Page 51 of Heir of Ashes

“I received a call telling me I’d find you here,” he answered, leaning back on his haunches.

I extended my hand, and he helped me sit up. The world spun once, then settled. There was garbage everywhere. I didn’t check if I had been lying on something revolting. I smelled. That was answer enough.

“Who?”

“Don’t know.” He helped me get up, and I leaned on him for support.

Then I leaned back, not wanting to disgust him with my smelly state. “How about the number?”

“Blocked.” He stayed close enough to catch me if I fell, and we made our way out of the alley, passing dark doorways, more overflowing dumpsters, and avoiding suspicious puddles.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Start from the beginning, after I left you at your mother’s. Did you manage to see her at all?”

I realized the concept of my own mother delivering me to the PSS hadn’t crossed his mind. I searched for the right words to explain things to him in a straightforward way, without revealing too much, and settling for a concise, direct answer.

“She isn’t my mother,” I said, surprised to find that the truth didn’t affect me as much as I expected. The betrayal and deceit hurt, but the knowledge that my mother had never deserted me, never left me at the mercy of the Scientists, was astrange relief. Elizabeth wasn’t my mother, and her lack of love didn’t cut as deep as I thought it would. The flames of anger that had once burned brightly inside me for her desertion had now dwindled to mere embers. She had sacrificed twelve years of her life to raise me outside a research facility, giving me a chance at normalcy that I wouldn’t have had if raised by the PSS. Considering she was human and didn’t have centuries to spare, could I blame her? Or better yet, should I? Could she have done better? Would it have ruined her life if she had refused to hand me over or had smuggled me out of the country? I didn’t know.

I recounted my conversation with my mother—Elizabeth—as we walked. From the moment I left him until the moment I bit the six-legged demon and blacked out. He listened, sometimes with anger, other times with surprise, but mostly with a neutral expression. Never once, during the fifteen-minute recap, did he interrupt. I recognized our location as soon as I finished. We were a few blocks away from Arden Fair.

“Wow,” he said. His tone was flippant, but the anger I had glimpsed earlier simmered in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to fully face me, his eyes scrutinizing my face. “How do you feel about all this?”

It took me a moment to think of an honest answer. “I guess it hurts less to know that my mother never deserted me.” After a pause, I added, “And I suppose I should be grateful the PSS didn’t get custody of me sooner.”

He examined my face for a moment longer, his jaw clenched and fists tightening before he shook his head and resumed walking. I didn’t know what exactly was riling him, but I imagined the various horrors the Scientists could have subjected me to if I had been raised in the PSS. I would have never known life outside the headquarters. Never understood the joy of friendship, been part of something, or had a home.Even if Elizabeth had been pretending all these years, she had still given me a sense of security and self. Had the PSS been my guardians from birth, I would have accepted their blood tests and experiments as the norm, never questioning a life devoid of love or freedom.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, and I smelled so bad that even the homeless gave me a wide berth. A sudden thought struck me, and I stopped in my tracks, staring at Logan.

“What?” he demanded, scanning the street for danger.

“It was him.” I held up a hand to stop Logan before he could speak and let the idea crystallize, recalling the fragmented dialogue and connecting the dots before voicing my suspicion out loud. The incessant glances at his watch, the comments that made more sense now, even some of the orders given.

“It had to be him,” I murmured.

“Who?” Logan asked, giving me a puzzled look.

“I think I know who called you.” Finally, something was making sense. Logan stared at me in silence, waiting.

“The general or lieutenant—he was too calm during the whole ordeal. I think he knew what was happening. He helped me.” I nodded. His last comment made more sense now. It was clear the general/lieutenant was the one who had called Logan. He had been angry about being forced to escort me and was familiar, if not friendly, with preternaturals. He even admitted as much.

“It had to be him. Who else?” I asked when Logan said nothing.

He gave me a thoughtful look. “Maybe,” he said at last, but I suspected he was just placating me.

“What are you thinking?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “I just don’t think this man was the same person who called me. If he wanted me to help, he’d have calledbefore things got that far. Why go through all that trouble to bring you back?”

“No, no. You see, he knew about you. He even mentioned you helping me back in Vegas.”

That caught Logan’s attention. “He mentioned me by name?”

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