1269_UgliesFreeBook

334 Scott Westerfeld
hear anything. But then the wind shifted, and the smell of
smoke came through the trees.
Burning the house hadn’t been easy.
Set into the mountain, the stone walls and roof had
provided no fuel for the fire. But the attackers had evidently
thrown something inside that had contained its own fuel.
The windows were blown outward, glass littering the grass
in front of the house, nothing left of the door but a few
charred scraps swinging on their hinges in the breeze.
David stood in front, unable to cross the threshold.
“Stay here,” Tally said.
She stepped through the doorway, but the air overpowered
her for the first moments. Morning light slanted in,
picking out floating particles of ash. They swirled around
Tally, little spiral galaxies set in motion by her passage.
The blackened floorboards crumbled under her feet,
burned away to bare stone in some places. But some things
had survived the fire. She remembered the marble statuette
from her visit, and one of the rugs hanging on the wall
remained mysteriously untouched. In the parlor, a few
teacups stood out white against the charred furniture. Tally
picked one up, realizing that if these cups had survived, a
human body would leave more than traces.
She swallowed. If David’s parents had been here, whatever
was left of them would be easy to find.
Deeper into the house, in a small kitchen, city-made pots
and pans hung from the ceiling, their warped, blackened