The Book Eaters(73)
She wavered back and forth on whether her choice ought to have great meaning or significance of some kind. In the end, though, she couldn’t be bothered with any pretentiousness and just picked Cai because it sounded nice. It was also short, easy to remember, and wasn’t a location. Good enough. Then she cobbled together a matronym for his surname. Cai Devonson—why not. It would do.
“Sleep, Cai,” she’d whisper, rocking him to sleep at nights after her escorts had gone to bed, and the electronic alarm systems were engaged. “Sleep, little one. Will you dream of me when I’m gone?”
Weeks stretched into months. Spring flourished into summer before fading into autumn. Cai grew like a tumor. And by his second birthday, Devon had begun to fear her son.
Not that she didn’t love him; she did. There were endless things she loved about him, like the nautilus whorls of his obsidian hair, and his bright axinite eyes, and the warm tint of his skin, a few shades richer and darker than her own. Next to him, she looked almost ashen. She loved the way he tilted his head sideways at every new object or toy, and the fierce way he laughed, especially when doing something dangerous like jumping from high places.
Her fear came from other things. The way he could cross a room before she’d hardly noticed, even though her own reflexes were superhuman. He spoke early, and his first word was hungry. She found that sweet, until he started saying it while looking at her head.
Sometimes, while she was tidying their quarters or eating a book or having a bath, Cai would creep up on her with soft steps and nuzzle at her ear. He liked to flick his tongue clumsily, like a snake.
“Don’t do that,” she said, a little chilled.
“Hungry!” Cai pouted at her. A baby still, though he wouldn’t always be. The craving was already in him.
She decided it was time to ask for Redemption, and Matley reluctantly arranged to have it ordered from the Ravenscars at eye-watering cost. She tried to ignore his seething resentment.
When the first delivery arrived, Devon sat on the edge of her bed and inspected the tiny, chewable pills in their glass jar. Unstamped, unmarked, somewhat crudely made; they crumbled a little too easily when handled, leaving a powdery residue on her skin. They smelled of iron.
There were no alternative options, though. The secret of how the Ravenscars had made their magic cure, or what process had led them to such a discovery, was tightly kept. Different Families had tried to find their own cure but had no success with it. Most didn’t know where to start. As ever, the book eaters’ limited imaginations did not help them here.
Even with Redemption, Devon couldn’t help but wonder whether her son would “snack” on other people if she let him. Whether, in fact, she might wake one night to find his face closing in on hers. Tongue gunning for her ear.
But he cried when she left him to sleep on his own in the cot, and seemed so deeply unhappy in the cage-like crib, that she eventually let him stay in her bed. What else could she do? He was only little. She took to lying awake long after he’d fallen asleep, body tensed in readiness.
* * *
Season rolled into season. So little time. She tried to enjoy every moment. They went for more walks, playing outdoors when possible.
Matley grudgingly provided more Redemption as Cai weaned himself off milk. Once or twice, he came in to check on them in person. The first time he said nothing, merely eyed Cai for a while before leaving.
The second time he said, unexpectedly, “Does that thing love you, or does it just want to eat you?”
“If Cai ever decides to feed on me, you’ll be the first to know,” she said sweetly, which was enough to have him backpedaling out of her room. Even for adult book eaters, revulsion of dragons lingered strong. They did not see Matley again for months after that.
Another wan and lonely spring passed by. Devon spent it singing and humming as she trudged after her wandering toddler, ever-amused to hear Earplug huffing behind them. Other children avoided Cai; other adults avoided Devon. That suited her. She found it hard to hide her contempt of them in person.
Her life shrank and narrowed to a succession of lonely, windy days spent under orchard trees or in Easterbrook gardens, out and about in all weathers. Cai’s birthday went unremarked by everyone except Devon, who sang him “Happy Birthday” and made him an animal menagerie to play with, by folding paper she tore out of books. He laughed with delight and she almost cried, thinking of Salem’s lavish parties. Salem was a prisoner, but a well-treated one, her birthdays as welcome and celebrated as Cai’s were not.
Winter thickened into the holiday season. Christmas Eve passed, a big party with presents and lights and laughter. Devon was not invited, nor Cai, which made him sad. He watched from the hallway with a wobbling lip, old enough to understand that their world had shut him out.
“We’ll do a proper Christmas when you’re older,” she promised, leading him away from the rooms where they’d been excluded. An empty promise, but she couldn’t bear to see him cry.
“Hungry,” he said unhappily, and sniffled at her.
Hungry was something he said a lot, even when he’d had plenty of Redemption. But Devon knew he did not mean food in this instance, nor even the unnatural craving of a mind eater. He hungered for something less tangible yet just as crucial: an antidote to loneliness. He craved, even then, the company and acceptance of other people.