still crouched on the cold bathroom tile . He extended his hand, as if to help her up , but she scooted backward and scrambled to her feet.
“Who are you?” Lee asked, her eyes darting between the three strangers. Thick panic rose in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow it.
“I’m Nasser.” He took a small step away from her and held up his hands, as if to show that he wouldn’t harm her. His eyes were gray, and his face was familiar. Lee couldn’t place him, but she thought she knew him. “Nasser Rew.”
Lee turned to the other boy. He was shorter than Nasser, but not by much, with messy black hair and fierce blue eyes. He couldn’t have been much older than Lee herself, but the tense way he held himself and his grave expression gave him the air of someone much older.
“Filo Shine,” he said finally, his tone sour.
“What’s your name?” Nasser said. His voice was familiar, too. It was like he’d asked her that question before, but a thousand years ago, or maybe in a dream, and she could no longer remember the context of the words. It took her a moment to respond.
“Weatherly Capren,” she managed at last . She always introduced herself that way, with her full name, but no one called her Weatherly, not even her mom . She’d never really felt like a Weatherly. “Just Lee.”
Nasser nodded. “We were worried you’d never start talking.”
“What?”
“ You were worried,” Filo said dryly. “ I didn’t care.”
“I don’t—” Lee’s mouth had gone dry . “What are you talking about?”
Filo s ighed. “She doesn’t even remember ,” he sa id. “ That’s just great.”
“Remember wha t? ” Lee glanced around her, panic rising again .
She was in a large room with a high ceilin g and a single window in the far wall. A simple camp bed was pushed into one corner, an d a pile of ragged blankets was on the floor beside it. B ookcases lined the walls, crammed with books. More books were stacked on the floor, like some fantastic paper city. A long table was covered in bottles, jars, d rifts of paper and bundles of plants. A hulking desk, swamped papers and books, stood near the window.
Two doors stood on opposite s ides of the room. One was closed; the other, through which Neman had emerged, was half-open. Through it, Lee glimpsed a dark hallway. Now Neman stood near the window, sunlight catching on the dark feathers of her wings . Lee wondered if she was dreaming.
Struggling to tear her eyes from those terrible, magnificent wings, Lee turned to Nasser. “Where am I?”
“You really don’t remember?” Nasser asked.
Lee shook her head. “I don’t understand. Is there something I should be remembering?” Possibilities raced through her head, each more terrifying than the last. She couldn’t quite get her breath. “I think I want to leave now.”
“I’ m not sure that would be best.” He looked uncomfortable. “ W e’re not sure about—”
“Look,” Lee said. “I don’t know who you people are, or what you want, but if you just tell me where I am, then I can get out of here. Please . I just want to go home.”
“I know,” Nasser said. “An d I’m sorry. Just t ell me the last thing you remember, okay?”
“Why are you asking me this?” She thought she might throw up.
“The last thing you remember? Please? ” His voice was soft, even kind, but his expression was pained.
“I was in the woods,” she relented. It was difficult to talk around the growing lump in her throat. “Sketching.”
“What day was it? What town?”
Lee’s throat tightened. “What do you mea n? ”
“Tell me,” Nasser insisted.
“July twentieth.” Lee had the distinct feeling that she was going insane. “Bluewood.”
Nasser didn’t speak. Somewhere in the back of Lee’s mind, she was deciding whether she had a chance of getting around Nasser and making a break for the door hallway.
Nasser didn’t seem very threatening. He was tall and strapping, like s ome of the
“Who are you?” Lee asked, her eyes darting between the three strangers. Thick panic rose in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow it.
“I’m Nasser.” He took a small step away from her and held up his hands, as if to show that he wouldn’t harm her. His eyes were gray, and his face was familiar. Lee couldn’t place him, but she thought she knew him. “Nasser Rew.”
Lee turned to the other boy. He was shorter than Nasser, but not by much, with messy black hair and fierce blue eyes. He couldn’t have been much older than Lee herself, but the tense way he held himself and his grave expression gave him the air of someone much older.
“Filo Shine,” he said finally, his tone sour.
“What’s your name?” Nasser said. His voice was familiar, too. It was like he’d asked her that question before, but a thousand years ago, or maybe in a dream, and she could no longer remember the context of the words. It took her a moment to respond.
“Weatherly Capren,” she managed at last . She always introduced herself that way, with her full name, but no one called her Weatherly, not even her mom . She’d never really felt like a Weatherly. “Just Lee.”
Nasser nodded. “We were worried you’d never start talking.”
“What?”
“ You were worried,” Filo said dryly. “ I didn’t care.”
“I don’t—” Lee’s mouth had gone dry . “What are you talking about?”
Filo s ighed. “She doesn’t even remember ,” he sa id. “ That’s just great.”
“Remember wha t? ” Lee glanced around her, panic rising again .
She was in a large room with a high ceilin g and a single window in the far wall. A simple camp bed was pushed into one corner, an d a pile of ragged blankets was on the floor beside it. B ookcases lined the walls, crammed with books. More books were stacked on the floor, like some fantastic paper city. A long table was covered in bottles, jars, d rifts of paper and bundles of plants. A hulking desk, swamped papers and books, stood near the window.
Two doors stood on opposite s ides of the room. One was closed; the other, through which Neman had emerged, was half-open. Through it, Lee glimpsed a dark hallway. Now Neman stood near the window, sunlight catching on the dark feathers of her wings . Lee wondered if she was dreaming.
Struggling to tear her eyes from those terrible, magnificent wings, Lee turned to Nasser. “Where am I?”
“You really don’t remember?” Nasser asked.
Lee shook her head. “I don’t understand. Is there something I should be remembering?” Possibilities raced through her head, each more terrifying than the last. She couldn’t quite get her breath. “I think I want to leave now.”
“I’ m not sure that would be best.” He looked uncomfortable. “ W e’re not sure about—”
“Look,” Lee said. “I don’t know who you people are, or what you want, but if you just tell me where I am, then I can get out of here. Please . I just want to go home.”
“I know,” Nasser said. “An d I’m sorry. Just t ell me the last thing you remember, okay?”
“Why are you asking me this?” She thought she might throw up.
“The last thing you remember? Please? ” His voice was soft, even kind, but his expression was pained.
“I was in the woods,” she relented. It was difficult to talk around the growing lump in her throat. “Sketching.”
“What day was it? What town?”
Lee’s throat tightened. “What do you mea n? ”
“Tell me,” Nasser insisted.
“July twentieth.” Lee had the distinct feeling that she was going insane. “Bluewood.”
Nasser didn’t speak. Somewhere in the back of Lee’s mind, she was deciding whether she had a chance of getting around Nasser and making a break for the door hallway.
Nasser didn’t seem very threatening. He was tall and strapping, like s ome of the
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