Petra carefully peeled off the disks of meat, then took a tiny bite of pizza. Her eyes widened. She took another, bigger bite. “It’s so good!”

“They can make it without the pepperoni,” Tonia said, then handed Petra one of the napkins stacked on the counter.

“You can just have it?”

“Everyone pulls weight,” Duncan repeated. “Everybody eats.”

“You have this big house and all the things.” With wondering eyes, Petra looked around the kitchen. “Just you?”

“And our sister, Hannah, and our mom. Kids don’t live on their own until they’re at least sixteen. Some kids come in without parents or adults. But somebody takes them in, takes care of them.”

Petra bit her lip. “Clarence can go, and he wants to, with others. To live. He tried to run away from the divine, but they brought him back. His curse is wings, and balls of light and—”

“Faerie,” Duncan finished.

“He had to be shunned many times, and closed into the redemption hut before he stopped giving in to his demon. Because he was a child, he wasn’t cast out, but we were afraid he’d give in to his demon again when he reached the age of judgment.”

“Not his demon, his nature,” Duncan corrected. “His gift. Did he ever hurt anyone?”

“Once—twice,” she corrected, “he fought with other boys who said hard things to him.”

“That’s different. That’s called standing up for yourself.”

“He’s going tonight with people called Anne and Marla.”

“They’re nice,” Tonia said with her mouth full. “They live near the academy. They raise sheep and llamas, and weave blankets and sweaters. And make art, too. It’s pretty. Anne’s an elf, but Marla’s a civilian—no abilities. I heard before the Doom, when they lived in Baltimore, they were going to have a baby together.”

“They’re both women. It’s not possible. And it’s sinful.”

“It’s not sinful to love someone. And before the Doom there was science and medical technology to help people have babies when they wanted them. They’re really good people. Clarence is lucky to have them.”

“He said … He told me Miranda can go with him. And that these women would take one more. I could go.”

“You should give it a shot—try it,” Duncan explained. “If you don’t like it there, you don’t have to stay.”

“I could go, then not stay?”

“Anne and Marla wouldn’t make you stay if you weren’t happy.”

“It’s so different. Everything’s so different.”

“Don’t cry,” Tonia comforted. “It’s going to be okay. Have some ginger ale.”

Obediently, Petra lifted the glass, sipped. And laughed as she wiped at tears. “It tickles.”

“It’s the bubbles.”

“I never drank bubbles before. Or don’t remember. So much from before is blurry or mixed up. Esme said we had to go back.”

“Esme?”

“She left, with her baby, and took two of the young ones. She said we had to go back or be damned. But no one wanted to go with her. She left and said she was going back to the holy ground, to the sacred valley. And Jerome left, too. He took things from the place we’re living, and went away. He said I could go with him, but I didn’t want to go with him. It’s good to be warm and to have shoes, and the clothes that don’t scratch, and to eat the pizza and drink the ale. Before is blurred and hard and I was afraid and hungry and cold.”

“Well.” Duncan put another slice of pizza on her plate. “Now starts now.”

“Now starts now,” she echoed, and smiled at him.

She ate the second slice, and since ginger ale had to be rationed, Tonia gave her juice for the next round.

“I’m very thankful for the food and drink. I need to go back. They’ll worry and wonder.” She stood, hesitated. “If I don’t go with Clarence and Miranda to the women, and stay with Mina and her baby, will you still talk to me?”

“Sure we will. We’ll see you in school, and you can hang out with us.”

“I don’t know how to go to school.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll catch on. I’ll walk you out.”

Petra started out with Tonia, then stopped, turned back to Duncan. “It’s hard to talk to those I don’t know. It’s good, but it’s hard. You killed the men with your sword and your curse—your gift,” she corrected quickly as color rose up to her cheeks. “I know they would have taken my life. We’re taught the divine demands we never lift a hand to another, never take up a weapon, even when our life will be taken, or the life of another. It’s the greatest sin. But I was afraid to die. I was afraid.”

“To stand by and do nothing to help someone else? I’ve been taught that is cowardice, and if it’s not a sin, it’s the greatest weakness.”

“Then you’re not weak.”

He sat, brooding, while Tonia took her out. Brooded a little more when his sister came back. He knew Tonia dealt with the dishes right off, without pushing him to help, because she wanted her hands busy. Her way of brooding, he supposed.

“I could’ve been her,” Tonia said.

“Not in a million years.”

But Tonia shook her head. “She’s about our age, maybe a little younger. It’s hard to tell, but we’re about the same age. If we didn’t have Mom, and if she hadn’t had Jonah and Rachel to help her get all of us out of New York. If they hadn’t met up with Arlys and Chuck and Fred, and …”

“A lot of ifs that didn’t happen.”

“Ifs are about what hasn’t or didn’t. I’m saying I could’ve been taken to a place like that, forced to live like that, had my brain washed—because that’s it, right? Had my brain washed into thinking I was nothing. Just some nothing to be used to make babies and worship some asshole who claimed to talk for some divine bullshit. And I’d have just laid there while some …”

“Fuck’s the word you’re after. Mom’s not here so you can say it. Sick, twisted fuck.”

“Yeah, sick, twisted fuck raped me. Because that’s what it was. And I’d believe that what’s in me is evil, like she does.”

“Here’s where you’re wrong.” He rose then, put the plates she’d washed and dried away. “You’d never be like her because you’re strong and smart and you’d kick that sick, twisted fuck in the nuts before he raped you.”

Because he made her feel better, she offered him a smirk. “I thought I needed you to break hands and faces for me.”

“I didn’t say you needed me to, I said that’s what I’d do. You’d never be like her. Nothing and no one could make you like her. Maybe, and who knows, but maybe if she sticks here, if she lets herself, she’ll be who she’s supposed to be.”

“I’m glad we didn’t save him. That Javier,” Tonia said. “I know I shouldn’t be, and it goes against everything, but I’m glad the PWs dragged him off before we saved him. If we had, if he was here, she wouldn’t have a chance to be anything. None of them would.”

Duncan realized—and realized he should have realized before—the entire conversation with Petra had upset his sister even more than it had him.

“I know there’s this—what’s it called—school of thought? That. And some who go with that believe how things are meant, and fate and destiny and all that crap. I don’t buy it.”

He flicked the theory away. “People make things happen, one way or the other. But if I did buy it, I’d say we weren’t meant to save him. We were meant to save kids like Clarence and Miranda and her.”

Tonia wasn’t quite as sure either way. “Meant or not, that’s what we did.”

“We should tell Rachel—Mom, too, but Rachel because of the doctor deal—about the sex shit.”

“I’m pretty sure somebody as good a doctor as Rachel knows. Especially since one of the kids I loaded, again about our age, was pregnant. Pretty far along, it looked to me.”