Maeve closed her eyes, and her tiny form curled in on itself.“I just—I made up stories.”She closed her eyes as if this were the one nice memory she’d kept—as if she’d maybe even substituted stories for reality, as she’d done long ago, much to the annoyance of her brother.“And I told them I had a brother who was coming for me. That he’d help us. That he’d help them.”
“The other girls, you mean?”
“No,”she said, glancing down at her bandage.
And for the first time, I looked, too, at the thick gauze wrapped around Maeve’s arm and hand, so tightly that from a distance it would have been almost impossible to tell what was there—and what was missing.
I recoiled in horror, turning my head away and covering my mouth.
Maeve looked, tears rolling down from her beautiful eyes.“Not all of them needed help. Just the ones like me. The ones who found out the truth.”
When the door finally opened around four, Maeve had passed out in the hammock again, under a furry white blanket I had draped over her to keep her from the desert’s evening chill. Soon after, I had fallen asleep too on the lounge chair, a book of Irish poetry over my face. I was grateful that Maeve had drifted off first because trying to explain that tears were streaming down my cheeks because IthoughtI’d just discovered a love message from her older brother would be too embarrassing for words.
I bolted upright at the noise but collapsed back down in relief a second later. It was Erica and Milagros.
I watched from the doorway as my professor dragged herself through the door, more of a disheveled whirlwind than usual, and collapsed on the densely pillowed sofa. Millie the cat bounded over, meowing, and Erica stroked her tail absently. Milagros, meanwhile, her aquamarine hair spiked up high and wearing a black tank top with a rather rude message printed on it, went to the kitchen to feed the cat and open a bottle of Txakoli. She noticed me standing in the doorway of the kitchenand didn’t even flinch, as if she’d somehow expected me to be there.
”How is she?”
“Asleep. Where?—”
“An eight-hour meeting with the Board of Regents,” called Milagros, with predictable vitriol in her voice. “That’s the answer to the question you were about to ask.”
“But why did you cancel your office hours? Don’t they know that you?—”
“Louisa, I don’t have access to my office or my email.” She sighed. “I’ve been suspended from teaching.”
“What?” I exclaimed, clapping a hand over my mouth so as not to wake Maeve.
“Somehow, someone found out what my associates were doing to help get Maeve out of the house, traced it back to me, and reported it to the board.”
“What did they do?”
“They used one of our med students’ credentials to schedule an ambulance,” she said. “Claimed Maeve had a specialist appointment off-site on orders from Max Langer, which Resi didn’t contest. The driver was one of ours. Unfortunately, doing that for three other girls proved unfeasible, and we didn’t have time to come up with a different plan for them. And now,” she added forlornly, “if I get caught doing anything else like this”—she gestured around the room—“I’ll be fired. And Milagros will be expelled. I have it all in writing.” She whipped a piece of paper out of her leather satchel and tossed it limply on the coffee table. “And my other associates can’t, either, because that will be linked back to me, too.”
“What? Why now?” My head spun with the implications. “I thought they already knew you?—”
“Some of them did. One of the most powerful guys on the board was anti-slavery, and he was my biggest advocate—defended me through countless complaints and threats. But he resigned this month—abruptly.” She sank further into the pillows in uncharacteristic despair. “I’ve been thrown to the wolves.”
I winced. “So what do we do now?”
“I didn’t get that far with Maeve—you probably did better communicating with her than I did—but from the sound of it, Resi’s given up on mere psychological manipulation and has moved on to false imprisonment. It sounds like there is at least one, maybe two other girls locked up in there. And before we move any further, deal with Maeve’s legal situation, or anything else, we’ve got to do something about that.” She nodded toward the mutilated girl in the hammock. “Maeve was circumspect about it, but that’s not the worst I’m afraid they might be facing from Resi.”
I gasped. “But why now? Why is she locking them up now, when she wasn’t before?”
“Something spooked Resi. Spooked her a lot, I’d say.”
“What?”
“Two theories. One, I suspect Langer has a deadline looming with his investors. He’s worried that Resi isn’t delivering. He’s putting her in a squeeze, and she’s desperate. Two, she might have found out one of the girls was freeborn—or Langer might have. I don’t know how, or how or why the girl ended up there, but it means she’s now committed a crime that the police might actually care about. The good news is, if we can get to that girl, Alma, whoever she is, she can testify in court about what she witnessed.”
Another theory was brewing inside my head. “Do you think Langer even knows? Maeve never met him, from the sound of it.”
Erica looked at me critically. “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”
“So… then can we call the police?”
Erica shook her head. “The police will help the freeborn girl. For the others, they’ll do the exact opposite.”
