Much to my dismay, Oliver did in fact raise a thin eyebrow. "Assassination? Really?"

"Indeed," I answered solemnly, although I was surprised to find that he laughed again. This fellow is certainly in good spirits for his predicament. I huffed in mild annoyance.

"I'm sorry. It's just the very notion of you. The girl who failed to murder me, who shaking the whole time she tried to wield a knife, going after someone for a piece of their heart." He laughed again.

"I'll have you know I was not shaking. I easily could have ended your life there. After all, if you were so certain that I was afraid, why bother to beg me to spare you?"

He simply shrugged. "I'm not beneath groveling. No harm in begging for my life and slimming the chances of that nasty piece o' work being in my neck even more."

I peered down at him over the bridge of my nose. "You're pathetic."

"Maybe so, but not as pathetic as you'll be when you're trying to end someone all knotted up in your own clothes, and quivering like a leaf. You'll be caught for sure." He stretched his bony hand in front of me again, his broken nails glinting in the moonlight. "Come on. You know I'm right. Let me come with you."

"Why should I? All I had to do before was collect my own pieces. Finding another girl's on top of that will only slow me down, and I don't have that much time left to begin with." It's not that I was apathetic to her predicament, but I only had two months until my birthday, and if my heart ceased to wind, that would be the end.

"Oh I don't know..." Oliver stalled, beginning to recline in his creaky, wooden chair. "Perhaps because I know how to conceal myself. Because I am well aware of what kinds of security Goldhearts surround themselves with. What?" he suddenly asked, staring at my now-shocked face. "You didn't believe they would let you just kindly walk in and let you take their hearts, did you?"

"No... it's not that. How did you know I was a Goldheart?" Heart pieces were only compatible with their own metal and from there, shape, so it was clear to myself who I would be required to go after, but for him to know as well... I looked down to check that my key was still neatly tucked beneath my bodice, and it was, without a trace of its signature gold peeping out.

He tapped the side of his neck impatiently. "Your keyhole is out for the world to see. I'll see about finding you some bandages tomorrow." I once again took note of the layers of wrapping around his scrawny neck. So it's no injury at all. How mysterious. It made me uncomfortable to think that he knew so much of myself, with me unable to see even the kind of metal trim that rimmed his own keyhole. "But for now," he started again, his silvery voice dissipating my thoughts. "It's late. Come on. I can make a spot for you in my room."

Share a room with a boy? What did he take me for? "Absolutely not!" I cried out, trying hard not to blush at his risque suggestion. "I will require my own quarters."

"Oh sure," he answered with a sly smile. "And where would that be?" He swept his arms grandly around him, gesturing to the unswept floor and grime-ridden walls. "If my fair lady likes, she could sleep on the floor. Or, she could take the extra bed in my room. It's your choice." With that, he turned and made his way to the half-fallen door on the right, opening and shutting it behind him.

Fine. I guess the floor it is. How rude. I was about to sit down, when I believed I heard a squeak. What if it should be a rat? I had read books on how ships could get them, and how they would gnaw off the captain's ears by morning. "Wait!" I called after Oliver. "Did you mention a spare bed?"

The room was dusty, but at least better kept than the rest of the hovel. I realized with sinking feeling that I had no clothes to dress down in for the night, having had no time to grab any before I fled. I sat on the edge of the bed, straight across from Oliver's own, when it all came rushing back to me, too much to handle. How had it come to this? With my sitting in this filthy, rundown shack, putting all my trust in some ruffian that I barely knew, all the while my father locked up, who knew where? Tears pricked at my eyes, then ran down my face, at first one slow drop at a time, then another, until it flowed as steady as the Mississippi River.

"Ah! Wait! Whatever happened?" Oliver immediately sprung up from his own bed, rushing over to my side. I tried to turn my face away, but he simply leaned to my other side, catching a glimpse of my reddening cheeks. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine thank you!" I snapped. I was barely able to answer him like this, my vision and head blurry as they were.

Despite poking fun of me, however, he sat down right next to me. His voice softened as he whispered, "It's because of your father isn't it?"

And for trying to hold it in, those words broke through it all, causing me to sob as hard and unladylike as ever. "It's just that, if it weren't for my lack of cleaning up his workspace, we might have been able to run away. He didn't even like being a Heartsmith. He did it all for me, just to fix my heart, but instead I disobeyed him and worked on my project instead. If only I had listened. If I had just been a good daughter-"

I was cut off by his arms suddenly being flung around my thin self, tightening around my arms and upper back and his auburn hair brushing against my lips as his head drew over my shoulder. "What are you doing? Unhand me!"

"Shhhh," he whispered softly in my ear. "If I'm to be honest, I don't understand most of what you just said. But, whenever the kids are crying, this always helps them."

I laughed despite myself. "Kids? You mean the children?" I found it funny that he would refer to them as if they were small goats.

"Well, we are sort of like a herd." He laughed with me, the rich, genuine sound comforting, for some strange reason. It seemed he was right. The embrace did help, uncouth though it was.

