chapter sixty-two

I understand humans are unable to remember their first years of life. Their bodies and minds develop so much, and so quickly during that time. Perhaps that's why I remember so little of those early sessions with Nidhi Shah. I've read her case notes, but much of the person she describes is a stranger.

Only two thoughts etched themselves into my memory during that first meeting. The first was Nidhi's smile, beautiful and warm and reassuring. The second was my realization toward the end of the day that I was completely in love with her.

I learned so much from her. Nidhi said one way Frank controlled me was to make sure I never acquired the skills to be independent. Because it made her happy, I threw myself into study.

I mastered reading in three weeks. We began with children's stories, like Doctor Seuss and the Berenstain Bears. (I learned later that she had deliberately avoided giving me a copy of The Giving Tree.) Once I could make it through those, she brought me a handful of comic books.

I devoured them. Tank Girl and Wonder Woman, She-Hulk and Batman, Catwoman and Katana. I wanted to meet them. I wanted to be them. I shaped my first wooden sword from my oak tree, mimicking the exaggerated, thick-bladed weapon from Katana's appearance in an early Outsiders comic.

I was catching up on Black Widow one evening when I felt Nidhi watching me. I continued reading, enjoying her attention. I knew she was attracted to me. I could feel her fighting it every time we spoke, every time I hugged her or sat beside her on the couch. She had brought me into her home because I had no place to go. Now I couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

"You've changed your hair," she said.

I pulled my fingers through the black locks. I had done nothing. I hadn't even noticed the darkening color until a week ago. My skin had turned a deeper

brown as well, far more than it ever had before, even when I was working day in and day out beneath the sun. "Do you like it?"

She didn't answer, but instead walked over to see what I was reading. "I loved that issue."

"Me, too."

I could have seduced her as I had done with Frank Dearing, could have taken her desire and grown it like a new-budded flower. But I refrained. Whatever happened, it was important that it be her choice. I wanted her to love me on her own terms.

She sat down, not on the couch beside me, but in the rocking chair at the end of the coffee table. "You've grown so much since you lost Frank. The Porters are asking for my evaluation. I believe you're ready to live on your own."

I jumped to my feet, heart pounding. "I'm not. I can't—"

"You don't need a counselor anymore," Nidhi said. "You've adjusted to everything so easily. You're far stronger than any of us imagined."

It was the way she lowered her eyelids that did it, shielding her eyes while staring at me through her lashes. A month ago she had been a stranger, and now I could read her simply by watching those long, expressive lashes. "You're right," I said. "I don't need a counselor anymore."

I saw her swallow, saw the skin of her neck and face darken slightly. "Lena, it's normal for a patient to develop feelings for her therapist…"

"What about the therapist's feelings for her patient?" "I care about you. I hope you haven't misunderstood—"

"I haven't misunderstood anything." I smiled, trying to show her that it was okay. "I know what you want. I can feel it."

To her credit, she didn't try to lie. Her forehead crinkled. "You can sense emotions?"

"Only that emotion." I laughed, delighted to see her blush deepen. "I didn't say anything because I thought it would make you uncomfortable."

"It would be inappropriate," Nidhi said, but I could feel her resolve melting.

I leaned back in the couch, my skin tingling with the anticipation of her touch. "I certainly hope so."

She blinked once, then started to laugh. I had heard her laughter before, but never like this. Loud, joyful, and utterly unrestrained, her delight called to my own, until I was laughing with her.

She joined me on the couch and placed a hand on my thigh, and soon laughter gave way to other sounds.

A PAIR OF HARRISON'S wendigos shoved us into the back of the pickup truck. It was like being manhandled by Frosty the Snowman, only Frosty's breath probably hadn't smelled of raw hamburger, nor would his claws have drawn blood. The millipede circled my neck like a grotesque choker, the tip of the blade resting against the base of my skull.

A metal cat jumped awkwardly onto the tailgate behind us. It appeared to have been pieced together with scraps from a wrecked car. This was a cruder creation than the others I had seen. The head looked like a rotor assembly from the alternator, and the major joints were exposed wheels and belts, as if someone had simply smashed the engine into a new form. Smaller insects were crawling through its innards.

