Drawing the bow hurt my shoulder, the good ache of unused muscles. I sighted the way I was first taught, down the arrow, both eyes open. Like the estate itself, the bow felt familiar and strange.
But my hands were steady.
The arrow flew straight and fast, the release sending a thrill through my body. The gorgeousthwickof metal through paper—in the eight-ring, red like blood.
“Not terrible,” my mentor said. She pulled out her old leather flask. “Care for a drink? Georgia Heartwood, neat.”
“No, thank you.” I was already reaching for my next arrow.
Within five minutes, we could both see that my aim had returned. Not like my old scores—a mix of nines and tens—but respectable, after half a year away from the bow.
“Slow down a little,” Veronica suggested. “You’ve blown the dust out. Give me one clean shot.”
I took a deep breath. With my thumb pressed against my cheek, I held the draw, watching the target flags, feeling the air.
Just before I loosed, she asked, “So Sebastian tapped you?”
“Yes,” I said, and let fly—the arrow settled in the nine-ring, shivering.
“Excellent,” she said.
I chose another arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and drew.
My mind went back to that wonderful day when we arrived at pain resistance class and the sparking lamp had been put away, replaced by a strange new machine—a polygraph.
Instead of fighting the great howl of agony inside ourselves, wefocused on the whispers of truth. Uncle Cyrus had made up his own song.
Part of you cares if what you say is true.
Learn to strangle that part of you.
For the first time ever in Cyrus’s class, I was better than Sebastian. Never a tremor on the graph. No matter what lies came from my mouth, my heart rate stayed steady, my blood pressure unchanged.
Here on the archery field, I took my time, waiting until Veronica spoke again before releasing.
“Do you know who tapped the Wolvaardt in your year?”
“No idea,” I said—the arrow drifted a little in the wind, hitting the eight-ring. “We only know the other seniors, and whoever tapped us.”
“A firebreak within each family. Sensible.” Veronica drew her own bow and sent an arrow into the bull’s-eye. “We hoped you could’ve lasted longer, gone deeper, given us more. But even three names will break the chain. One Wolvaardt, one Seth, one Lindqvist.”
“I’m not going to give you anything.”
Veronica grunted, then took a shot. Her arrow drifted right, almost into the eight-ring. She gently swore.
I nocked my next arrow.
From the day Sebastian had arrived at the estate, he’d bragged that he always knew when someone was lying. So we begged Uncle Cyrus to test his instincts against the lie detector. Sebastian proved himself—except with me. Neither he nor the machine could see through my calm.
When my bow was drawn again, Veronica asked her next question.
“Have you and Sebastian told Gertie?”
“No,” I said, letting fly.
My first bull’s-eye.
I almost shivered with relief.Learn to strangle that part of you.
