Night Children

34

If I was being honest, I didn't hate a lot of things. Sure, I hated cats and I hated feeling bored, but the list was small. What I hated for sure, though, was waking up to a searing pain in my arm, the harsh light of an interrogation room in my eyes.

The overheads assaulted me, cloaking my vision in blurry shades of white. The room was brimming with sterile, unpleasant scents, bleach cleaners and cold, shining metal. When my bleary eyes cleared, all I saw was bleak, silver monochrome.

Across the table from me sat Mr. Jardetzky, reclined in his seat with a book in his hands. It awed me how someone could look so calm in a place like this, wherever this was. How long had I been out? And more importantly—just how long did I have left?

I moved my arm an inch, and it rebelled against the action by giving a sharp zap of discomfort. I groaned, the chain on my wrist jingling as I settled again.

The disturbance was enough to stir Lee, who looked up, swiftly dog-earing his page and setting the book to the side. "I was wondering when you'd wake up. If you'd wake up at all."

"You didn't have to shoot me," I hissed. "I would have come willingly."

"I don't take chances."

I grunted, my gritted teeth dragging along my dry tongue. "Tell me why you brought me here."

I had half a guess, but it wouldn't be confirmed until he said so. My eyes scanned his face, the steady grin at his lips, the subtle twinkle of mischief in his eyes that separated them from his son's. I wondered all of a sudden where Reese was, if he'd been smart enough to just let me go. He was an intelligent kid, that much I knew, but his morals were sometimes too strong.

Lee studied me for a moment in silence. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a bulky object that I couldn't precisely make out until it had thudded against the table.

The room felt tighter, like the walls were closing in. I couldn't breathe.

It was a watch, but not just any—one with a vibrant violet band, made of leather, the Roman numeral clock face in shades of gold. Scratches across the face's surface clued at the watch's age, the worn fastener already set to the size of her wrist. Darkened blood formed blots on the band, turning the violet a deeper, threatening indigo.

I swallowed, flipping the watch over. Engraved on the back of it, as I'd ordered, was: Nell Dacosta.

It was a bloodied, torn version of the watch I'd given Nell for her eighteenth birthday.

Everything that was warm went cold. Everything that was moving, stilled. Everything that was anything ceased to exist, it seemed, when I saw that watch.

A toxic rush of both anger and despair surged through me. "You're going to give me my sister back," I ordered. "You are going to."

"Sure," Lee said pleasantly, waving my comment off. "She's not nearly as useful as you are, Theodore. Pact and I will gladly return her to you, as long as you take her place."

I waited for a moment, allowing his words to process in my head. I hadn't been expecting the confrontation to be pleasant, but I hadn't been expecting this. "Take her place? What would you guys need me for? What do you need any of us for?"

"Research," said Lee plainly. He noticed me wince at the wound in my arm, and chuckled. "Really, Theodore, the bullet's already been removed. That was just to get you here. You can stop hurting now."

"That's not exactly how that works," I replied. I tilted my head a little, adding, "What's research?"

"You—the werewolves, the vampires, the half-breeds, the witches—you're all different from us humans. For centuries we've been asking why, how. That's why Pact was formed, to answer all those questions," Lee told me. His tone was flat and bland, as if he'd rehearsed the speech many times. "But you, Theo, you're the most different of all, and you don't even remember how."