"Are you better now Eva?" I nodded, and he retracted himself, going back to lay on his own bed. My nerves were still jittery, though, so I slowly pulled out my key, looking intently at the golden flowers and leaves entwined around its sturdy frame. My father had done an excellent job designing it at my birth, combining both his skills as a Locksmith and a jewelry maker to craft my own unique key. It was much better made than one molded by an average Locksmith, and as I turned it in my neck, I felt a bit closer to my father.

As I lay myself down, I noticed that Oliver hadn't wound himself at all. Is he that worried of showing the metal on his neck? It seemed strange. "Are you not going to wind yourself?" I asked, trying to sound more concerned with his well than being than nosy.

"Don't need to. Wound myself up this morning. I'm an early riser, you know." He smiled at me from across the room.

"No. I wouldn't know at all." I replied, before turning onto my side. The room was cold, and I missed the coal fires of home as I shivered in the darkness, just as black.

🗝

I awoke to the noises of children pummeling one another, and Oliver's exhausted voice trying to sort out each mess. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, when I felt something pull lightly across my lap. A thin sheet. I was confused. I know for certain that I had none when I went to sleep... I realized with a quickly reddening face that Oliver must have placed it over me in my sleep. And with my dress so torn, what if he... I refused to imagine it.

Rubbing my eyes, I staggered out of bed before meeting the ragtag crew in the main room.

"Good morning Evangeline!" Oliver called out to me cheerfully. "You're awake just in time."

"...In time for what? Breakfast?"

"Well, if our two scouts have been lucky this morning. But that's not what I meant. We're going to fix up your clothes first."

I was surprised at his offer. After all, in an otherwise male group, it seemed strange that he should have a spare dress lying about. Perhaps it was stolen, to be sold off for a bit of money. It would make sense. I followed him back to his room, and he scraped a suitcase from beneath his rotting bed frame, brushing the cobwebs away.

"Here we are!" With that, he whipped out a long roll of bandages. "First thing first, we have to cover up your keyhole."

"It is called a perforation," I clarified for him.

"Not on the streets it isn't. That properness of yours is going to give you away if you keep correcting me like that." He sighed. "Just put these on around your neck, and mind that they're none too tight."

I dutifully took them, wrapping one smooth white layer atop another, before tying it off in a knot on the side.

"All right, and these clothes are for you. You're tall like me, so they should fit well enough." I looked at the long beige shirt he held out, paired with trousers brown as caramel.

"I... I can't wear that," I replied, putting my hands in front of me.

"Of course you can! They're clean. Promise."

"No... I'm sure they are but-" Oh, how could I possibly explain? I wasn't allowed to do so much as to touch my father's tools, so how could I wear trousers? "It's not what a respectable lady wears."

"Neither is what you're wearing now," he pointed out, addressing my tears and splatters of dirt. "So you can choose between unladylike and dirty, or unladylike and clean. It's the best I got." I continued to glare at him. "Besides, I can tell that you can barely move under all that. You can't possibly be expected to escape brushing with the Mits if you're slowed down by all that. Even yours truly wouldn't have lasted this long is he had to wear a corset. It's a death sentence."

I swiped the clothes out of his hand, and made sure that he turned away while I did my best to dress myself in his loose clothes. Sure enough, they fit, but I had had to help myself to more bandaging due to lacking my corset.

When I stepped out of the closet, he was nowhere to be found.

"Oliver!" I called out.

"Right behind you," and I whirled around to face him, wielding a large knife.

"There you are. Whatever is the knife for?"

He laughed. "Oh Eva. It's for your hair."

"What!" I cried, clutching my hands tight against my locks as if that would protect them.

"Calm down. You don't think that people are really going to let you walk around in men's clothes, do you? We're going to have to shorten your hair. Then the Mits will never be able to tell that you're Foster's daughter."

"You can't! It will take years to grow back. How short were you going to cut it?"

"I don't know," he replied, taking hold of one of his own, scruffy bangs. "I guess about as long as mine."

"No! You're mad. I won't let you do that to me." I sprawled away from him, pushing myself to the back of his tiny room. "I appreciate everything you've done for me so far, but I'll do the rest on my own. Thank you!"

"Evangeline," and it seemed he was getting greatly exasperated. "I am coming with you. This might be the only chance I have to save Sophie. I can't afford to lose her, to lose another one..." He turned his face away, covering it with a bony elbow.

Is he crying?

"Please Evangeline. You might not be all that willing to trust me, and if you don't, I understand. But I know how this world works. It's cruel, and unfair. I wish I could give you a dress worthy of your standards and send you off on your merry way, but it would never work. Not a single ferryman nor carriage driver that I know of would let a lone woman travel on her own, and if they did... well, I'd hate to think of what would happen to her. It's too dangerous. So let me do this for you. I can help you get to where you need to be, you can help me to find whatever pieces Sophie needs, and we can both part ways, and you can hate me for cutting your hair for the rest of your life. But for now, I ask you to hold your pride. Just for a while." He looked up in shock as I lightly took hold of his wrist, turning my back close to him and laying his hand upon my neck.

"No shorter than the line of my shoulders. Men can have ponytails, right?"