Lexicon

information, they would locate the car within a few hours. It would be abandoned, of course, at a gas station or on a side street, but that would be the start of a new trail. The fact was Eliot could not keep moving forever. He could not move faster than the net she could draw around him.
Nothing personal, Eliot
, she thought. She wanted to shoot him. As in, do it personally. She felt quite strongly about that. Also, before she did it, she wanted a few minutes to talk things over. That was probably a pipe dream. It was hard to imagine circumstances in which she would be able to capture Eliot without killing him. But if she did, she would like to tell him that she appreciated the guidance he had given her, in the beginning. She wanted to say,
I wouldn’t be who I am without you, Eliot
, and have him see she meant it.
    The farmer jerked. His head hit the table. Vomit dripped to the floor. “Take . . .” she said, but it was too late. She had meant to tell him to take out his hand. But she had forgotten. Or something like that.
Hey, Emily, you know what stars do? They eat. They burn everything around until there’s nothing left. Then they start eating light. You realize that’s what you’re doing, right? Eating everything?
    She looked at the waitress. The sensible thing to do here was to kill her. The girl had exchanged words with Eliot; she was potentially loaded with instructions. The possibility was small but there was no sense in taking chances.
    It’s not getting any better, is it? I mean, that’s been obvious for a while now, right? That the star isn’t going anywhere?
    “Forget we were here,” she told the waitress. “That guy choked on his breakfast and you couldn’t save him.” She turned to leave. “But you tried as hard as you could.”
    • • •
    They drove until dark, stopping only to eat and persuade people to trade vehicles. Wil didn’t want to watch but couldn’t help it. At first, the person who Eliot approached would look guarded. Then Eliot would say something and their face would break into a smile. Like they didn’t want to but couldn’t help it. It was fascinating how much they changed in that moment. From stranger-person to friend-person. They showed a completely different face. And then a minute later their expression would change again, becoming intimate and unarranged, and Wil would turn away, because watching that felt wrong.
    Embedded in a pink Mini, a bobbling plastic cat on the dashboard, he said, “So you have a plan now?”
    “Yes.” Eliot jiggled the gearshift. He was not happy with fifth. Wil had offered to drive, but Eliot had refused. He was beginning to think Eliot didn’t sleep at all.
    “Do I get to hear it?”
    “We go to Broken Hill, get the bareword, and use it to defeat our enemies.”
    “It’s just sitting there? In Broken Hill?”
    “That’s my theory.”
    “You’re not sure?”
    “No.”
    “What, no one thought to check? You didn’t swing by, see if there’s this, what, Bible-grade weapon lying around?”
    “It wasn’t quite as simple as swinging by. After Woolf, anyone who
swung by
didn’t swing out again.”
    “But we’re going in.”
    “Yes.” Eliot glanced at him. “You’ll be fine.”
    “When you say
we
are going in . . .”
    “I mean you. Since I’m not immune.”
    He watched them pass a family sedan. A happy dog looked at him and he felt jealous. “What if you’re wrong and
I’m
not immune?”
    “Well, that would be bad. But let’s not get hung up on every little thing that might go wrong. I’m not saying the plan is foolproof. I’m saying it’s preferable to driving aimlessly until our luck runs out.”
    “Then what happens? I give you the word?”
    “No. You must not speak it around me, show it to me, or describe it even in general terms. I can’t emphasize this enough.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Look at me,” Eliot said. “If you get this thing and drop so much as a hint about what it looks like, I will feed you your own fingers. Do you believe me?”
    “Yes.” They passed through a town advertising a beet festival from three years ago. “I still don’t understand how it’s a word. Words can’t kill people.”
    “Sure they can. Words kill people all the time.” He wrestled the gearshift. “Granted, this one is more direct about it.”
    “What makes this one special?”
    “Well, that’s difficult to explain without referencing some fairly advanced linguistics and