The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

in her own, smearing them with beet juice, and she kissed Julia soundly on both cheeks. “How delightful. You are perfect for one another.”

“Do you know Nick?” Bella turned to Miss Blomgren. “Why didn’t you say? Oh! You gave him the dog. That’s why Solvig knows you. Of course.”

“My dear, stupid girl.” Miss Blomgren shook her head at Bella, keeping a tight hold on Julia’s hands. “Don’t you realize why your friend is so unhappy? She knew it from the first. I am Nick’s mistress.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Bella looked like a rabbit held up by its ears. For her part, Julia was ready to either throw herself into Miss Blomgren’s arms and weep, or plunge out of the house and into the squalid streets of Soho in a righteous fury. But then everything changed.

There was another person in the very midst of them. A thin black man . . . no, a youth, still really a boy . . . with hair that was short and black on the sides but that stood up in a green ridge down the center of his skull. A bright green feather dangled from a hoop that pierced his left ear. He was dressed all in black, like Julia, but there any resemblance between them came to a crashing halt. He wore what looked like tight leggings and a short doublet, except that the leggings clung perfectly to his thin calves and thighs and sparkled with thousands of tiny gold flashes, and the doublet was not a doublet at all, but a thick leather belt wrapped around his hips; it extended neither above his waist nor beyond his upper thigh. His tall boots were laced all the way up with thick golden cords that were then tied in two flourishing bows just under his sparkling knees. He wore a short black leather jacket that seemed to fasten by means of a metal ribbon with serrated edges that ran down the front opening. It was open most of the way down, revealing a leather waistcoat, and beneath that, a shirt of black lace that was somehow wrapped so tightly around that it clung. Julia could see his skin showing through it. Around his neck was a golden chain with what looked like five flat pieces of broken pottery attached. By the time Julia’s eyes found their way back to his face, he was smiling, and one hand was thrust forward. “Sorry to butt in—hello,” he said in friendly tones, but with a very strange accent; it sounded like a Spanish guitar, played flat. He shook Julia’s hand, then Bella’s. “Are you guys new Ofan, or what?”

“For God’s sake!” Miss Blomgren grabbed his arm and dragged him a few steps away, into the brighter light.

Then she froze time.

Julia felt it coming. She locked her knees and forced herself to keep her expression bland and her limbs perfectly still. Thank God they were in a dark kitchen down in a basement. Thank God Miss Blomgren was more concerned with this intruder than with Julia and Bella.

“Peter, what the hell are you doing?” Miss Blomgren grabbed the young man’s shoulders and shook him. “Can’t you tell they’re Naturals? You can’t wear untimely dress outside of the catacombs. Or jump straight to the kitchens. The transporter—use the transporter!”

Peter shrugged Miss Blomgren’s hands away. “Chill out. I have some really exciting news.”

But Miss Blomgren was not to be calmed. “How dare you ask them, to their faces, if they were Ofan? Those poor girls, drowning in this ice-cold era. And I must watch them gasp for breath. While you! With your great gift that lifts you above the dreary flow of time—you flaunt it in front of them? If they were Ofan, Peter, would I have them in here, in the kitchen? No. I would be educating them as I educated you, in the transporter. I would be instructing them in the dangers of being Ofan. In the necessity of being very careful about how and when you reveal yourself.”

Julia curled her toes in her slippers. Miss Blomgren and this young man were Ofans! These were the Russian’s enemy. She willed them not to look her way; she was sure she was trembling.

Peter held up his hands, laughing. “I’m sorry, okay? And I have some news. You may have noticed that my hair is much longer?” He stroked his green ridge.

Miss Blomgren put her hands on her hips. “That’s your news.”

“No. My point is, I’ve been away for three months, not three days.”

“Okay, so? Archana will have your hide either way. You abandoned your post.”

“Archana will forgive me. She always does.” He reached behind his neck and unhooked his chain. “See these?” He laid the necklace with its broken pieces of pottery on the kitchen table, among Alva’s open jars of pickles. “And these.” He fished in his pockets and brought out two wooden sticks, a ragged-looking piece of green paper, and a brightly colored bracelet that looked as if it were woven from embroidery thread. He tossed them on the table beside his necklace. “Voilà!”

Miss Blomgren was unimpressed. “You’ve already filled my office with your detritus of the ages, Peter. I’m in the middle of pickling and I have two Naturals to deal with. This is not the moment.”

“It’s to do with the Talisman.”

Julia stopped breathing, and Miss Blomgren seemed to, as well. She went very still and half raised a hand as if to touch Peter. “That’s nothing to joke about,” she said quietly.

“No, but really. I’ve learned something about it. Something that might help us figure out what it is.”

Pretend, Julia screamed to herself inside her own head. Pretend to be a statue.

“All right then. I’m listening. But tell me quickly, so that I can get rid of these two girls.”

Something in the way Peter turned his face, and in the way he held his hand as he reached to touch the embroidery-thread bracelet, made Julia realize: Peter was a girl. Younger than Julia. Maybe sixteen years old.

The girl named Peter held the bracelet out