One of those things would kill a child. A vision of a bloody beak coming down like a hatchet flashed before Karina’s eyes. She swallowed. “My daughter?”
The spatula pointed to Henry’s right. “Through that doorway.”
Karina forced herself not to run. She skirted the table and walked through the doorway into a living room. Her heart pounded.
A small shape was curled on the couch, hidden by a green blanket. Karina pulled back the covers. Emily lay on the pillow. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes closed, her hair a tangled mess.
Karina knelt and hugged her gently. Emily stirred and she put her face to her daughter’s cheek and clenched herself, trying not to cry.
“Daniel brought her early in the morning. Arthur told him he would let him speak in return,” Henry said softly from the doorway. “I’ve wiped her memory of the assault in the motel—it was too traumatic—so she won’t recall anything about the place, and that entire day will be dim for her. There are no long-term effects to memory wipes, but there are some short-term consequences: she will sleep a lot more, she will seem confused, and she might have some anxiety. It should last for about a week. Lucas already called the main house. They have a nice room set up for her.”
Karina turned. “I want her to stay with me.”
Henry looked uncomfortable. “There is a reason why the three of us are separated from the main house.”
“Three? I thought Arthur lived here.”
Henry shook his head. “Arthur stays at the main compound. Of our entire group, Lucas is the most feared, Daniel is the most despised, and I’m the least trusted.” He paused. “This house isn’t the best place for a child.”
She paused. “Henry, why in the world would anyone not trust you?” Of the four men she’d met so far, Henry seemed the least insane.
He smiled, apologetic, almost vulnerable, and leaned closer. “I can make you forget we ever had this conversation. I can make you forget about Lucas, about the motel, and, if I strain a little, you won’t remember you ever had a daughter.”
She paused. It seemed insane, but no less insane than the idea of a man who turned into a nightmarish beast. “Can you read thoughts?”
“Nobody can read thoughts.” Henry shook his head. “Not even combat-grade operatives like me.”
Combat with whom? Why? He was wording his replies very carefully, thinking about them for a moment before answering. If she pushed him too hard, he would stop talking. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you wipe your enemies’ memories?”
Henry took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with the corner of Emily’s blanket. Without his glasses, he seemed younger. “The mind doesn’t just store memories. It also governs many functions of the body. I can mentally scout the enemy and tell you their numbers. Obviously the more of them there are, the higher the margin of error is, but typically I’m not off by a significant number. I can find your mind in a crowd of people and attack it, so you’ll think you’re drowning. I can disconnect your brain from the rest of you and starve it of oxygen until you become a vegetable. My subspecies isn’t called Memory Wiper. It’s called Mind Bender.”
For a moment she was more terrified of him than she was of Lucas, and thinking that he might somehow crack her skull open and peer into her brain scared her even more.
Henry glanced at Emily on the couch. “Do you trust me now? Do you want your daughter near me?”
No. She didn’t trust any of them. But the main house, whatever it was, would be full of strangers. The thought of someone full of violent rage, like Lucas, or cold like Arthur, being in charge of Emily without her to shield her daughter made her wince.
Karina clenched her hands. Screaming and hysterics would do her no good. She had to reason with them. She had to be smart. Use logic. “Henry, I’d rather take you and Lucas over a house of people I don’t know. Emily woke up alone, without me. She must’ve been frightened. She’s my daughter, Henry. She’s safest with me, because I’m her mother and I would give my life to keep her from harm.”
“Speak to Lucas,” Henry suggested. “I’m sure he will permit some sort of visitation.”
Lucas. Lucas had said he owned both of them. She had to make him understand. Karina fixed Emily’s blanket and rose. “Can I make her breakfast? Or should I ask Lucas’s permission?”
Henry stepped aside. “You’re welcome to any food we have.” He cleared his throat.
The fridge contained eggs, several pounds of bacon, some slimy cold cuts, a hunk of mozzarella cheese—dried, yellow, and brittle—and a pack of green-looking hot dogs. Karina pulled out eggs and bacon. “Flour?”
Henry dug in one of the cabinets, looking lost, frowned, and opened a door, revealing a huge supply room. “I think in here somewhere.”
She stepped into the room. Rows and rows of wooden shelves, filled with cans and jars, a huge spice rack, fifty-pound bags of sugar, flour, rice . . . three large freezers filled with meat. Enough food to feed these men for years. “Are you expecting a long siege?”
“You never know,” Henry said with a thin smile. “We’ve had a few.”
