I press on, trying to settle the voice niggling inside my brain. “What kind of gifts are we talking about? Ambidexterity? Theability to roll your tongue? Holding your breath for longer than three minutes?”
“Those things are not gifts. This is not a talent show, angel. Gifts are something extraordinary that are bestowed upon someone for a purpose.” His eyes narrow, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Well, now you do sound like a bunch of tattooed antiheroes who have special powers.” I sit back in my chair and try not to roll my eyes. “Next you’ll be telling me you wear masks and capes and find the nearest phone box when there’s a crisis.”
Ignoring my joke, Valdemar says, “You surprise me, angel. I thought you of all people would understand what I’m talking about.” He clasps his hands together, interlocking his fingers.
A draft of cold air rushes over the back of my neck.
Trying to rein the conversation back in, I sit up.
“You’re a Raven Hand. You must have a gift. So, what is it?”
“That, my angel, would be telling.”
This time, there’s no holding back the roll of my eyes. But I’m rattled now. As if this guy isn’t dangerous enough. What can he do? What power does he possess?
I try a different approach. “So, how did you know you were a Raven Hand?”
“Deep down, I’ve always known. It’s not like a revelation, a Before and After. You grow up knowing you’re different, that you don’t fit in.”
His words are like a cold shower, the water running over my skin and giving me goose bumps.
“And then what? You get a calling?” There’s a mocking to my voice, but I can’t help it. This is like something from a movie.
“Fate has a lot to do with it. Being in the right place at the right time.”
“And what about my brother? You can’t tell me he was in the right place at the right time.” Tears choke me, anger stifling my nerves. How can he sit there and be so calm?
“No one can predict the actions of others; we are at their mercy.” His voice is as cold as his stare, and it does nothing to abate the goose bumps that are still erupting on my arms.
“What aboutyouractions? How do you sleep at night?” I ask.
Valdemar stares at me, and I wrap my arms around myself, the bite of his glare enough to stoke the chill I’m feeling.
“Who said I do?”
“You deserve to rot in hell for what you’ve done,” I spit.
“I don’t dispute that.”
“So, what’s your purpose here? You think you’re going to tell me what happened to my brother, and I might see a different side to things, that maybe you’re not the monster everyone thinks you are and you deserve forgiveness? Are you trying to redeem yourself in my eyes? Because I can tell you now, that will never happen. I will never see you as anything other than a murderer, and if your story were to ever be written, it would portray you as what you are—a monster.” The chill in my body has gone now, thawed out by the mounting rage that heats my skin.
“I’m not here to change your opinion of me.”
“Then whyamI here?” I clench my fists under the table, feel the nip of my nails as they dig into my palms.
“You tell me,” he asks, leaning in slightly.
He’s in my head again. How does he do it? Is this his gift?
WhyamI here? Ed. That’s why I’m here. Because my brother is here, and even though I can’t see him now, I can feel him as if he’s lurking in the shadows. I haven’t felt his presence these past ten years, yet here, I can.
“I’m here for my brother,” I tell him.
“You and me both.” He delivers this with such authenticity that I can’t help but believe him, yet hisanswer puzzles me. But I don’t have time to ponder it, as the prison guard shouts unnecessarily loudly that our time is up.
The visitors look blearily around the room as if they’re relieved it’s over, yet I find myself annoyed at the time having gone so quickly.
