“Yes,” he says quietly. “I’m beginning to believe that.”
We’re both silent then, but I can’t stop staring at him, my mind suddenly overrun with unanswerable questions.
Another twenty seconds of this and he finally breaks the silence.
“All right, what is it?” His voice is dry. Self-mocking. “What is it you’redyingto know?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say. “I was just wondering— Why didn’t you try? To be a baker?”
Anderson shrugs, spins the glass around in his hands. “When I got a bit older, my mother used to force bleach down my throat. Ammonia. Whatever she could find under the sink. It was never enough to kill me,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Just enough to torture me for all of eternity.” He throws back the rest of the drink. “You might say that I lost my appetite.”
I can’t mask my horror quickly enough. Anderson laughs at me, laughs at the look on my face.
“She never even had a good reason for doing it,” he says, turning away. “She just hated me.”
“Sir,” I say, “Sir, I—”
Max barges into the room. I flinch.
“What the hell did you do?”
“There are so many possible answers to that question,” Anderson says, glancing back. “Please be more specific. By the way, what did you do with her clothes?”
“I’m talking about Kent,” Max says angrily. “What did you do?”
Anderson looks suddenly uncertain. He glances from Max to me then back again. “Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere.”
But Max looks beyond reason. His eyes are so wild I can’t tell if he’s angry or terrified. “Please tell me the tapes were tampered with. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t perform the procedure on yourself.”
Anderson looks at once relieved and irritated. “Calm yourself,” he says. “I watched Evie do this kind of thing countless times—and the last time, on me. The boy had already been drained. The vial was ready, just sitting there on the counter, and you were so busy with”—he glances at me—“anyway, I had a while to wait, and I figured I’d make myself useful while I stood around.”
“I can’t believe— Of course you don’t see the problem,” Max says, grabbing a fistful of his own hair. He’s shaking his head. “You never see the problem.”
“That seems an unfair accusation.”
“Paris, there’s a reason why most Unnaturals only have one ability.” He’s beginning to pace now. “The occurrence of two supernatural gifts in the same person is exceedingly rare.”
“What about Ibrahim’s girl?” he says. “Wasn’t that your work? Evie’s?”
“No,” Max says forcefully. “That was a random, natural error. We were just as surprised by the discovery as anyone else.”
Anderson goes suddenly solid with tension. “What, exactly, is the problem?”
“It’s not—”
A sudden blare of sirens and the words die in Max’s throat. “Not again,” he whispers. “God, not again.”
Anderson spares me a single glance before he disappears into his room, and this time, he reappears fully assembled. Not a hair out of place. He checks the cartridge of a handgun before he tucks it away, in a hidden holster.
“Juliette,” he says sharply.
“Yes, sir?”
“I am ordering you to remain here. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, you are not to leave this room. You are to do nothing unless I command you otherwise. Do you understand? “
“Yes, sir.”
“Max, get her something to wear,” Anderson barks. “And then keep her hidden. Guard her with your life.”
