"Why what?" he asks, thanking the server as she places another glassin front ofhim.
"Why do it in the first place? You were royalty there."
He twirls the glass around, not willing to look at me. "When did you know you were different?"
"What do you mean different?" I can think of a million ways that I am different from others.
"Like... different," he shrugs. "Different from how the family says you're supposed to be."
"Are you really sitting here asking about my sexuality right now?" I can't believe this shit.
He nods, defeated. "I was thirteen."
"What?"
His red eyes meet mine again, the similarities in our faces more apparent the longer I look. The gray-tinged green, thecool-toned brown strands entwined with his dark blonde. More than that, I see the hollowness in his expression,one thatI can only imagine is mirrored in me.
"My best friend, Howie and I were talking about girls. You know how boys do. Admiring them, wanting them, without any of the knowledge of what it even means to want someone." He clears his throat, "And as we were talking, I realized those feelings I didn't understand, didn't know how to do anything with... I had them for Howie, too."
A sick feeling gnaws through my stomach, remembering the time when we were teenagers when Alastor disappeared for months, his family telling everyone that he was unwell.
"I tried to hide it. Knew even then that it made me an abomination,"hecontinues, "But my dad knew. Somehow. Could tell by how much time I spent with Howie, how much I talked about him. When dad talked about my future, my time hunting before taking a wife, it clawed into my heart that the person I would be with forever wasn't the person I considered my only solace in a world full of hateful sycophants."
"Alastor, I had no idea. I'm so-"
His palm raises, stopping me, "Don't."
I just nod, realizing this is something he needs to get off his chest, and I'm the only person he could possibly tell it to.
"I hated you," he finally confesses. "Spent the last 15 years hating you. Little Isla who would be useful no matter what. You could fuck anyone and everyone, and yet they still wanted you to be one of us. You had a freedom I would never have."
"That's not fair," the argument slips out. "I didn't havefreedom. I had a chain that they used to rip me back every single time I walked out. And when they got me back time and time again, you have no fucking clue what kind of punishment they doled out on me. Thecleansings I had to go through."
He nods, "I know that now. But at the time... we were just kids, Isla. And they were... the things they did to us, the things they're still doing to other people just like us. It has to stop." His voice cracks on the final word of his rant. "I have spent the last 15 years just trying to survive. Doing anything I had to in order to just live another day. And then... something inside me snapped. And I didn't want to survive anymore if it meant the world keeps spinning as it always has. Either the Sanctum stops existing, or I do."
"You can't possibly think you can take them down alone," I wish he could, honestly. But that's impossible, and we both know it.
"Oh, of course not," he scoffs. "But I took the one thing that can make them powerless. Then in a decade or so, once their weapons stop working, your giant demon friend can take his people in and take them out."
"And if they get to you before their power runs out?" I ask.
With a shrug, he signals to the waitress again, "Then they'll kill me."
"And the book?"
Another manic, defeated laugh leaves his throat, "It's safe."
"Safe where?" If he hid it, there's no chance they won't find it eventually.
Mischief lights up his face, the sneaky little shit. "You have it. Wherever you and all your stuff disappeared to before auntie interfered."
My mind spins, thinking about all the unpacked boxes gathering dust back at the compound in Alaska.My chest caves in, panic and hope warring in my body at the prospect of it being hiddenawaysomewhere that no one in thewhole world evenknows exists.
He cackles, taking the drink from our server before she can even set it down, "See? Even with all their tech, they had nofucking clue where you went. So I knew— Iknewyou would be the safest person to hold onto it.And," his words start to slur. "When they do find me, they won't even be able to torture its location out of me. I stuffed it nice and snug between all your sex books and collectors edition classics."
I know the exact box he's talking about. Eamon unpacked it last week, putting every tome on the bookshelf in the living room. Well, apparently not every one.
"I've had it this whole time?" I practically shout before he grabs my arm.
