The Book Eaters(70)
“Mind eaters,” Devon said, dumbfounded. “You’re all mind eaters.”
Conversation dropped as the entire room turned in Devon’s direction. Cai went rigid.
“Personally,” said the man at the harpsichord, his voice loud in the silence, “I have always detested the term mind eater. It’s rather crude and outdated.”
Devon narrowed her eyes. “What term do you prefer, then?”
But it was Hester who answered. “People. We’re all just people.”
We, she’d said, as if she were one of them. Not they. And Devon realized with a jolt that she’d never seen Hester eat a book during their journey.
Not one single time.
“My sister says people where I would say saints.” The man behind the harpsichord stood up at last, no longer hidden behind its varnished frame. Tall but slender, with dark reddish hair in a tight ponytail. Gray slacks, gray turtleneck; gray eyes, too. “Welcome back, Hes.”
Devon was still reeling, too many shocks in a row. Every surviving member of the Ravenscar household was a mind eater, Hester included.
But how and why were there so many? Families didn’t keep their mind eater children. This was, after all, the entire purpose of the knights: to prevent mind eaters living free and unchecked, with nothing but their own willpower keeping the hunger at bay.
She was conscious of Cai clutching her hand tightly, and squeezed back.
Perhaps the Ravenscars had somehow hidden their mind eater children away, rather than sending them to the knights, like every other Family. Yet that raised its own questions. Where were the book eaters, for instance? Why didn’t they have any book eaters at all among their number?
“Merry Christmas, Lock,” Hester said, giving a deferential curtsy. Aside from a difference of hair color, she and the other Ravenscars shared a strong resemblance. The same lines of jaw, the same broad collarbones. The same long-fingered hands, and slightly snubbed noses. “We’ve had a difficult journey and I’m absolutely ravenous, but I’ve brought mother and child in safely.”
And Devon, watching her, was struck by another uncomfortable thought. If Hester was a mind eater, where was her tongue? How had she hidden it?
“So I see.” Killock Ravenscar swept Devon with his gaze from top to toe. “A Fairweather princess in the flesh, come to join us in lonely exile here.” He muttered under his breath, inexplicably in singsong, “Until the Son of God appears.”
With enormous mental effort, Devon pushed aside the shock she felt and pulled herself together. She stood before that scalpel gaze, acutely conscious of her bare, filthy feet; her torn jeans with the mud-dragged edges; her crumpled blouse that reeked of three days’ worth of sweat, and probably alcohol. A long way from the manicured girl who had once stepped from a chalky limousine in a spotless Romanian dress, but that wasn’t a bad thing. She was stronger and wiser than her younger self, and strange men no longer frightened her.
“If you’re going to tell me that I’m tall,” Devon said, “then just don’t. I’m aware.”
Mani made a choking sound. Hester drew a sharp breath.
But Killock only laughed and held out his hand. “Ms. Fairweather—may I call you Devon? Titles are so formal—please allow me to welcome you to Traquair. Without any comments about your height.”
“Cheers. I appreciate it.” She shook his hand, warm and dry like his sister’s. “My son needs to eat before we go anywhere. I came here because I was told he could have Redemption, and never need to feed off humans again.”
“Yes … your son.” Killock shifted his gaze downward. “Hello, young man. What’s your name?”
“Cai Devonson.” He remained half-hidden behind Devon’s back. “I don’t get a Family surname because I’m a mind eater, so Devon made one for me.”
“Interesting choice. ‘Cai’ is a knight’s name—did you know that? Sir Kay, from Arthurian legend. Though we pronounce it differently these days.” Killock stooped to his level. “Pleased to meet you, Real Knight Who Is Not a Family Knight. You look like your mother, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Cai clutched his Game Boy. “I don’t mind.”
Killock reached into a pocket, unscrewed a small plastic bottle, and handed him a chewable pill. “The gift of Redemption. From my own supply.”
“Thank you!” Cai’s face lit up as he snatched the pill from the older man’s palm. He hesitated then said, “Is it true? Are you really a house of … of…”
“A house of saints,” Killock said. Again, with the strange choice of word; saints was not a term Devon would have thought to reach for. She might love her son, but she didn’t revere him as holy.
Hester, meanwhile, stood pensive, hands on hips and gaze on the floor. The warning she’d given earlier to watch your step was going off in Devon’s head like a siren. Killock was smooth, polite, even charming, and yet every time he spoke it made the back of her neck itch. There was a hidden edge to everything he said or did, a kind of intensity that unbalanced her.
Killock straightened his spine. “Having welcomed you here, I will admit I remain unconvinced that you can be trusted. My experiences with the Families have not been good. We have escaped here to live our own lives and I cannot allow anything to threaten that.”