and his gang of merry monsters, but he couldn’t bring
himself to leave without saying good-bye to Bran. Then, if Boaz
could get his money back as Santos promised, Adin could turn
his back and walk away.
Vigil 49
Maybe.
He dressed quickly and entered Bran’s room and found him
face down on the bed. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the
many times after his parents died, when he and Deana had been
forced to deal with the grief of a sudden shocking loss and he’d
found Deana exactly like this. It felt like a familiar thing, sitting
on the side of the bed and placing a comforting hand on 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 what you do know. Maybe I’ll be able to
understand.”
“Everyone’s memories are available to me except mine.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I can 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. Some things from my childhood. A few.”
“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 pass. It’s as if I’ve
been nowhere, done nothing. Like one minute I wasn’t here and
then I was.”
“That must be odd.” Adin considered it. “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?”
50 Z.A. Maxfield
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 hard wood 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, not chained up in dank basements urinating in bins and
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.
Vigil 51
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Boaz. If you
himself to leave without saying good-bye to Bran. Then, if Boaz
could get his money back as Santos promised, Adin could turn
his back and walk away.
Vigil 49
Maybe.
He dressed quickly and entered Bran’s room and found him
face down on the bed. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the
many times after his parents died, when he and Deana had been
forced to deal with the grief of a sudden shocking loss and he’d
found Deana exactly like this. It felt like a familiar thing, sitting
on the side of the bed and placing a comforting hand on 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 what you do know. Maybe I’ll be able to
understand.”
“Everyone’s memories are available to me except mine.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I can 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. Some things from my childhood. A few.”
“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 pass. It’s as if I’ve
been nowhere, done nothing. Like one minute I wasn’t here and
then I was.”
“That must be odd.” Adin considered it. “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?”
50 Z.A. Maxfield
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 hard wood 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, not chained up in dank basements urinating in bins and
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.
Vigil 51
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Boaz. If you
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