The Book Eaters(81)
“How about with that display in there?” Devon said. “Is he catching people to eat? What the hell was that?”
“That, was a broken promise.” Hester set down the gun and stood face-to-face with her in that ancient, war-steeped woodland, winter sunlight piercing through the oak leaves like arrows. And then she opened her mouth, wide as it would go.
A faint scar around the free edge was all that remained to indicate where the mass of flesh had once been long and tubular. What remained of the proboscis was skillfully severed, the fleshy muscle trimmed to a rounded point. If Devon hadn’t been looking for a scar, hadn’t had time to stare and examine, she would never have noticed.
The sight was oddly disquieting. Cai could always feed if he were at risk of starvation, but that wasn’t an option for a mind eater who was maimed. No wonder Hester had been unsure about staying over at Alndyke Farm, particularly when she’d lost her supply of Redemption.
“So you are one of them,” Devon said, with a calmness that felt disconnected from her own overwhelmed brain. “Did Killock promise to do the same?”
“He and I made a pact.” Hester covered her mouth with a hand. “If we could get free of Weston, we’d set up a haven. The idea was that any mind eater would be welcome, providing they agreed to live off Redemption and have their tongues docked.”
“Meaning, none of you could give in to temptation and feed,” Devon said, working it out aloud, “and in turn, the other eaters could no longer claim your family were dangerous. Have I got that right?”
“That was my hope, and my plan, though I’m no longer sure my siblings ever shared it quite so passionately.” She tucked a lock of wind-tossed hair behind one ear; it blew free again straightaway. “After Weston was dead, I kept my end of the promise. Had it done by someone here—one of my brothers has some medical knowledge.”
“But Killock and the others didn’t stick to it.”
“A few followed my lead but not Killock, no,” she said. “At first, he claimed there was too much going on. It’s not safe. The labs aren’t up yet. Wait till spring. Eventually, he started saying it didn’t feel right anymore. At some point, I’m not sure when, he began venturing out and catching people in secret. Giving in to the hunger, seeking the rush of it.” A shudder. “These days, mention tongue docking, and he’ll flip his lid.”
“That’s a big change, to go from give up feeding forever to feeding is divine communion,” Devon said slowly, leaning against the fence. “What turned him?”
“Consuming our patriarch altered his personality. The one variable we didn’t foresee.” Hester picked up the gun again and began loading it. “Killock has a strange way of talking about things. But he’s not wrong in calling it communion. Consuming someone is—is so deeply intimate. You know them, you come to love them, and they become a part of you forever. It feels like merging souls. Their hopes and fears are yours, never coming to fruition but also never fully dying within you. It is the ultimate drug, Dev, and it’s not for nothing that folks call it a craving. Mind eating goes far beyond hunger.” She snorted. “Why do you think I smoke? Helps with the maddening hunger and gives me something else to be addicted to.”
Devon watched the cartridges disappear into the stock. “This communion thing. Are you talking from experience, or is that what your brother has described?”
“Experience,” Hester said curtly, and cocked the rifle. “After Weston refused to either let us leave, or to give us the secret of Redemption, violence was the only path left. We were outnumbered and lacking weapons, so we used our tongues. All of us ate at least one victim that night.” Hester raised her gun and fired several times.
Glasses shattered as the bullets found their mark. In the distance, birds screamed; silence returned to the woods in the wake of that violent disruption.
“I told myself it worked out. That we were finally free, and that it would be worth the cost. I was na?ve, and wrong.” Hester tried a smile, let it collapse. “Anyway, now you know what I am. What my brother is. What we did, to get here. All the ways I’ve lied to you lately.” She extended the rifle stock-first. “Want to take a shot? It’s a good skill to learn.”
“I mean, if you like,” Devon said, thrown by the change of subject, “but—”
“Please. Humor me.”
Devon grudgingly took the rifle, trying to fit it against her ungainly body.
“Let me help.” Up close, the familiar scent of Hester’s vanilla tobacco was unmissable. “Yes, like that … almost. Lift this elbow. Bit higher, you want a ninety-degree angle. Stock on your shoulder. That’s it, barrel steady. How does that feel?”
“Lucky,” Devon said, thinking of Clint Eastwood, and sighted down the barrel. “It feels lucky.”
She fired. The noise rammed her eardrums.
“Incredible,” Hester said, squinting at the distance. “You’ve missed by an absolute mile.”
“No shit.” Devon lifted the rifle again.
“You have to reload, by the way. That was the last cartridge.”
“… I knew that.”
The echo of Hester’s laughter carried across the green. Real laughter, shaking her petite frame.
And then it trailed off, that cheerfulness crumpling like a page tossed on the fire. “My brother is gone, Devon. Eating our patriarch was the unmaking of him, unlocking a terrible craving he’s tried to ignore since childhood. I’ve watched him ebb away a little more every day for the past two years, as his violence escalates. When you spoke to him in the study … when you heard him preach … that wasn’t Killock. It was some monstrous, amorphous collective of his victims, overlaid with Weston’s personality.”