The Book Eaters(71)
“My experiences with other people, full stop, haven’t been good.” Devon thought he sounded very much like a traditional patriarch: that lofty turn of phrase, evocative of some Victorian nobleman. “We share a common need and a common enemy. Does that carry any weight for you?”
“It does.” He sketched a bow that she found slightly ridiculous. “I will admit, I am curious to hear about the demise of your husband. Aside from you and me, I have never met another exile from the Families.”
“If it will put your mind at ease, I’m willing to explain how Matley Easterbrook died, and how I escaped.”
“How he died?” Killock said, suddenly shrewd. “Not, how you killed him?”
Hester tilted her head.
“Yes, how he died.” Be steel, be calm, be focused, Devon told herself. “It’s a long explanation. My only request is that Cai remain elsewhere. He doesn’t need to hear this.”
The Ravenscar siblings exchanged glances. Hester said, “Are you all right with being separated from your son?”
“If I don’t answer your question, I’ll have far bigger problems,” Devon said, “and the things I will talk about may cause him serious distress. He already knows a lot of this, and does not need to hear it repeated.”
“I don’t want to listen,” Cai said, holding up the Game Boy. “I want to play Mario while you talk. I don’t mind waiting. I wait all the time.”
Killock’s features settled into contemplative stillness. “As you like. We will find someone to sit with your son. In the meantime, let’s adjourn to the library.”
21
MONSTER
FIVE YEARS AGO
There is love in me the likes of which you’ve never seen. There is rage in me the likes of which should never escape. If I am not satisfied in the one, I will indulge the other.
—Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
The physical damage cleared up in a couple of weeks but the psychological damage lingered on. The sight of hands, any hands, made Devon’s throat tighten, a strange and highly inconvenient trigger that she couldn’t seem to shake.
As Jarrow had promised, aunts came by every day to assist her with the newborn. Devon tapped out terse messages, grateful for the communication he’d given her while the tendons of her throat slowly healed.
A few weeks later, after she was able to speak, one of the aunts came to inform Devon that Matley wished to see her.
“He knows where my room is,” Devon said, soothing her fussy baby. “Why do I need to go anywhere?”
The aunt just shook her head. “He wishes to see you in the games room.”
A chill ran through her. “When?”
“Right now, naturally.”
Naturally, Devon thought sourly. She wrapped the baby in a sling, wondering all the while what Matley wanted with Jarrow’s private refuge, and followed the aunt to the other side of the house to the games room.
Except it wasn’t the games room anymore. A new brass plate was fixed to the wall, etched with the words CONTROL ROOM. The door stood open, lights flickering within.
Devon stepped inside. The stench of cabling, dust, and chrome filled her nose; the air tasted of static. Someone had boarded up the windows. The couch that had been her home across pregnancy and childbirth was missing, as were the shelves, consoles, game boxes, controllers, everything.
A series of thirty-odd television screens had replaced the entertainment center, everything trailing dark wires and jacked into a large console. Each screen displayed a different grainy image of various locations around the estate: fields, orchards, driveway, dining room, libraries. The hallway outside Devon’s room, on the centermost screen, but not her actual quarters.
She was swept with a sense of waste for Vic’s lovely games collection, chucked out like trash. She’d never get to know the ending of Final Fantasy now; strange how it bothered her to think about. At least the Game Boy had been saved. That was secure in her room, hidden under her bed.
The baby began to fuss in his sling, breaking Devon out of her stupor. She shushed the boy, jigging him up and down.
“There you are. Tardy as ever.”
Devon turned around to find Matley Easterbrook emerging from what had once been the little kitchenette. That, too, had been converted; the table stripped out, and the cupboards overflowing with spare electrical gear. No more maps. No more detailed escape plans.
“What is all this?” Devon said, whimpering baby held close against her chest. “Why am I here?”
Matley folded his arms, flickering screens casting patterns across his face. “I suppose you know that your child is destined for the knights.”
How well she knew. “What of it?”
“I asked if they’d take the boy earlier,” he said with a disgruntled snort. “But they don’t want him. Too young to live off anything but milk and apparently it is difficult to dose infants with Redemption. They’d prefer you to nurse as long as you can.”
“Why do they have to take him at all?” she said, desperation making her bold. “Maybe I can work, to pay for his Redemption costs? My uncle might be willing to—”
“It’s not about the cost,” he snapped. “Mind eaters cannot be allowed to live freely without anyone keeping them in check. They revert to their nasty feeding, otherwise.” A slight shudder ran through him.