Meera believed me and managed to convince Dervish of the truth. She also dealt with the difficulties of Bill-E’s disappearance and my sudden existence. She got Dervish to pretend Bill-E had gone to live with relatives. Through her contacts, Meera faked the necessary paperwork and arranged for officials in high positions to throw their weight behind the lie if anyone (such as Bill-E’s teachers) made inquiries.
Those same contacts forged a birth certificate and passport for me. I became an illegitimate niece of Dervish’s, whose mother had recently passed away. In the absence of any other living relative, I’d been sent to Carcery Vale.
It was too coincidental to pass close scrutiny. A boy’s grandparents are brutally slaughtered . . . the boy takes off without saying a word to anyone . . . his best friend also disappears . . . and a girl nobody has ever heard of moves in with the man who was like a father to both boys. The people of Carcery Vale aren’t stupid. I’m sure they knew something was wrong.
But Meera and her allies covered their tracks artfully. Police were assured by their colleagues in other districts that Bill-E was safe and the girl’s story was on the level. In the face of such carefully contrived evidence, our neighbors could do nothing except watch suspiciously and wait for the next bizarre Grady family twist.
F
ROM
the spot on the road in the forest, I make the five minute walk to Carcery Vale but keep to the edge of the village, circling the houses and shops. I look on enviously at the ordinary people leading their ordinary lives.
Dervish is supposed to be tutoring me at home while I recover from the loss of my mother. Meera has supplied us with schoolbooks and equipment. Of course, Dervish hasn’t once sat down to help me with schoolwork, but I’ve been doing it by myself. I complete the necessary exercises so that Meera can show them to the relevant authorities and keep them happy.
I enjoy the homework. I never did anything like this before. I learned how to do practical things in my rath, like cook, wash, and sharpen weapons. I memorized lots of stories, and Banba taught me magic. But I never studied books — they didn’t exist then. I knew nothing about global history, geography, science, mathematics.
It’s fascinating. I know a lot already, courtesy of Bill-E’s memories, but I’m discovering much more. Like most people, Bill-E didn’t retain all that he learned, so I only have access to the bits he remembered. But my own memory is perfect. I have total recall of anything I see, hear, or read. By devouring the books Meera gives me, and watching dozens of television documentaries and the news, I’ve pieced together many of the facts of this brave new world. Ironically, I probably know more about it than most of the children who are natives of this time.
I’d love to go to school and learn from real teachers. I study as best I can at home, do my homework, watch educational programs, and surf the Internet. But that’s no substitute for being taught by another person. There’s so much more I could do with my brain, so many things I could uncover about the world, if I only had someone to instruct me.
But I’m not ready to mix with other people yet. What would I say? How would I mingle and pass as one of their own? I’d have to guard my tongue, always afraid I’d say something that gave away my past. I have nothing in common with these folk. I know much about their ways from Bill-E and what I’ve read about them and seen on television. But in my time, girls married when they were fourteen. Warriors fought naked. Slavery was a fact of life. There was nothing odd about eating the heart of a defeated enemy. We worshipped many gods and believed they directly influenced our day-to-day lives.
As I brood about the gulf between me and these people, someone coughs behind me. I’m instantly on my guard — in my experience, if somebody sneaks up on you, they’re almost certainly an enemy. Whirling, my lips move fast, working on a spell. There’s virtually no magic in the air, so my powers are limited, but I can still work the odd spell or two. I won’t be taken easily.
It’s a girl. A couple of years older than me. We’re dressed in similar clothes, but she wears hers more naturally. I haven’t fully gotten the hang of shoes and laces, soft shirts and buttons. Her hair looks much neater than mine and she wears make-up.
“Hi,” the girl says.
“Hello,” I reply softly, putting a name to her face and letting the spell die on my lips. She’s Reni Gossel, the sister of a boy Bill-E hated. Grubbs liked this girl. Bill-E did too, although he never said, because he didn’t believe he could compete with his older, bigger, more confident friend.
“I’m Reni,” she says.
“Yes.” I think for a moment. “I’m Rebecca Kinga.” That’s the fake name Meera provided me with. “Bec for short.”