“You, Daniel, Lucas, me, Emily. . . is anybody else coming?”
“No. Does this mean we’re invited to the meal?”
“I’m using your food.”
Henry exhaled, picked up the plate of black bacon strips, and dumped them into the trash. “Thank God.”
Karina opened the window first, so the kitchen would air out, and set about making breakfast. Henry parked himself by the refrigerator and watched her. There was something disquieting about Henry. When she looked at him, she got an impression of length: long limbs, long frame, long face. Even though she vaguely recalled that he was slightly shorter than Lucas, he appeared taller. He seemed lean, almost thin, but that notion was deceiving—his sweatshirt sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, revealing forearms sculpted with hard muscle. He smiled often, but the curving of his lips lacked emotion. His smile was paper-thin, an automatic, knee-jerk reaction like blinking.
A Mind Bender. If what he said was true, he could kill Emily in front of her, wipe Karina’s mind clean, and she would never remember it.
Karina found Granny Smith apples in the bottom of the fridge and checked the drawers. On the third try she hit what looked like a utility drawer: knives, screwdrivers, bottle openers, and wooden spoons. She fished a medium-sized knife from the drawer, peeled the apples, cored and chopped them, and set them to fry slowly, sprinkling them with brown sugar.
“It smells divine,” Henry murmured.
“Is there cinnamon?”
“I am sure there is. It’s brown powder, right?” Henry stepped into the pantry.
“Yes.” She grabbed the knife, pulled the fabric of her jeans away from her hip, and slid the knife into her pocket. The point of the blade cut the lining and she jammed the knife all the way down to the hilt. The blade scraped against her skin. She glanced down. No blood. Karina exhaled. Cutting herself was a calculated risk—she had no other place to hide the knife. Anywhere else it would make a bulge. She pulled her T-shirt down over it.
Henry came out of the pantry. She held her breath. Maybe he could read thoughts. Maybe he would pluck the image of the knife out of her head. She had to stop thinking about it, but she couldn’t. The shape of the knife was probably glowing in her brain.
Henry shook a plastic container of cinnamon. “Found it.”
She had to say something or he would realize things were wrong. Karina willed her mouth to move. “Thank you.” She took the cinnamon and sprinkled it on the apples.
The bacon rack was missing in action, or perhaps they didn’t have one. She layered a plate with paper towels, placed the strips on top, and popped it into the microwave.
“You don’t cook often?” she asked.
“On the contrary. I cook quite frequently, out of sheer necessity. Unfortunately, most of what I produce is inedible. Daniel’s cooking is even worse than mine, if such a thing is possible. Lucas can grill quite well when pushed to it, but in the kitchen his idea of a meal involves a raw piece of meat, burned on the outside. Adrino was our cook.”
“Where is he now?”
“Dead. About nine months ago.”
She paused to look at him. “I’m sorry.”
Henry nodded. “Thank you.”
Karina resumed stirring the pancake batter. “How did he die?”
“Lucas bit him in half.”
She stopped. “Was he a member of your family?”
“He was. He was Lucas’s cousin on his mother’s side, and my stepbrother.”
Karina found the griddle and set it on the burners to heat up. She stirred the apples with a wooden spoon, then pulled the bacon out of the microwave and peeled it from the paper towels.
“I can do that,” Henry offered.
“Thank you.” She poured the pancake batter on the griddle in quick drips and watched the first pancake puff and bubble at the edges. “Why did Lucas kill him?”
“Adrino tried to murder Arthur.”
“Why?”
Henry smiled, a quick baring of teeth, meaningless and flat like a mask. “Adrino had raped a woman on base. As a punishment, Arthur had him chained for two months.”
“Chained?”
“In the courtyard. Eventually Adrino was let off the chain and everything went quite well, until he attempted to solidify Arthur’s blood during the last Christmas dinner. In retrospect, we should have expected it. His subspecies is prone to rashness.” Henry smiled again. “You will find that we’re a violent, vicious lot, Lady Karina. All of us hate Arthur, hate each other, hate who we are, what we are, why we are. This hate is so deep within us, it’s in our bones. Lucas hates stronger than most of us for his own reasons. But Lucas is also far more controlled in his rages than he lets on. He recognizes the simple truth: Arthur is the glue that holds us together. Arthur makes mistakes, and he’s brutal, but he’s also fair. Every tribe must have a leader. Without the leader there is chaos. May I just mention that your pancakes smell delicious? I don’t suppose there is any way I could steal one right now, is there?”