bread, and snow. In a fit of frustration she screamed
at the steering wheel and tossed her shirt out the window.
She was exhausted to the point of collapse when she got home,
but she couldn?t lie down in her bed without taking a shower. She
had to scrub Lucas off or his scent would chase her around in her
dreams. She was filthy. Her elbows and back had grass stains on
them and her feet were a black mess.
As she watched the dirt melt off her shins and ankles under the
water she thought of the three sisters and their perpetual suffering.
Lucas had called them the Furies, and no name could have suited
them better. She vaguely recalled hearing Hergie saying the word
at some point, but for the life of her, she couldn?t remember what
story they were in. For some reason Helen was picturing armor
and togas, but she couldn?t be sure.
She picked up a pumice stone and rubbed off every last speck of
dirt before shutting off the taps. Afterward, she stayed in the steam
to put on sweet-smelling lotion, letting it soak in, obliterating every
last trace of Lucas. When she finally tumbled into bed, still
wrapped in a damp towel, the sun was long up.
Helen was walking through the dry lands, hearing the dead grass
crackle with each step she took. Little clouds of dust puffed up
around her bare feet and clung to the moisture running down her
legs, as if the dirt she walked on was so desperate for water it was
trying to jump up off the ground to drink her sweat. Even the air
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was gritty. There were no insects buzzing around in the scrub, no
animals of any kind. The sky was blazingly bright with a tinny
blue light, but there was no sun. There were no wind and no
clouds?just a rocky, blasted landscape as far as Helen could see.