Reni nods and comes closer, studying me. There’s a hostile shade to her eyes that unnerves me. This girl has no reason to dislike me — we don’t know each other — but I think she does anyway.
“You’re Dervish Grady’s niece,” Reni says, circling me the way I was circling the village a few minutes before.
“That’s right,” I mutter, not turning, staring straight ahead, shivering slightly. This girl can’t hurt me, but I’m afraid she might see through me.
“Grubbs never said anything about you.”
“He didn’t know. It was a secret.”
“A Grady with a secret.” She smiles crookedly. “Nothing new in that.”
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“Dervish has always been full of secrets. Grubbs too. We were close, but I’m sure there were things he wasn’t telling me, about his parents, his sister, Dervish.” She stops in front of me. “Did you meet Grubbs?”
“Just once,” I answer honestly.
“Strange how he moved out just as you moved in.”
I shrug. “He was upset. When Bill-E’s grandparents were killed, he wanted to get away from here. It reminded him of when his parents were murdered.”
“Maybe,” Reni sniffs. “But who did he go to?”
“His aunt.”
Reni shakes her head. “Grubbs didn’t like his aunt. Or any of his other relatives. He told me about them. Dervish was the only one he loved. Bill-E loved Dervish too. Yet both of them have gone without warning and neither has bothered to pay him a visit in all the months since. Like I said —
strange
.”
Her eyes are hot with mistrust and anger. For reasons she maybe doesn’t even know, she blames me for the disappearance of Grubbs and Bill-E. And to a certain extent she’s right.
I say nothing, figuring silence is better than a lie. After a minute of quiet, Reni asks softly, “Do you have a number for Grubbs?”
“No, but I could probably ask Der —”
“Don’t bother,” she interrupts. “I asked already, when I couldn’t get through on his cell. He said Grubbs didn’t want to talk to anyone. He told me to e-mail, and I did, but it wasn’t Grubbs who answered. I’m no fool. I could tell it was Dervish pretending to be his nephew.”
I’m not sure how to respond.
“This has something to do with what happened to Loch,” she whispers, and her expression changes, becoming more haunted. “You know who Loch was?”
“Your brother,” I croak.
She nods. “Some people might say it wasn’t coincidence that the pair who were with him the day he died have gone missing. Or that the grandparents of one were butchered. Or that the uncle of another has spent the last six months looking like a man who’s lost everything — every
one
— dear to him.”
“What do you want?” I ask stiffly.
“I want to know what happened,” she snarls, and grabs both my arms, squeezing tightly. “Loch’s death was awful, but I believed it was an accident, so I dealt with it. Now I have horrible, terrible doubts. There’s more going on than anyone knows. Dervish is hiding the truth, and I think you know what it is.”
“I don’t know anything,” I gasp as images and memories come flying through my head. I want to make her let go, but I can’t. I’m learning far more about her than I care to know, unwillingly stripping her of her secrets. “I came here after they went away. I know nothing about them.”
“I don’t believe you,” Reni says, glaring at me with outright hatred. “You know. You must. You’re part of it. If you have nothing to hide, why stay locked away or skulk around like a thief when you come out?”
“Please . . . you’re hurting me . . . let me go . . . I don’t want to . . .”
“What?” Reni snaps, shaking me. “You don’t want to
what
?”
“Learn any more!” I cry.
She frowns. I’m weeping, not because I’m afraid or sad, but because
she
is. I know why she’s doing this, why she feels so awful, why she’s desperate to uncover the truth.
“You can’t change it,” I moan. “You can’t bring him back. He’s dead.”
“Who?” Reni hisses. “Grubbs? Bill-E?”
“Loch,” I wheeze, and her hands loosen. “You mustn’t blame yourself. It had nothing to do with you. He wasn’t distracted or angry. That wasn’t why he —”
“What are you talking about?” Reni shouts, clutching me hard again.
“You had a fight with him the day he died.” She releases me, eyes widening, and the images stop. But I can’t let it end there. I have to push on, to try and help her. “You fought about what you were going to watch on television. It was a silly, stupid argument. I’m sure Loch had forgotten it by the time he left. It had nothing to do with his death, I’m certain it didn’t.”
