Chapter 7 #5
“So, my birth name is Samuel Mills. I grew up in a blue-collar neighborhood in a small town. My dad worked—works? I don’t know what he’s up to now.
Anyway, he was a mechanic, and Mom was a waitress at a café.
We lived within our means, but my dad complained about it a lot.
Said he deserved to live better than that.
My mom would always tell him to be patient, that things would change once I was eighteen.
I can’t even remember the first time I heard that—I always knew that when I was eighteen, I was out.
I’d have to look after myself. And then as I got older, I wondered why they thought their lives would change so much, because they weren’t spending that much money on me.
I mean, I had new clothes when I grew out of the old ones and food to eat and all that, but my friends at school had bikes and videogames and got birthday presents. ”
“You didn’t get birthday presents?” Lily sounds shocked.
I shake my head. “I didn’t even know when my birthday was until first grade when someone asked me. I had to go home and ask Mom.”
“So your parents were pricks,” Andrew declares, and I shrug.
“They weren’t loving. I was safe and they made sure I had what I needed, but there was never anything more than that.
Except they were kind of obsessive about medical care, which even as I say it seems like a huge red flag I should have mentioned before.
” Fuck, how could I not have realized? Eyes wide, I look at Percy.
“Someone came to our house every month to take blood and give me a checkup. Every month as far back as I can remember.”
“Samuel Mills, you say?” David says, going to the lucifer’s computer. “What were your parents’ names and where did you live?”
I tell him, and then as he starts searching, I continue, “When I was about twelve, I found the massive stash of cash hidden in the attic and realized that was how they planned to live large. I was pissed that they were saving all this money to enjoy after I moved out. And then I wondered where it was coming from, since stacks of crisp hundreds don’t usually grow on trees.
The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced they had to be doing something illegal.
Being twelve and an idiot, I started trying to figure out what that could be, but they were totally boring.
There were no late-night absences, no unexplained packages…
no strangers visiting. You know, just the doctor that came every month.
” I sigh. “It makes sense now. They weren’t really my parents, were they?
Or if they were, they just saw me as an investment opportunity.
Someone was paying them to raise me.” I can’t believe this.
It’s a puzzle I didn’t even know existed, and yet the pieces are falling into place.
I lean forward to put my head in my hands, control the dizziness, and Gideon’s hand falls away from my neck.
I instantly feel a thousand times dizzier. I sit back up and tip my head to look up at him. He seems to know what I need without me having to say a word and sits on the arm of the couch, his side pressing against mine. I sigh in relief as the world stabilizes again.
“If you were actively trying to ferret out secrets and didn’t notice that they weren’t human, then they were probably human, which means they weren’t your parents.
Or… at least, one of them wasn’t.” Lily sounds thoughtful.
She gets up and joins David at the desk, filching a notepad and pen, which she begins writing in.
“So… how did you end up faking your death?” Andrew asks.
I smile bitterly. “When I was fourteen, I came out to them. My dad—fuck, I don’t know what to call him now.
My foster dad? Anyway, I never knew it because he was such a distant parent, but it turns out he was a ginormous homophobe.
He went completely off his nut, screaming about how he never signed on to raise…
someone like me.” I refuse to use that word.
“My foster mom told me to go to my room, and when she thought I was out of hearing, she started telling him that it was just a few more years and then they’d never have to see me again and their lives would be so much better.
Which, in retrospect, reinforces the idea that they were being paid to raise me, but at the time…
.” I shrug. “I was angry and scared and I just figured… why not leave now? What was the point of staying? So that night I packed a suitcase and left.”
They all wait.
“Yeah, so I packed the suitcase with the money in the attic instead of clothes. I figured, in my angry fourteen-year-old way, that I deserved a cut. I took maybe half of it, but I didn’t realize until a few days later how much that really was.
Hundreds add up fast, you know? So when I realized that people were looking for me, I thought they’d found out the money was missing and were using the police to find me so they could get it back.
Which might have been true, because my foster dad really wanted that better life, but knowing what I know now, I’m guessing that monthly visit from the doctor played into why they wanted to find me. ”
“And rather than give them the money back and then quietly leave after the furor died down, you changed your identity?” Andrew’s looking at me like I’m either crazy or a hero.
“In the time before I knew they were looking for me, I discovered just how hard it is to be underage and alone. I had cash, but most hotels wouldn’t give me a room without an adult or a credit card.
And the ones that would were not exactly safe for a scrawny kid.
Even riding the bus a couple towns over got me suspicious looks.
I wasn’t exactly tall for my age, and people have one of two reactions to a kid alone: they either want to make sure you’re okay or take advantage in some way.
I needed that cash to bribe my way into an apartment somewhere and support myself until I was older.
So I went to the nearest decent-sized city and tried to get lost in the shuffle.
They kept finding me somehow, though—and now I know how—and I had to move six times in that first year.
Then I met this guy who knew someone who knew someone who helped LGBTQ kids on the run to disappear.
I thought it was sus, but he turned out to be a legit do-gooder and was doing it for free for kids who were at risk.
I got him to do a really thorough job for me and paid him a boatload of cash as a thank-you.
I mean, the guy was doing good work, right?
So Sam Mills was in a fire at an abandoned warehouse where over a dozen homeless people died, and Sam Tiller was born—and moved clear across the country.
I had ID, enough cash to bribe my way into a safe place to live, got a part-time job while I was ‘being homeschooled,’ and deposited that money into a real bank account.
