CHAPTER 12
‘You’ve got to help me,’ El demanded.
At the sound of the unknown voice, the young girl jerked back in alarm. She had been sweeping up splatters of fat and ashes from what looked like a huge open fireplace, although a greasy spit across the alcove told its true function. Her hands and feet were black and filthy, and there were ashy smudges across her face and coarsely woven tunic. She dropped her twiggy broom and stared at El as if she’d seen a ghost.
Fear and a growing sense of impotence had driven El out of the tower room and down the stairs in search of someone, anyone, for company and also for information and help. Not used to being alone, and with nothing to do while pretending to be Callie, she’d kept imagining the worst, tormenting herself with the thought that they’d
