edge of the bed.
“Ahead a bit?” the man asked, and he punched the button before the scene finished. It changed to show Bran being led through the side door of Farfield Tower with Joris and the men around him.
“A bit more?” the man asked, skipping to another time. The scene changed angles, watching through the window of an office, at the very second that Baslyn shoved Bran through the glass and into the rain. Seeing it happen all over again sent pain through Bran, as if he was reliving it.
“Want to see more?” the man asked. “How about Shambles closing the door? How about you and Astara running down the stairs? Or do you want to see something different, perhaps Joris and Elspeth at the van, just as the bombs go off? Or maybe you at Adi’s house, when—”
“What do you want!” Bran suddenly shouted, jumping from the bed and turning on the man, his hands in fists now, ready to fight. He had seen enough to know this man could be the most dangerous person to him in the world—even if he had no intention of killing him there.
“Are you going to show it all to the police?” Bran said, backing away. “Are you an officer? Have you been watching me all this time?”
The man said nothing. Bran was breathing fast, anger built up inside of him; how stupid he had been letting someone watch him that closely and not once even suspecting it. If one minute of that tape was to ever fall into the hands of a police officer—even someone in the Magic Investigational Police—it would be over for every person he knew.
The man stepped forward, and Bran inched back into the corner.
“No, stay away,” Bran hissed. The man narrowed his eyes and then took another step closer. Bran backed away by instinct, but the man only reached for the television and ejected the tape. He slipped it into his bag.
“Never,” the man said, “ever, ever, ever think no one is watching.”
He turned. “We are always watching.”
“I want to know who you are right now,” Bran said through clenched teeth, not afraid anymore, because he had had enough of being afraid. He came forward, but the man didn’t move, calmly zipping his bag. The man looked up.
“Are you going to Comsar me?” he asked sharply. “Why don’t you throw a bit of magic in with your words and try to make me tell you then. Magic seems to have served you and Emry quite well, hasn’t it?”
The man’s words hit Bran like a train—this stranger even speaking of his mother was an insult.
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother,” Bran said. The man seemed to shrivel under these words, drawing back slightly.
“Your mother,” he spat, and his calm voice became interjected with anger, though he tried to hide it. “Look at where she is now. Dead. Because of magic. You keep up with it and maybe you can follow in her footsteps.”
“My mother died trying to save me,” Bran said. “You know nothing of her!”
“Your mother died when the magic caught up with her,” the man shot back. “It does to all of us mages one day or another. She was just on the wrong side when the killings begin.”
He zipped another pocket on the bag. “As for my name, I’m Thomas, though most people just know me as T.”
Bran recognized it instantly. He remembered months before, when he had stolen Joris’s silver cell phone, that someone by the name of T had called, just before Shambles had first shown up at their house.
“I know what this is now,” Bran realized. “You’ve been following me ever since my mother left, and you told Joris where to go. Didn’t you?”
Thomas nodded without remorse.
“Unfortunately, I am that person,” he said. “But I’m someone worse than that, Bran. I’m also your father.”
Chapter 11
The Man Called T
The word caused Bran to shrink back, as if the man had reached forward and slapped him. But recognition struck him in that same instant. Though their eyes were different colors—Thomas’s a slate gray—and there were no deep
“Ahead a bit?” the man asked, and he punched the button before the scene finished. It changed to show Bran being led through the side door of Farfield Tower with Joris and the men around him.
“A bit more?” the man asked, skipping to another time. The scene changed angles, watching through the window of an office, at the very second that Baslyn shoved Bran through the glass and into the rain. Seeing it happen all over again sent pain through Bran, as if he was reliving it.
“Want to see more?” the man asked. “How about Shambles closing the door? How about you and Astara running down the stairs? Or do you want to see something different, perhaps Joris and Elspeth at the van, just as the bombs go off? Or maybe you at Adi’s house, when—”
“What do you want!” Bran suddenly shouted, jumping from the bed and turning on the man, his hands in fists now, ready to fight. He had seen enough to know this man could be the most dangerous person to him in the world—even if he had no intention of killing him there.
“Are you going to show it all to the police?” Bran said, backing away. “Are you an officer? Have you been watching me all this time?”
The man said nothing. Bran was breathing fast, anger built up inside of him; how stupid he had been letting someone watch him that closely and not once even suspecting it. If one minute of that tape was to ever fall into the hands of a police officer—even someone in the Magic Investigational Police—it would be over for every person he knew.
The man stepped forward, and Bran inched back into the corner.
“No, stay away,” Bran hissed. The man narrowed his eyes and then took another step closer. Bran backed away by instinct, but the man only reached for the television and ejected the tape. He slipped it into his bag.
“Never,” the man said, “ever, ever, ever think no one is watching.”
He turned. “We are always watching.”
“I want to know who you are right now,” Bran said through clenched teeth, not afraid anymore, because he had had enough of being afraid. He came forward, but the man didn’t move, calmly zipping his bag. The man looked up.
“Are you going to Comsar me?” he asked sharply. “Why don’t you throw a bit of magic in with your words and try to make me tell you then. Magic seems to have served you and Emry quite well, hasn’t it?”
The man’s words hit Bran like a train—this stranger even speaking of his mother was an insult.
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother,” Bran said. The man seemed to shrivel under these words, drawing back slightly.
“Your mother,” he spat, and his calm voice became interjected with anger, though he tried to hide it. “Look at where she is now. Dead. Because of magic. You keep up with it and maybe you can follow in her footsteps.”
“My mother died trying to save me,” Bran said. “You know nothing of her!”
“Your mother died when the magic caught up with her,” the man shot back. “It does to all of us mages one day or another. She was just on the wrong side when the killings begin.”
He zipped another pocket on the bag. “As for my name, I’m Thomas, though most people just know me as T.”
Bran recognized it instantly. He remembered months before, when he had stolen Joris’s silver cell phone, that someone by the name of T had called, just before Shambles had first shown up at their house.
“I know what this is now,” Bran realized. “You’ve been following me ever since my mother left, and you told Joris where to go. Didn’t you?”
Thomas nodded without remorse.
“Unfortunately, I am that person,” he said. “But I’m someone worse than that, Bran. I’m also your father.”
Chapter 11
The Man Called T
The word caused Bran to shrink back, as if the man had reached forward and slapped him. But recognition struck him in that same instant. Though their eyes were different colors—Thomas’s a slate gray—and there were no deep
Similar Books