By the time I turned eighteen and ‘graduated,’ I had a pretty legit life.
Once I had a decent job that would cover living expenses, I used some of the money to buy my apartment, then donated what was left to an LGBTQ charity. And that’s it.”
“Fuck me,” Andrew says. “You make it sound simple.”
“How much money did you take?” Elinor asks.
“It turned out to be a little over two and a half million.” Looking back as an adult, it gives me the creeps to think of a kid in that situation—more so now that I know what I was actually on the run from.
She whistles. “Well, you can feel good about what they thought you were worth,” she says, “but that’s probably about it. David, any luck?”
He pushes back from the desk. “Yeah, but I doubt any of it is real. It’s bare bones.
Definitely nothing medical in there. Your foster parents are listed as your biological parents, which we know isn’t true.
They reported you missing, and the next update after that is your death certificate.
Your guy did good work—it looks completely real.
We’ll trace anything that looks usable, but I don’t think we’ll get a lot out of this. ”
A pang of regret tightens my chest. “So there’s no way to know who my parents really were?” I mean… they might be dead. Or, worse, they could have sold me. Or one of my foster parents could be my actual parent, which means they basically did sell me.
Or I could have been stolen from them.
Part of me, the part that always wanted loving parents, really wants it to be that last one.
“Not easily,” Percy says, “but since one of your parents is a shifter, we can do some DNA tracing and at least identify which felid clan you’re from. From there, we’ll be able to narrow it down a little further.”
“We’re investigators,” Gideon says. It’s the first time he’s spoken for a while, and the sound of his voice is almost startling. “Just give us time.”
Percy sighs. “We need to keep this quiet for now. There are some people who’ll need to know, but let’s not stir things up too much. Maybe this is what we need to get ahead of the cults.” He smiles at me. “Do you want to take a while longer to decide what you want to do?”
I take a deep breath and shake my head. “No. It’s… kind of a scary decision, but I want you to get rid of the sorcery. No, wait—what will happen when you do?”
“I don’t know,” Percy says honestly. “People don’t usually become shifters as adults.
You may have to learn how to shift the way you would have as a teenager, or it might…
be a little uncontrolled. You may retain all your human traits, or your shifter instincts might take over.
If you want to think about it a little more, that’s fine—we’ll need some time to arrange things.
This is complicated sorcery, and it’s someone else’s, which makes reversing it even more complex.
Plus, I think it would be a good idea to have another felid here—someone alpha, who could help if your shifter side takes over. ”
I bite my lip. I don’t like that so much is unknown here, but on the other hand, do I really want to live the rest of my life as someone’s science experiment? There’re a lot of unknowns to that, too.
“Make the arrangements,” I say firmly. The pressure against my side increases, and I look up at Gideon. He’s not smiling, exactly, but something about his expression is softer.
“Okay,” Percy says. “David, can—”
“Of course,” David interrupts. “I’ll make some calls. I don’t want to make you feel like a lab rat, Sam, but we’d like to try and get a signature off the weaves before we take them apart. That will help us track down the perpetrators.”
“Of course.” I want to know who did this. Why. Where I really come from. And if it’s connected to the current kidnappings, how we can stop it.
“Let’s pack it in for the night,” Percy declares. “Gideon, I know you’ve been frustrated about the lack of traction in the kidnappings, but I don’t think you’ll achieve anything further tonight, and really, this could be a development that changes your direction.”
Gideon nods. “I agree.”
“Before we go,” Lily interjects, “I just want to run one thing past the group.” She holds up the pad she’s been drawing on. “David, Percy, this is something I want you to keep in mind when you’re examining and reversing the weaves. If you can confirm it, it might get us somewhere.”
“Let’s hear it,” David says, leaning against the front of the desk.
“The thing I was wondering is, why would you go to the bother of disguising a shifter—or any member of the community—as a human on a genetic level. Like you said, it’s complicated magic.
Assuming this is related to those megalomaniacs intent on the community blotting out humans, we can tentatively say the benefit is human-level fertility.
Sam, have you ever had a fertility test? ”
“Uh, no. Impregnating women has never been high on my to-do list.”
Andrew laughs so hard, he snorts. Ever seen a centuries-old silver-hottie vampire snort with laughter? It looks wrong. He’s supposed to be dignified.
“Would you mind giving a specimen before we reverse the weaves?” Percy asks quietly. “I’m sorry, I know this is invasive, but….”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Set it up for tomorrow?” He nods, and I turn back to Lily. “Wait, so if I’m following your train of thought, you’re saying that I would be as fertile as a human, but the genetic makeup I pass on to any offspring would be shifter?”
“I think so,” she says, making a face. “It’s only a theory. But what would be the point otherwise? You’ve gone your whole life with no magic and no shifter abilities—how would that further the cultists’ goals?”
“That’s something we can try to verify in the weaves,” David assures us. “What else have you got there?” He points to Lily’s pad, which does seem to have a lot of writing and hand-drawn flowcharts on it for just that one theory.
“No, the rest waits. I need to do some more thinking, and I want to see if I’m right about this first bit.”
David looks like he’s going to argue, but Percy steps in, saying smoothly, “Then let’s call it a night.
We’ll meet back here at eight tomorrow—that should give you all time to rest and check on your caseloads before we start.
I’ll arrange for a doctor to give you a full checkup, Sam, if that’s okay, and then we’ll look at reversing this sorcery. ”
I blow out a breath. Wow. “Sounds good.” And it does .