Reni is trembling. Her lower lip quivers. “How do you know that?” she moans. “I never told anybody
that
.”
“It was an accident,” I mumble. “It wasn’t your fault, so you shouldn’t —”
“How do you know that?”
Reni screams.
I shrug. This hasn’t gone like I wanted it to. I had hoped to ease her pain, but instead I’ve terrified her.
Reni starts to say something, then closes her mouth and backs off, crying, staring at me as if I’m something hideous and foul. It’s how people in my time stared at a priestess or druid if they thought that person was an agent of evil. She backs into a tree, jumps with fright, then turns and flees.
I watch until she vanishes behind the houses of Carcery Vale, then slowly return through the forest for another lonely night with the aloof and morbid Dervish.
B
ERANABUS
is only half human. His father was a demon who ravaged his mother against her will. In later life, Beranabus tracked the monster down and slaughtered him. He took the beast’s head as a trophy. Held it close to his chest that night and wept for hours, stroking his dead father’s face, hating and mourning him in equal measures.
Meera loved Dervish when they were younger. She wanted to marry him and have children. She dreamed of teaching their kids to be Disciples, the entire family battling evil together and saving the world. But she knew he would never father a baby. He was afraid any child of his might catch the curse of the Gradys and turn into a werewolf. So she never confessed her love or told anybody.
Reni saw her mother steal a purse from a store. It was the most shocking thing she experienced until Loch died. She spent many restless nights wondering what else her mother might have stolen, worrying about what would happen if she was caught. She wanted to discuss it with someone, but it wasn’t something she could talk about, so she kept it to herself.
I know these things because I’ve touched those people and absorbed their inner thoughts. I’m a human sponge — I soak up memories.
I became aware of my gift not long after I returned to life. I spent hours with Beranabus that night, hugging and holding him. Memories seeped into me thick and fast, but it was a time of great confusion, and I wasn’t able to separate his memories from Bill-E’s until later.
It took me a few days to make sense of what had happened. I had all these images of the distant past swirling around inside my head — starting with his wretched birth in the Labyrinth — and I wasn’t sure where they’d come from. When I worked it out, I thought it was a temporary side-effect of my miraculous return to life. Or maybe Beranabus had fed his memories to me, to help me cope with the new world.
I didn’t touch anybody else until Meera hugged me, in an attempt to comfort me when she found me crying. As soon as we touched, I began absorbing. When I realized what was happening, I broke contact. I felt like a thief, stealing her innermost secrets. The flow of images stopped as soon as I let go.
I learned less about Meera than I had about Beranabus, since we were in contact for only a handful of seconds. The flow of information was fast, but not instantaneous. I took many of her big secrets and recent memories, but little of her younger life.
I hadn’t touched anyone since then. I don’t like this power. It’s intrusive and sneaky, and I can’t control it. I don’t seem to do any harm. I think the people retain their memories, but I can’t be certain. Maybe, if I held on for a long time, I’d drain all their thoughts and they’d end up mindless zombies.
I wish I could experiment and find out more about my unwelcome gift, but I can’t without the risk of damaging those I touch. If I was in the Demonata’s universe, I could test it on demons — although I’m not entirely sure I want to get inside a demon’s head!
Nobody knows about it. I’d tell Beranabus if he was here, but he isn’t. I could search for him — I learned what he knew about opening windows when we touched, and I’m sure I could open one myself — but I don’t want to disturb him. He’s on an important mission and this would distract him. If I’m lucky, the unwelcome gift will fade with time. If not, what of it? I live in seclusion and almost never touch people. I’m sure Reni Gossel won’t come back for another face-to-face. What harm can a secluded hermit do to anyone?
I’m in Dervish’s study, telling him about Bill-E’s problems at school. Bill-E was a shy boy. He found it hard to make friends or fit in. Dervish wants to get to the root of his nephew’s difficulties. There’s no point — he can’t do anything to fix them now — but he’s persistent.
“Was it his eye?” Dervish asks. “Billy had a lazy left eye. He often asked me to correct it with magic. If I had, would he have been more confident?”
I shrug.