He clears his throat. "So did you know him before you went looking for him?"
"Just his name and what he looked like from some pictures."
I stare at the floor.
"My mom, she was an escort. Had a hard life. Did what she had to do, you know."
I risk a glance at Callum. He doesn't flinch or judge. Just listens.
"One day she met a man who promised her the world, and so being young and naive, she went along with it."
"Cormac, I take it," Callum says.
"Yes." I wrap my arms around myself again. "Before the Order was what it is now, Cormac's original idea was to have children with as many women as possible."
Callum scoffs. "Cult 101."
"Yeah." I sigh. "So my mom learned quickly that she, and other women, would be the ones working, raising the kids, and supporting whatever cause he was after. She didn't want to do that anymore, so she fled with me to a small town in Idaho, where we lived until I came back looking for him."
"Did he chase her?" Callum asks.
"I don't know," I shrug. "We lived there until she died. Then I took a Greyhound bus by myself to find him. Stupid, really."
I'm not sure why I'm telling him this, except that he asked and no one has ever asked before.
"Why?" Callum asks. "If he had all this money to start Shadowharbor, why use women?"
I let out a breath that's almost a laugh.
"Question of the year."
I brush the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
"He keeps it all separate. He lives lavish, but the Order doesn't have a right to the money, per the Morrígan. We have to source it to be pure."
When I say it aloud, the absurdity hits me and I start to really laugh a little.
Callum raises an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"
"Well, it sounds so absurd now when I say it out loud, but from the time I was thirteen until about eight months ago, I believed it."
"Why?" he asks.
I shrug and meet his eyes. "When I found him, he cried. Literally got down on his knees and thanked the Morrígan for bringing me back to him. He told me I was special. Chosen. I was treated like royalty. And at thirteen, who doesn't love being important?"
Callum nods slowly.
"Then, as I got older, I realized I wasn't treated like a person. Not really. I was groomed psychologically, forced to learn rituals, history about you and your family, fake prophecies, and then..."
I stop.
My hand moves to my side, fingers pressing against the fabric where the scars are hidden beneath.
"I started being the ritual."
Callum's eyes follow the movement of my hand.
"Why didn't you just leave?" he asks.
