Wayward Son - Rainbow Rowell Page 0,50
the only one of the three of us with any tact. “We’re on holiday,” I say. “We are tourists.”
“What about this friend?” Margaret demands.
“We were coming to see her—”
Bunce interrupts me: “We wanted to check on her, we were worried about her—and then she left a message for us yesterday saying she was with the NowNext. They’re going to extract her. You have to tell us—”
Snow has his chin thrust out. “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, willing them both to shut up. “You don’t have to tell us anything. We’ll go. We won’t come back.”
“You are the Next Blood,” she says to me, matter-of-factly.
“No. My blood is ancient. I’m from a very old family.”
She isn’t listening. “You. Are the hybrid.”
The Normal leans forward. I hate the way he looks at me, like I’m a safe he’s going to crack. “The NowNext,” he says, “some people call them the Next Blood—they’re trying to teach vampires to Speak.…”
“They’re doing what?” I’m flabbergasted.
“That’s an abomination!” Bunce says.
“Yes,” Margaret says, pointing at me. “You are an abomination!”
“I’m not—that,” I say. “I’m a mage! I was bitten by a vampire as a baby!”
“Aha!” Shepard says, snapping his fingers like he’s just solved a riddle.
“No.” The woman looks repulsed by the idea. “Would have cast you out, would have fed you to dragons. This is mage law.”
“Yes, well, my mother was killed. The vampires killed her. There was no one strong enough to cast me out.”
“Not too late,” the woman says. “Dragons are still hungry.”
“He’s not a bad vampire,” Simon cuts in. “He doesn’t bite people. Just rats and deer and sheep—”
“Poacher!” she says.
“I’m sorry!” I plead. “I didn’t know the sheep belonged to anyone!”
“He’s sorry,” Shepard says. “I believe him.”
“Expects us to believe he is not the hybrid? When the whole world knows bloodeaters are mixing blood and magic?”
“How?” Penny asks.
The woman glares at us over the fire. “Don’t know. Nothing good. Darkness.”
“If the vampires can get magic,” Shepard says, “nothing will stop them. They’ll be the top of the food chain.”
The woman hisses.
“Look”—Bunce is uncowed, even trussed up like a hog on Solstice—“I know this looks bad. But we’re not part of that vampire business. And if our friend is caught up in it, she’s in trouble and needs our help. You have to let us go.”
The woman rolls her fingers, clacking her rings together. “What is your judgment, Shepard?”
“I believe them,” he says.
“Soft,” she says. “Believe everyone.”
“I spent two days with them, and the only things they harmed were those vampires.”
“And my ram.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I say again.
She waves one hand. “Let them go, bloodeater and mage. The kitten stays with me.”
“What?” everyone but her says.
“Does she mean me?” Simon asks. “I’m not a kitten!”
She sighs. “Fool kitten. Lost hatchling.”
The Normal is looking at Simon, as if Simon has replaced me as the best riddle. “No.…”
The woman walks over to Simon, to get a closer look at him. “Orphan. Must be. Flying with mages and bloodeaters—the shame of it.”
“I’m not an orphan!” Simon objects. “I mean, I am. But I didn’t hatch from anything.”
“I thought he was a demon,” Shepard marvels.
“Pfffff.” The woman is circling Simon. “Red wings. Sharp tail. From the north like me. Precious hatchling. Lost.”
“No, no, NOOO,” Simon says, realizing what she means.
“Croowww-ley,” I swear.
Penny goes for: “Fuck. Me.”
“I’m not a DRAGON!” Simon shouts.
“Not yet.” She pets his wing. “Are kitten. Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”
“He’s not a dragon!” I say. “Those wings were spelled on.”
“This one is not a dragon, and that one is not a vampire. Am blind, am I? Am foolish?” She’s snarling at me again.
“No,” I say. “It’s not you. It’s us. We’re very confusing.”
“I’m just a Normal with wings!” Simon insists.
“Dragon wings.” She nods. “Great Red.”
“Look closer,” he begs.
“Smell him!” Bunce says. “Does he smell like a dragon?”
The woman frowns at Bunce. Then she reaches for the ropes around Simon’s chest and pulls him to his feet. She leans in to his neck to smell him. He raises his chin. She walks behind him and presses her face into his tied-up wings.
“Smells like dragon … but also smells like iron. Another abomination!”
“It was just a spell,” Penny says.
“Whose magic?” Margaret yanks at the ropes, heaving Simon back.
“M-mine,” he stammers. “I was a magician. I cast the spell.”
“Why!”
“I wanted wings,” he says. “I wanted to fly.”
“Why tail?”
“I wanted to be free!”
She steps away from Simon, and he falls back to the ground. She watches him try to sit up. “Yessss. Am free,” she says