with him, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to make it weirder than it had to be. Bran remained silent, and when Adin looked up Bran’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “What?”
“Beautiful family,” Bran said in perfect Urdu. “Much love.” Adin’s breath caught.
“What are you?”
Bran smiled faintly. “Yes. Exactly .”
Chapter Five
Adin fell into bed and slept. If it was uneventful for most of the night, dream-wise, it more than made up for that in the seconds before he woke, when hundreds of images, mostly faces, flickered like paparazzi flashbulbs going off in his head, pop , pop , pop .
It was as if everyone he’d ever known, every person he’d ever seen, was displayed before him in a lightning round, PowerPoint presentation of old love and painful loss, of things that were frightening, and people best forgotten.
“Stop,” Adin ground out when he realized he had no control over what he was seeing. Adin heard a noise near him that might have been a sigh, or might have been a smothered laugh.
He threw the sheet off his body and swung his feet over the side of his bed. Silk sleep pants clung damply to his sweaty legs. Instead of standing, he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Bran, who lay curled on the floor around a pillow like a cat.
Adin watched the boy for a minute and realized he was pretending to be asleep.
“I can see you’re awake.” Adin drew his feet back up into the bed, as if the boy was going to chew off a toe or something. “There’s no point in pretending. And stop rummaging around in my head, Bran.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the best bits yet.” With a heavy metal scraping noise Bran unfurled himself and sat up. “To look at you a bloke would think that you’ve never had a moment of anxiety in your life, that it was all pricey and painless—”
“I don’t appreciate you fooling around with my memories.” Adin leaned back against the well-crafted mahogany headboard. When Bran would have joined him on the bed Adin pushed him back. “Get a chair.”
Bran tugged one of the leather chairs to the spot where he’d been sleeping next to the bed and sat in it. He slid back and lifted his legs to rest his feet next to Adin’s. His eyebrow rose in defiance, daring Adin to complain.
“Is that why Harwiche wants you? Because you can get inside of people’s minds?” Adin asked.
“I don’t know why Harwiche wants me.”
Adin frowned in disbelief.
“ No . It’s true! I don’t know why he wants me. I don’t know what anyone would want with me.”
“That’s probably true,” Boaz spoke from the doorway. He entered the room holding a tray of coffee, carefully setting it down between Adin and Bran and then climbing onto the bed. “He doesn’t know.”
“Make yourself at home,” Adin grumbled.
“I am home.” Boaz smiled. He handed Adin a cup of coffee then offered one to Bran, who shook his head. “Bran was probably kidnapped for something random. Perhaps someone saw you do something unusual and they put two and two together, yes?”
“For the love of heaven, Boaz. Just tell me what he is.”
“That’s part of the problem. If I’m not mistaken, Bran isn’t any one thing.” To Bran directly, he said, “Am I right?”
Bran stayed silent.
“Look.” Boaz turned back to Adin. “You have to trust me when I say if I knew more, I would tell you.”
“Like you’ve always done in the past,” Adin replied sourly.
“Here’s the thing.” Boaz frowned. “Every culture in the world has a variation on the theme of the changeling.”
“He’s a changeling ?” Adin chuckled. “A fairy baby switched at birth with a human?”
“Yes, and no. You’re so disrespectful, and it ill becomes a man of intelligence. Put aside Disney for right now. A changeling child is believed—in most cultures—to be a magical being that is switched with a human child at birth.
“Beautiful family,” Bran said in perfect Urdu. “Much love.” Adin’s breath caught.
“What are you?”
Bran smiled faintly. “Yes. Exactly .”
Chapter Five
Adin fell into bed and slept. If it was uneventful for most of the night, dream-wise, it more than made up for that in the seconds before he woke, when hundreds of images, mostly faces, flickered like paparazzi flashbulbs going off in his head, pop , pop , pop .
It was as if everyone he’d ever known, every person he’d ever seen, was displayed before him in a lightning round, PowerPoint presentation of old love and painful loss, of things that were frightening, and people best forgotten.
“Stop,” Adin ground out when he realized he had no control over what he was seeing. Adin heard a noise near him that might have been a sigh, or might have been a smothered laugh.
He threw the sheet off his body and swung his feet over the side of his bed. Silk sleep pants clung damply to his sweaty legs. Instead of standing, he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Bran, who lay curled on the floor around a pillow like a cat.
Adin watched the boy for a minute and realized he was pretending to be asleep.
“I can see you’re awake.” Adin drew his feet back up into the bed, as if the boy was going to chew off a toe or something. “There’s no point in pretending. And stop rummaging around in my head, Bran.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the best bits yet.” With a heavy metal scraping noise Bran unfurled himself and sat up. “To look at you a bloke would think that you’ve never had a moment of anxiety in your life, that it was all pricey and painless—”
“I don’t appreciate you fooling around with my memories.” Adin leaned back against the well-crafted mahogany headboard. When Bran would have joined him on the bed Adin pushed him back. “Get a chair.”
Bran tugged one of the leather chairs to the spot where he’d been sleeping next to the bed and sat in it. He slid back and lifted his legs to rest his feet next to Adin’s. His eyebrow rose in defiance, daring Adin to complain.
“Is that why Harwiche wants you? Because you can get inside of people’s minds?” Adin asked.
“I don’t know why Harwiche wants me.”
Adin frowned in disbelief.
“ No . It’s true! I don’t know why he wants me. I don’t know what anyone would want with me.”
“That’s probably true,” Boaz spoke from the doorway. He entered the room holding a tray of coffee, carefully setting it down between Adin and Bran and then climbing onto the bed. “He doesn’t know.”
“Make yourself at home,” Adin grumbled.
“I am home.” Boaz smiled. He handed Adin a cup of coffee then offered one to Bran, who shook his head. “Bran was probably kidnapped for something random. Perhaps someone saw you do something unusual and they put two and two together, yes?”
“For the love of heaven, Boaz. Just tell me what he is.”
“That’s part of the problem. If I’m not mistaken, Bran isn’t any one thing.” To Bran directly, he said, “Am I right?”
Bran stayed silent.
“Look.” Boaz turned back to Adin. “You have to trust me when I say if I knew more, I would tell you.”
“Like you’ve always done in the past,” Adin replied sourly.
“Here’s the thing.” Boaz frowned. “Every culture in the world has a variation on the theme of the changeling.”
“He’s a changeling ?” Adin chuckled. “A fairy baby switched at birth with a human?”
“Yes, and no. You’re so disrespectful, and it ill becomes a man of intelligence. Put aside Disney for right now. A changeling child is believed—in most cultures—to be a magical being that is switched with a human child at birth.
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