Chapter Fourteen
Jack comes to the table with something tucked under his arm. In the light of the hangar, his dark hair is windswept and his
leather jacket isn’t zipped, like he’s too tough to feel the cold air. He probably is.
The effect these things have on me is . . . probably not something I should let myself think about too closely in the presence
of my brother.
Jack is clearly unaware that he looks like a series of daydreams. He drops the rolled-up paper from beneath his arm, then
spreads it out across the part of the table that isn’t taken up by the snacks Nora laid out in a neat line.
It’s a map.
“This is Midas when it was first platted,” he explains.
“Platted?” Logan echoes.
“Platted?” I chime in, because I’ve never heard that word before.
Jack looks at us as if we cause him pain. “Mapped,” he bites out, jabbing at the map. “In the deal, certain areas were marked as kind of . . . demon zones. The demons took the mine and the flood wall.”
He points to those on the map. He does not mention the clock tower, which sits smack dab in the middle of those two things.
I can’t say I like that.
“The settlers got the town,” he continues. “Except for during the Feed.”
Logan is frowning at the map. “How do you know this?”
“Harrison has journals from back then,” Nora replies. “He’s collected first-person accounts. In the beginning, when the population
was just a couple of families, everyone knew because everyone was part of it. All the founding men of the town were involved
in the deal. But as time passed, some information became lost. People started making excuses for the things they saw, and
so they saw those things less. They thought the Feeds in every generation were natural disasters, because what else could
they be? They stopped believing that demons could exist. Except for, mostly, descendants of the founding families who had the information and belief passed down.”
“Why would anyone make a deal with a bunch of demons?” I ask, sitting in my chair and acutely aware of the fact that Jack
is standing beside me. So close I could reach out—but that would not be cool. Obviously. I clear my throat. “I feel like most
people, if a demon appeared, would not think, oh, hey, let me work on my negotiation tactics here.”
Logan makes a low noise, his eyes still on the map. “The better question is why would a bunch of demons make a deal with humans
when they could just do whatever the hell they want?”
“Those are both good questions,” Nora says in a voice that makes me think she really ought to be a teacher.
Then I think of the patience required to both knit things and show other people how to knit things, as well as fix mistakes, and figure she’s in the right place.
“As for the human settlers, instead of constant fear and destruction and ugly death, they could count on periods of peace and relative safety. They could send their children to school without fearing they’d be taken on the way.
They could harvest their fields without fear they’d never get home that night.
In return, the demons get a dependable food source once a generation, and whatever happens in the demon zones. ”
“Why would the settlers offer that?” Logan looks up, dumbfounded.
Jack studies him. “Lots of reasons. Some people will do anything to keep the people they love safe.”
That lands in me in a way it probably shouldn’t, and my cheeks start to feel hot.
“At the cost of others?” Logan sounds appalled. “Generations of others?”
No one quite knows what to say to that.
“Things get lost to history,” Cleo says into the silence. “Not everything is so simple.”
“Every generation does what they think is best,” Nora says softly. She glances at Jack, but his expression is inscrutable.
“And what is this generation doing?” I ask, because I feel like we’ve blundered into the middle of an established thing here.
They’ve invited us into their group, sure, but they don’t quite know how to fold us in yet.
“We fight,” Cleo replies easily, her dark gaze on me. I don’t think I’m imagining the challenge I see there.
“We believe we can stop it,” Nora adds. She smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. “Not that anyone ever has. But if a deal was
made, a deal can be unmade. Right?”
Her gaze shifts to Jack.
“We’ll unmake it.” Jack’s voice is grim enough to send a shiver through me. “Once and for all.”
“You three think you can stop a demon horde from acting on a deal your ancestors made? Because demons, generally, are known
for being very relaxed about things like that?” Logan is clearly not as moved by the idea of the fight. “After centuries?”
“I think we have to try,” Nora tells him, very seriously. “And they’re your ancestors, too.”
He looks away from her.
I’m trying to put the pieces together. “Okay, if I’m this harbinger, how can I help? Aren’t I just the bad guy who shows up
and fucks everything up?”
