The Book Eaters(67)
It hurt, to think of that. It hurt in places and in ways that she didn’t have words for.
But it did not hurt as much as abandoning the boy in her arms to an even worse fate. She had to choose between them, and it was no choice at all. Salem was already lost, through Devon’s failure. And her son needed her more.
When he was settled at her breast, she reached across, tapping thimble to wood. <Help me>
Jarrow blinked. “Help you? How? What with?”
<Help me take him to Ireland. Like you offered before>
His mouth opened and closed.
<I know he is dragon and that changes things but if we can steal some Redemption and—>
“Aw, Dev.” The bed springs sighed as he shifted his weight. “You have the worst timing, you know that?”
A thump of fear beat in her chest. <What do you mean>
“I’m being sent to live with the Gladstones, too,” he said wearily. “The same chalet they exiled Vic to live in, just off the main house.” He flushed at her appalled expression. “It could be worse. They were going to send me to the knights, but the knights don’t want me because I’m too old to train. Thank God for that mercy.”
But it was still her fault he was being sent away, she thought, and felt sick. He was being punished for defending her from Matley. As Ramsey had once been punished for following her lead. If only she’d held her tongue, both times.
<You are here to say good-bye> she said, engulfed by sudden rising panic. <The Game Boy is your good-bye present>
“Yes. I’m sorry.” His turn for the apologies. “I meant it when I said you could reach out, if you changed your mind, but I can’t do what you’re asking. I’m leaving today. I shouldn’t be here at all, only I couldn’t go without checking on you first.”
<But why teach me Morse code if you are just leaving anyway>
Someone pounded on the door, calling Jarrow’s name; they both jumped.
“Just a minute,” he shouted over one shoulder, then turned back to her. “’Cause you can’t talk, daft woman! I’ve asked a couple of the aunts to eat Morse code books, too. They’ll be able to understand your requests, and look after you across the next few weeks while that throat heals up, a’right?”
No, she wanted to scream. It wasn’t all right. <Will I see you again?>
“Definitely. I promise. Only, it might have to wait until, um, your son has gone to the other dragons.” His smile was sad and sickly. “I’ll travel and find you. When all this is over.”
<That is years from now> she tapped frantically. <I will not see you for ages>
“I know. I’m … so sorry, Dev. Really, I am.”
Everything was happening too fast. All her doors were closing, her options receding. Even her last resort, dangerous flight with a child in tow, was a life raft withdrawn, leaving her floundering. She was about to be alone in a hostile house with a child she could not keep. Again.
The person outside knocked harder, shouted louder and more impatiently.
“Shit. I have to go.” He bent to give her a gentle hug, careful of the baby, and said in her ear, “Listen. If you ever feel like ditching the Families, with or without your kids, then get in touch. I’ll help if I can, I swear.”
She wanted to tap out, How? I can’t write I can’t call but there was no time. Another Easterbrook brother stuck his head in, saying, “C’mon, mate. We don’t have all day.”
“Bye,” Jarrow said again, and left with the last of Devon’s light.
20
HOUSE OF SAINTS
PRESENT DAY
Though I find the Collector story to be wholly absurd, I struggle to conjure a better theory. Aside from the teeth, eaters do look identical to humans. Yet they cannot interbreed with us and have strange organs, extreme strength, and dark-vision. They also consume either books or minds, processing that information in ways that defy all known biology, and they decompose in a manner suggestive of—dare I say—magic.
In truth, to the naked eye, they are profoundly a magical species. And if I must choose between believing in the Collector, or believing in magic, then I am reluctantly inclined to go with the former.
—Amarinder Patel, Paper and Flesh: A Secret History
Their little gray car crested the heather hills of Scotland and began needling its way through winding paths to the valley-town of Innerleithen below. Devon, looking out the window, was mesmerized. Moors undulated for miles toward the north. Snags of cloud tumbled low across a silver-blue sky. Twisted trees populated gnarly slopes, snow blanketing the small stone houses. Wide banks by a sweeping river, dotted with optimistic fishers—even in this weather!—wearing waders. Picture-perfect, like one of those charity shop postcards done to capture British nostalgia.
She rested her head against the cool glass. “Do the residents of this town know?”
“Know what? About the family who moved into a derelict old mansion a couple years ago, did it up a bit, and now have a locally run artisan brewery? Sure, they know.”
“Working in the open. Interesting tactic.”
“Don’t know what you mean,” Hester said. “We’re law-abiding citizens, aside from a bit of tax dodging and some illicit drug production, but that’s nothing compared to the Winterfields and their dodgy law firm, or the Easterbrooks and their human trafficking.”