"That's disturbing." I tucked my feet in close, out of reach. "What's your name?"

The cat arched its back and made a sound like the grinding of worn-out brake pads. Its teeth were mismatched slivers of fiberglass, and the claws were black metal screws. Various rods and springs acted as tendon and muscle.

August shut the tailgate and the truck cap, locking us in. He climbed into the back seat of the pickup and slid open the rear window so he could talk to us. His smugness had returned in force, perhaps compensating for his earlier fear.

"Give me your hands, Vainio." He used a thick plastic zip tie to bind my wrists together. "The cat will look better once he's finished."

"How does it work, exactly?" I asked. "You come up with the idea, and Victor's insects bring it to life?"

"Don't be naïve. That thing's no more alive than this truck." He shouted out the door for everyone to hurry up, then turned back to me. "I spent twenty years working as an electrical engineer for the power company. Last year, we lost another line worker after a storm. Damn fool had been working overtime, and wasn't paying attention. Tell me, Isaac, why did that man have to die when something like Victor's bugs could have made the repairs faster and more safely?"

"You're saying you want to fix things? Because so far, all you seem to have used them for is killing people."

"You and I have very different definitions of people." He didn't bother to tie Lena's wrists. He simply pointed to the cat, then to the millipede around my neck. "We'll be watching."

Guan Feng climbed into the seat opposite Harrison. One of the wendigos

took the front passenger seat, which would have been amusing to watch from a safer distance. First he caught his fur in the door, and then he fumbled with the seat belt for a good minute before giving up. I felt a little sorry for him.

Another of the book-mages drove, which surprised me. Harrison didn't strike me as the kind of guy to let someone else take the wheel. Maybe the battle had taken more out of him than I thought.

"I was able to call Nidhi and tell her what was happening," Lena said.

I grinned, then nodded to show I understood. Harrison could listen in all he wanted, but I doubted he was fluent in Gujarati. I might not be able to respond in kind, but half a conversation was better than none. Better yet, this meant the translation spell in my brain was working again. Whatever Guan Feng's book had done to me, the effects were already fading.

I checked out our mobile prison, doing my best to avoid any sudden motion that might spook the cat. The truck cap was old, made of fiberglass and plastic on an aluminum frame. The tinted plastic would hide us from view, but Lena could rip this thing apart without breaking a sweat. And Harrison would kill me the instant she tried.

She sighed and leaned against me. Between the sounds from outside and the changing speed, I was able to tell when we reached the highway. The sunlight filtering through the window meant we were heading roughly north. Back to Michigan, then.

I watched the insects crawling in and out of the metal cat like shiny maggots on a corpse as I tried to fit the missing pieces into place. The magic in Guan Feng's book was strong enough to stop any libriomancer. Why hadn't they killed Lena's tree? Why had they held back at Victor's house? I doubted all of us together would have been a match for what I had just seen and felt. Or maybe the question was what had been holding them back?

I looked through the window at Guan Feng. It was only after I had taken her book that everything went to hell. She wasn't a libriomancer, but what if she was the book's keeper? Though the relationship was deeper than that. The voice I heard had been terrified for Guan Feng. And terrified of me.

"I won't let him turn me against you," Lena said quietly.

"I know." We both knew what Harrison would turn her into. Just as we knew she would choose to die before she let him take that choice away. "You should have run."

"I couldn't." She didn't try to hide her frustration. "Isaac, where did these people come from?"

Harrison slid open the window. "Speak English, or shut the hell up."

She put a hand on the aluminum frame, blocking him from shutting the

window. "Don't the bugs creep you out?"

"They're tools. Solid and reliable." He plucked a silver dot the size of a ladybug from his sleeve and watched it crawl over his fingers. "Victor was always better with machines than he was with people. Caused him no end of grief in school. I tried to help, to teach him to stand up for himself, but his mother insisted on coddling him."

I fought the urge to reach through the window and throttle him, but Lena simply nodded. Her quiet anger from moments before had vanished, and she listened raptly to Harrison's every word. "You wanted him to be strong."

"That's right." He glanced at me. "I didn't want my son to grow up to be the kind of man who let his girlfriend fight his battles for him."