“What you are is a sign, and that makes you neutral,” Nora says, her gaze steady. I find that encouraging. “What side you
end up on is up to you. We all think it’s a good thing that the harbinger this time is a Darling. That feels positive. So
does the fact you came so early in October. We have weeks to prepare for the Feed. Weeks to try to prevent it this time. The
harbinger usually appears the night before Halloween, so there’s no way to prepare. You coming early gives us a fighting chance,
literally.”
We’re going to try to prevent a centuries-old deal with demons. As much as I’ve been uplifted by being believed for a change,
it’s hard to take this as a positive.
“Historically, the demons have their two zones.” Jack points again to the places he means on his map. “Along the flood wall
and around the mine.” His lifts his gaze in my direction. There’s no scowl. No animosity. Just a strange feeling that we’re
connected, or maybe I wish we were. I can’t tell. “Tell them what you told me earlier today. About the clock tower.”
I blink. For a moment, I don’t have the words. Years and years of trying not to remember my dreams makes sharing them now feel . . . dangerous. A test. But as I look around the room, everyone is looking
at me with serious expressions.
Waiting. Interested. Believing.
I look back down at the map. And the clock tower that’s haunted me my whole life. Because it has and it exists and I am not as messed up as I always believed. Just . . . haunted.
“Ever since I can remember, I’ve had dreams of that clock tower,” I tell them. “I see it in the dark. I hear the slurping.
And as the clock strikes, these . . . things come out of it. Slurping.”
I take another look around the room again then. It’s instinct and experience that has me bracing myself for the laughter.
The rolled eyes. The concern trolling that’s worse.
I’m waiting for this to be a trick. They lured me out here to listen to whatever insane tales Lexi Darling can come up with,
and then they’ll really stick that knife in. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But everyone nods along like I am just . . . right.
Sane and right.
Like I know what I’m talking about. It’s beyond weird to be taken seriously. This seriously, like it’s nothing more or less
than simple fact.
So simple and so factual that they just . . . carry on. No questions about whether I’m taking medication or what kind of help might benefit me. No “just out of curiosity” interrogations to “gently” lead me to realize how off my rocker I am.
If this is reality, it’s going to take some getting used to.
“Nora, you’ve never mentioned dreams about the clock tower being dangerous,” Jack is saying while inside, I reel.
Nora shakes her head. “No, my bad dreams tend to deal with the area around the mine.” Something in her expression hardens,
and that’s interesting, because I would say there’s nothing hard about Nora. But there’s a hint of it now. “What about you, Logan?”
All eyes turn to Logan, including mine, because . . . Logan doesn’t dream. That’s always been my purview.
Logan is staring right back at Nora. His expression is hard, too. “I don’t dream like Lexi.”
There’s something about his tone that I find . . . off. I don’t think he’s lying. Surely he would have told me at some point
if he dreamed like me. But there’s something very lawyerly about how he phrases that, like he’s working around a technicality.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid. I’m not going to start doubting my brother. Not when he’s here with me, navigating this
strange new world we’ve been thrust into.
Besides, he was the one who insisted we come here in the first place. I don’t know why he’d do that if he dreamed all this
shit. If given the option, I’m pretty sure I would have stayed in New York and upped the Xanax.
Logan and Nora are still staring at each other. “So,” I say brightly to Nora, “you dream like me? About the slurping and the
demons, but you don’t sleepwalk?”
“No, I don’t. It’s not safe to sleepwalk in Midas.” Nora clearly remembers that I was wandering around last night and offers
an apologetic smile. “Over the years, in between Feeds, things have gotten more dangerous.” I do not like the sound of that,
but she keeps going. “Harrison has always made sure I’m . . . secured. He says that based on his research, the foundlings
are always the dreamers, susceptible to sleepwalking. More . . . in tune with the demons.”
“What the hell is a foundling?” Logan asks.
I figure it’s at least a little self-explanatory, but Logan has never been a fan of labels.
Jack gestures at the map. “Midas has a history of missing children. And also found children.” The idea of missing children gives me a chill. “The foundlings are always girls. There’s only one per generation. And they always show up in various places around town.”
He looks at Nora, and her eyes are a little wide. Cleo makes a small sound.
“The clock tower,” they all mutter in unison.
“I was found at the clock tower,” Nora says after a beat of silence that neither Logan nor I break, because I’m guessing we