The Book Eaters(80)
The thought, rising up traitorously: What if they had a point?
She risked a glance at Cai. His cheeks were flushed, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of them. And on the other side, Hester had her eyes closed. Palms pressed together, either praying or trying not to be ill. Both utterly removed from the theater that played out in front of them.
No, Devon decided. The ideology that made Killock dangerous came from the Families. Killock’s problem wasn’t that he’d tried to do something different, but that he’d tried to do something too similar. The same system, the same manor house and patriarch and quivering obedience. And because the system was inherently cruel, it had only magnified the cruelty within Killock, rather than suppressing it.
Up on the stage, the victim’s whimpering died away. The mind eaters cheered and clapped as Killock’s display of so-called communion finally ended, and Devon fought her rising queasiness. A few chairs over, Mani had quietly removed his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket. A clever way to obscure his own vision.
“God bless you and keep you, brothers and sisters.” Killock stood over the opened cage, where the huddled figure of a human now slumped lifeless. “Amen. Go in peace, to love and serve each other.” Though his diction seemed unaffected, his accent had changed; he sounded Scottish now. Like the man he’d killed.
A murmur of soft conversation rose again as people chatted among themselves, some animated and some reserved. A natural ebb and flow of conversation, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Devon exchanged glances with Cai, who bore an adult’s worried expression even as he squirmed with too much childish energy.
“Are you okay?” she whispered. A part of her wished he’d not been present for what they’d just seen, even while the logical side of her brain pointed out that he’d seen victims many times by now. Usually his own.
“I’m fine,” he whispered back, then said, “Dev, why was he the only one who feeds? And if he’s going to not bother taking Redemption, why do any of them take it?”
“Not now, love.” Privately, Devon suspected that logistical issues prevented Killock from feeding as much as he would like, let alone allowing his followers to feed freely. They’d empty the town in a year, otherwise. “Ask me later.”
Cai chewed his bottom lip and nodded in assent.
Hester caught her arm. “Well! What a lovely service. Dev, I’ve just remembered that I promised to take you shooting. I don’t suppose you’d have time right now?”
“What about me?” Cai said, before Devon could ask.
“I’ll look after the lad,” Mani offered, surprising all of them. “I can show him around the house, and perhaps we can locate a suitable room for the pair of you to stay in.”
“Sure,” Cai said without missing a beat. For a boy who’d spent most of his waking hours away from other people or locked in small, damp flats, he’d adapted well to having company.
“I bear no grudges for our previous encounter—you may trust me,” Mani said, seeing Devon’s hesitation. “In any case, Ms. Fairweather, I suspect I have more to fear from your son than he has to fear from me.” A sad, polite smile. “When you are done speaking to Hester, we could have a catch-up of our own, yes? Two Family survivors with a set of interesting tales.”
Despite her curiosity about Mani, instinct also told her that a talk with Hester couldn’t wait. And of all the people in this house, she felt Cai was perhaps safest in the company of an elderly human. Someone he could overpower, at any rate.
“Very well. I’m sure we won’t be long,” Devon said finally. Best not to dither, in case it looked conspiratorial. “Here, take this for me, if that’s all right. I’d rather not carry it around.” She handed Cai her rucksack, which she’d not had a chance to put down anywhere.
Her son took it grudgingly, slinging the too-long strap over his back.
They all stood up to go. As they left, Devon cast a last glance over her shoulder at Killock’s lean figure. He was gazing down at the corpse of his victim with an expression that hovered between tender and reverential.
* * *
Hester led them out of the chapel and across to a storage room in the main building, stopping to collect a rifle and ammunition from a cupboard, then ventured through a north-side exit at the back of the house. The voices of other “congregation” members faded swiftly as they left the chapel behind. And still, Hester didn’t speak.
On this side of Traquair’s estate, the manicured lawns gave way to a sparse wood filled with extraordinarily ancient trees. Someone had set up a shooting range in a small clearing, and that was where Hester came to rest, rifle in hand, peering at a long row of milk bottles perched atop wooden posts. The sun was sinking but that didn’t matter to either of them.
“We can talk here. It’s quiet and far from the house.” Hester sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve lied to you from the first meeting, and for all of our journey. Killock is so afraid the Families will find out we are all mind eaters.”
“Forget it. I’ve lied for less reason,” Devon said uncomfortably. She was in no position to point fingers over lying. “Can we start from the beginning? I feel like my whole perspective on you and your Family has changed completely.”
“I hardly know where to begin.”