A World of New
Page 47
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Atticus nodded. “He suffered the misfortune of stumbling across a vampire last year near the city’s outskirts… The bastard got it into his head to turn my son, though I managed to stake him while he’d been injecting his venom. At least it was just a vampire, and not a Bloodless,” he added darkly. “As for your other question, I don’t know why IBSI accepted him. As I said, I only found out less than twenty-four hours ago that my son is in mortal danger. The IBSI hasn’t disclosed details to me.” He swallowed hard, desperation in his gaze as he looked from one of us to the other. “Now p-please. Return my son to me.”
His words hung in the air as a chill silence engulfed us. I locked eyes with Shayla. Her expression was shrouded with doubt. “First, we must test whether or not you are an imposter,” she said. Not waiting for Atticus’ agreement, she moved over to him and gripped his shoulders. In the face of the magic she was performing on him, if Atticus was indeed an imposter, disguised as Mr. Conway by some form of trickery, he would be forced to reveal his true form. He didn’t change. He remained standing, the same blond-haired, ashen-faced man.
As my gut clenched, I realized that a part of me had been hoping that he was a fraud. A hunter in disguise—perhaps the same one who had shouted down that fateful warning about Lawrence. I didn’t want to believe that this was true. I didn’t want to believe that we were about to willingly hand Lawrence back over to those people. Those monsters.
I still struggled to believe that Lawrence had been a volunteer, in spite of the conviction in his father’s eyes. I recalled the fear in Lawrence’s expression—how he had practically begged me to not return him to the IBSI—when they had come to bomb our island and demand that we hand him over. I never would have gotten the impression in a million years that he had willingly handed himself over to them, no matter how faded his memory was.
No, Lawrence’s wish had been for us to keep him. His wish had been to risk dying rather than be returned to the hunters.
My throat dried out.
As I sensed that one of the adults was on the verge of answering—probably my grandfather, suggesting that Corrine or Shayla fetch Lawrence—I looked Atticus straight in the eye and said, “Your son did not want to be returned to the IBSI. It was practically his last wish that we keep him here, even if he risked his life by staying.”
Atticus stared at me, disbelieving. “I can’t imagine him saying that.”
“He did,” I replied. “I can assure you, I would never lie about something like this.”
He frowned, looking disturbed. “Then… Then he must have been delirious, or something.”
“He wasn’t deliri—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Atticus knelt and was begging now, his voice ragged with desperation and grief. “Whatever my son may have said, I don’t care! He is my son! I c-cannot let him die!”
I swallowed hard, glancing once again at Shayla. She was still looking torn, but I was sure that we both knew that there wasn’t an option here anymore.
And as much as the idea of handing Lawrence back to those aberrations of humanity made me sick to my stomach, I realized… I wanted what Atticus wanted, even if it was against Lawrence’s wishes. I wanted him to be cured, no matter what the price.
Shayla drew in a long, slow breath. She looked to Corrine, my grandparents and then back to Lawrence’s father.
“All right,” she said heavily. “We will bring your son.”
If I had ever thought about Lawrence and I parting, it would never have been like this. Shayla scooped him up from the hospital bed and planted him in his wheelchair while he was still unconscious. I gazed down at his sweaty, pallid face, barely even having a chance to kiss his cheek before the witch vanished us back to Atticus.
And then Lawrence was lowered into the boat, before being hidden from my view completely in the front compartment.
It felt like it was all happening in slow motion. Almost like I was watching the events rather than participating in them.
Shayla asked whether she ought to transport them back to Chicago to hasten the journey, but Atticus refused, saying that an IBSI helicopter was waiting nearby for him to return. They had decided not to come any closer after their previous fracas with The Shade, and just sent him instead.
Then Atticus locked himself out of view, too. The vessel began to move. It quickly ramped up its pace, speeding away and leaving behind trails of white foam in the water.
My eyes were wide, barely blinking as I stared. I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling in that moment. I guessed I felt… numb. Caught in time.
Shayla returned us to the jetty and I stood at its end, staring at what had now become a white dot in the distance.
And I remained standing, long after it had disappeared.
Victoria
I was sitting with Ruby in the dining room of my family’s treehouse, helping her with her math homework while getting on with my own studies in between.
Since my visit to Saira, I had been doing everything I could to distract myself from watching the hours go by. My mother had promised that they would do all within their power to find Bastien. Now I just had to wait for their return to see if they had been successful.
