She tipped the flask back again, and it was empty, dribbling its last drops into her mouth. Had my old mentor always drunk this much? It was early afternoon.
“One name, Jessica,” she said.
I drew another arrow from the quiver.
If I named one of the two who’d disappeared, Grandmother would begin to trust me. This small treachery could be a first step back to Sebastian.
I nocked the arrow. Leopold? Or Kumar?
Surely Leopold had run. His wariness every time we met. His story about kidnapping a homeless man when he was thirteen—too young for that kind of work. His family had broken him, like mine had me.
“One name,” Veronica said. “Prove to yourself that it was just the pills.”
I drew and sighted, waiting for the wind to settle. My breathing slowed; my heart steadied.
Part of you cares if what you say is true.
Learn to strangle that part of you.
As the target flags drooped, I saw what to do.
“Xavier Lindqvist,” I said, and fired.
The metal point tore through paper, rags, and hay.
Another bull’s-eye.
72
Xavier was the perfect sacrifice.
His own actions confirmed his guilt: He’d helped me cover up Crystal’s death. He’d committed a murder without family approval, but also without passion, without vengeance. Pleading a Hefnd would do him no good. His only excuse was his long-standing crush on me—a confessed traitor to my own family.
Regina Lindqvist was safe.
Kumar and Leopold had fled, I was certain now. When Grandmother came to visit a few days later, she didn’t press me to name anyone else.
All she wanted was Sebastian.
“He was a precious jewel,” she said, staring at her knitting. “We educated him, clothed him, trained him. We gave him our name, our history. We saved him.”
“Maybe he didn’t need saving.”
Grandmother’s needles went still.
I paused to choose my words. “He still wonders what he could’ve become without us.”
“Probably an addict.”
His sister was becoming a doctor, but I didn’t mention that. Desiree and Gervais didn’t need Mortons hovering, ready to swoop if Sebastian came to visit.
Not that he would go near them. He was waiting for me in that small town on the far side of Albany.
I changed the subject. “What do you think you would’ve become, if the Mortons hadn’t adopted you?”
“I don’t care. Fides sine cura.”
“You’ve never wondered?”
