Anna Peregrine--Library of Souls

Chapter Seven

"If what you say is true, then you must be a wight," Jacob said.

Nim's mouth dropped, "Mr. Bentham is not."

"It's all right, Nim. They've only heard Alma's version of things, especially Anna. My bird, you look exactly like her when she was your age," Myron said.

"I get that a lot," I replied.

"However, there are gaps in your mother's knowledge."

"I don't hear you denying it though," I said calmly.

"I'm not a wight."

"Then would you mind if we checked, just so we can be sure . . ."

"Not at all," my uncle interrupted Jacob.

He met us at the carpet, allowing us to examine his eyes, especially me. I looked around the white of his eye, trying to find any fakeness underneath the pupil, but there wasn't.

"Okay, you're not a wight," I said, stepping back.

"But that means you can't be Caul's brother," Jacob said.

"I'm afraid the set of assumptions you are working from is erroneous. I was responsible for my brother and his followers becoming hollowgast, I never became one myself."

"You made the hollows?" I said in rage. "Why?!"

Myron looked at the fireplace, "It was a terrible mistake. An accident. It was my fault for letting things go on as long as they did. I kept telling myself that my brother wasn't as dangerous as he seemed. It was only after he imprisoned me, and it was too late to act, that I realized how wrong I'd been." He stepped closer to the fire and started stroking the fur of his bear. "I knew Jack had to be stopped, and not simply for my own sake--nor because there was any danger he'd ever find the Library of Souls. No, it was clear his ambitions had grown beyond that. For months he'd been molding our recruits into the foot soldiers of a dangerous political movement. He cast himself as an underdog fighting to wrest control of our society from what he called 'the infantilizing influence of Ymbrynes'."

"Ymbrynes are the reason our society still exists," I said, defending all of those women along with myself.

"Yes, but you see, my brother was terribly jealous. From the time we were boys, Jack envied our sister's power and status. Our inborn abilities were puny compared to hers. By her third birthday the elder Ymbrynes who cared for us knew Alma was a great talent. People made such a fuss over her, and it drove Jack mad. When she was a baby he would pinch her just to see her cry. When she practiced turning into a bird, he would chase her and pluck her feathers."

I quickly stood up and walked over to a set of shelves in anger, trying to get myself to calm down.

"That ugliness deepened over time. Jack was able to harness and exploit the same poisonous envy latent in some of our fellow peculiars. He held meetings and made speeches, trallying malcontents to his cause. Devil's Acre was fertile ground, since many of the peculiars here were exiles, alienated from and hostile to the Ymbrynic matriarchy," Myron continued.

"The Claywings," I said, turning to him. "Before the wights became wights, that's what they called themselves. Mum taught us a little about them."

"'We don't need their wings!' Jack used to preach. 'We'll grow wings of our own!' He meant this metaphorically, of course, but they used to march around wearing fake wings as a symbol of their movement," Myron motioned us towards a bookcase. "Look here. I still have a photo or two from those days. A few he wasn't able to destroy." He pulled down a photo album and opened it to a picture of a crowd listening to a male speaker. "Ah, here's Jack giving one of his hateful speeches."