Creak.
Like footsteps. I throw back my sheet and sit on the edge of my bed. She'll sleep through till morning. But is she already awake? I walk to my door and ease it open slowly so it makes no noise, then step into the dark hallway, looking in both directions. Where is she? Could she be going to Jenna's room?
The knife. Is it still in my pack? Or did she creep into my room and get it? I stand and take a cautious step, and then another, and move quickly to Kara's room, forgetting caution altogether. The door is ajar. I push it open and stare at her bed. She is there. Her eyes shut. Her hair tousled across the pillow. Her chest rising in soft breaths. A thin beam of light from the window falling across her neck, her pulsing throat as delicate as a bird's.
Sleeping like a peaceful child.
Chapter 68
"You're up early."
"So are you," Jenna whispers. She's curled up on a wicker couch on the porch with a steaming mug of coffee cupped in her hands.
I sit down next to her. "I wanted to be up when Kara woke."
"Me too."
"Any sign of her yet?"
She shakes her head. "Probably not for a few more hours." She stares out at the pond, white mist clinging to its surface. The worry of last night still hasn't left her face.
"She is going to be all right, isn't she?"
"I told you, her wounds are only superficial."
I work to keep my voice low so I won't wake the others, but it is annoying, the way she keeps phrasing it. "Why do you keep saying only, like that's something bad?"
She breaks her stare from the pond and looks at me. "I'm sorry. I just thought you should know."
She looks back at the pond and sips her coffee, her eyes squinting, staring out like she is watching something, but there are only patches of dissolving fog skimming the surface. Is she nervous? She and Kara haven't had a real chance to talk yet. There's a lot that still needs to be said. Will Jenna be able to explain to Kara, the way she did to me? Will Kara even listen?
"There's coffee on the counte
r," she says without looking at me.
She knows I don't drink coffee. I told her on my first day here. "Nervous?"
She turns. The rims of her eyes are red. "She was my friend, Locke." She looks back out, staring at the pond that's as still as glass. "There are all kinds of friends you make in life. Allys is very dear to me, more like family. But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you. That's what we did, didn't we?"
She looks at me like my answer carries all the weight of the world.
"Yes, we did," I say. What's wrong with her? The hollowness in my stomach rises to my chest.
"Even if it turns out badly, those kinds of friends never leave your heart. Never."
"That's right," I answer. It's the first time I've seen her like this, almost like she's paralyzed. She's been so strong since I've been here--stronger than me--but now she looks so weak. I reach across and squeeze her hand.
She turns to look at me with a faint hesitant smile. "You don't like coffee. I know. I was distracted."
I lean forward to stand. "Maybe I should have some coffee--"
"I didn't know how else to say it. That's why I said only superficial, Locke."
I sit back down.
"All of her scratches, gashes--everything--they were within reach of her own hand. And the angle--"
"Are you trying to say--"