Bran’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.” Adin smoothed the fabric of Bran’s T-shirt over his shoulder blade. “I wasn’t really thinking. I’m sorry if what I said—”
“It’s all right,” Bran sniffed.
“Tell me about the things you know about yourself. Maybe I’ll be able to understand.”
“I see your memories. I can see everyone’s memories. They’re all available to me, except mine.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“I remember my name, what I did yesterday, last week. Where I’ve lived recently and what I spend my time doing, most of the time. I remember some things from my childhood. A few things.”
“But the distant past?”
Bran looked as though he were concentrating. “Nothing.”
“You remember back how far?”
“It’s not like that. It’s not like a line I can’t cross. It’s as if I’vebeen nowhere, done nothing. Like one minute I wasn’t here and then I was.”
“That must be odd.” Adin considered what Bran said. “It must be horrible.”
Bran shrugged with a clink of his chains. “When I figured out that I could share other people’s memories and dreams, it seemed strange to me that I didn’t have my own.”
“Try to think, Bran. What can you do, what have you done recently, that someone might want you to do for them? It has to be something virtually impossible… What is it that sets you apart?”
Bran stayed mutinously silent for several minutes. Adin waited him out. Finally Bran’s stomach growled.
“I’m hungry.”
Adin sighed, giving up for the moment. “Well, if that’s actual hunger and not—you know—the reason people are trying to buy and sell you, go to Boaz and get something to eat, and I’ll be down in a minute, all right?”
Bran nodded and got up, heading for the bedroom door.
Adin watched him as he took off, heard his chains rattle and his feet thunder on the hardwood floors. Whatever Bran was, he should never have been made a pawn by Harwiche, nor should he be used in some game between Santos and Donte. He should be free to go to school, to run around with his friends on the soccer pitch. He should not be chained up in dank basements or urinating in bins or eating off the floor like a dog. Adin burned with fury at himself that he’d allowed it to continue after their so-called rescue, even though he and Boaz had done better by Bran than his previous captors. Making up his mind, he followed Bran toward the smell of food.
Listening to Boaz and Bran chatter at the breakfast table, Adin thought they seemed like any normal, dysfunctional family. Bran helped himself to food liberally, as though he really were the teenaged boy he appeared to be, and Boaz kept it coming—perfectly shirred eggs, the kind of thick ham called bacon in England, along with sausages and the ubiquitous piping-hot bread, with fresh butter and jam. In all it was a very English breakfast—thankfully missing a black pudding—for a French household, and Adin wondered if Boaz made it especially for him. For some reason that warmed his heart a little.
“Boaz, Santos said you have a way to get my money back. I don’t suppose it’s legal, but then neither is selling adolescent boys, so you won’t be hearing a word about it from me.”
“He mentioned that. I’ll see to it.”
“And that only leaves you.” Adin turned to Bran. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Boaz. If you don’t know what Bran is, how can you know he has to be kept chained?”
“Santos told me that it would be unwise to remove his chains until we know why Harwiche wants him. He said specifically—”
Adin waved his explanation off. “I would prefer it if you didn’t treat me like an idiot. Santos wants to embroil me in another game of triangles with Donte.”
Boaz had the grace to look guilty. “You have to admit it has worked in the past.”
Adin finished his coffee and rose to his feet. He pulled all the cash from his wallet and dropped it on the table by Bran’s plate.
“I’m so sorry.” Adin smoothed the fabric of Bran’s T-shirt over his shoulder blade. “I wasn’t really thinking. I’m sorry if what I said—”
“It’s all right,” Bran sniffed.
“Tell me about the things you know about yourself. Maybe I’ll be able to understand.”
“I see your memories. I can see everyone’s memories. They’re all available to me, except mine.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“I remember my name, what I did yesterday, last week. Where I’ve lived recently and what I spend my time doing, most of the time. I remember some things from my childhood. A few things.”
“But the distant past?”
Bran looked as though he were concentrating. “Nothing.”
“You remember back how far?”
“It’s not like that. It’s not like a line I can’t cross. It’s as if I’vebeen nowhere, done nothing. Like one minute I wasn’t here and then I was.”
“That must be odd.” Adin considered what Bran said. “It must be horrible.”
Bran shrugged with a clink of his chains. “When I figured out that I could share other people’s memories and dreams, it seemed strange to me that I didn’t have my own.”
“Try to think, Bran. What can you do, what have you done recently, that someone might want you to do for them? It has to be something virtually impossible… What is it that sets you apart?”
Bran stayed mutinously silent for several minutes. Adin waited him out. Finally Bran’s stomach growled.
“I’m hungry.”
Adin sighed, giving up for the moment. “Well, if that’s actual hunger and not—you know—the reason people are trying to buy and sell you, go to Boaz and get something to eat, and I’ll be down in a minute, all right?”
Bran nodded and got up, heading for the bedroom door.
Adin watched him as he took off, heard his chains rattle and his feet thunder on the hardwood floors. Whatever Bran was, he should never have been made a pawn by Harwiche, nor should he be used in some game between Santos and Donte. He should be free to go to school, to run around with his friends on the soccer pitch. He should not be chained up in dank basements or urinating in bins or eating off the floor like a dog. Adin burned with fury at himself that he’d allowed it to continue after their so-called rescue, even though he and Boaz had done better by Bran than his previous captors. Making up his mind, he followed Bran toward the smell of food.
Listening to Boaz and Bran chatter at the breakfast table, Adin thought they seemed like any normal, dysfunctional family. Bran helped himself to food liberally, as though he really were the teenaged boy he appeared to be, and Boaz kept it coming—perfectly shirred eggs, the kind of thick ham called bacon in England, along with sausages and the ubiquitous piping-hot bread, with fresh butter and jam. In all it was a very English breakfast—thankfully missing a black pudding—for a French household, and Adin wondered if Boaz made it especially for him. For some reason that warmed his heart a little.
“Boaz, Santos said you have a way to get my money back. I don’t suppose it’s legal, but then neither is selling adolescent boys, so you won’t be hearing a word about it from me.”
“He mentioned that. I’ll see to it.”
“And that only leaves you.” Adin turned to Bran. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Boaz. If you don’t know what Bran is, how can you know he has to be kept chained?”
“Santos told me that it would be unwise to remove his chains until we know why Harwiche wants him. He said specifically—”
Adin waved his explanation off. “I would prefer it if you didn’t treat me like an idiot. Santos wants to embroil me in another game of triangles with Donte.”
Boaz had the grace to look guilty. “You have to admit it has worked in the past.”
Adin finished his coffee and rose to his feet. He pulled all the cash from his wallet and dropped it on the table by Bran’s plate.
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