When the elevator doors slid open outside our front door several hours later that day, my chest swelled in anticipation. I shot up from my chair and rushed to the door to see my parents approaching on the veranda. They looked dirty, sweaty, and battle-worn, but otherwise okay.
His words hung in the air as a chill silence engulfed us. I locked eyes with Shayla. Her expression was shrouded with doubt. “First, we must test whether or not you are an imposter,” she said. Not waiting for Atticus’ agreement, she moved over to him and gripped his shoulders. In the face of the magic she was performing on him, if Atticus was indeed an imposter, disguised as Mr. Conway by some form of trickery, he would be forced to reveal his true form. He didn’t change. He remained standing, the same blond-haired, ashen-faced man.
As my gut clenched, I realized that a part of me had been hoping that he was a fraud. A hunter in disguise—perhaps the same one who had shouted down that fateful warning about Lawrence. I didn’t want to believe that this was true. I didn’t want to believe that we were about to willingly hand Lawrence back over to those people. Those monsters.
I still struggled to believe that Lawrence had been a volunteer, in spite of the conviction in his father’s eyes. I recalled the fear in Lawrence’s expression—how he had practically begged me to not return him to the IBSI—when they had come to bomb our island and demand that we hand him over. I never would have gotten the impression in a million years that he had willingly handed himself over to them, no matter how faded his memory was.
No, Lawrence’s wish had been for us to keep him. His wish had been to risk dying rather than be returned to the hunters.
My throat dried out.
As I sensed that one of the adults was on the verge of answering—probably my grandfather, suggesting that Corrine or Shayla fetch Lawrence—I looked Atticus straight in the eye and said, “Your son did not want to be returned to the IBSI. It was practically his last wish that we keep him here, even if he risked his life by staying.”
Atticus stared at me, disbelieving. “I can’t imagine him saying that.”
“He did,” I replied. “I can assure you, I would never lie about something like this.”
He frowned, looking disturbed. “Then… Then he must have been delirious, or something.”
“He wasn’t deliri—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Atticus knelt and was begging now, his voice ragged with desperation and grief. “Whatever my son may have said, I don’t care! He is my son! I c-cannot let him die!”
I swallowed hard, glancing once again at Shayla. She was still looking torn, but I was sure that we both knew that there wasn’t an option here anymore.
And as much as the idea of handing Lawrence back to those aberrations of humanity made me sick to my stomach, I realized… I wanted what Atticus wanted, even if it was against Lawrence’s wishes. I wanted him to be cured, no matter what the price.
Shayla drew in a long, slow breath. She looked to Corrine, my grandparents and then back to Lawrence’s father.
“All right,” she said heavily. “We will bring your son.”
If I had ever thought about Lawrence and I parting, it would never have been like this. Shayla scooped him up from the hospital bed and planted him in his wheelchair while he was still unconscious. I gazed down at his sweaty, pallid face, barely even having a chance to kiss his cheek before the witch vanished us back to Atticus.
And then Lawrence was lowered into the boat, before being hidden from my view completely in the front compartment.
It felt like it was all happening in slow motion. Almost like I was watching the events rather than participating in them.
Shayla asked whether she ought to transport them back to Chicago to hasten the journey, but Atticus refused, saying that an IBSI helicopter was waiting nearby for him to return. They had decided not to come any closer after their previous fracas with The Shade, and just sent him instead.
Then Atticus locked himself out of view, too. The vessel began to move. It quickly ramped up its pace, speeding away and leaving behind trails of white foam in the water.
My eyes were wide, barely blinking as I stared. I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling in that moment. I guessed I felt… numb. Caught in time.
Shayla returned us to the jetty and I stood at its end, staring at what had now become a white dot in the distance.
And I remained standing, long after it had disappeared.
Victoria
I was sitting with Ruby in the dining room of my family’s treehouse, helping her with her math homework while getting on with my own studies in between.
Since my visit to Saira, I had been doing everything I could to distract myself from watching the hours go by. My mother had promised that they would do all within their power to find Bastien. Now I just had to wait for their return to see if they had been successful.
When the elevator doors slid open outside our front door several hours later that day, my chest swelled in anticipation. I shot up from my chair and rushed to the door to see my parents approaching on the veranda. They looked dirty, sweaty, and battle-worn, but otherwise okay.
