The room was hewn from stone, a cave cleared out in the bedrock of the earth. A small stream ran through, appearing in the east wall, disappearing beyond the west. There were cameras mounted everywhere. He would know I’d been here, even if I walked back out right now.

In the center of the room was a cage that was twenty by twenty, made of massive iron bars, closely spaced. Like the doors, it was heavily runed. It was also empty.

I moved toward it.

And stopped, stunned.

It wasn’t empty as I’d thought. A child lay in the cage, curled on its side, naked. He looked about ten or eleven.

I hurried to him. “Honey, are you all right? What’s wrong? Why are you in there?”

The child looked up. I staggered and went to my knees on the stone floor, stupefied.

I was looking at the child from the vision I’d shared with Barrons.

Every detail of it was crystal clear in my head, as if I’d lived it yesterday—a rare glimpse into Barrons’ heart. I could close my eyes and be back there again with him, that easily. We were in a desert.

It’s dusk. We hold a child in our arms.

I stare into the night.

I won’t look down.

Can’t face what’s in his eyes.

Can’t not look.

My gaze goes unwillingly, hungrily down.

The child stares up at me with utter trust.

“But you died!” I protested, staring at him.

The boy moved toward me, came to stand at the edge of the cage and wrapped his small hands around the bars. Beautiful boy. Dark hair, gold skin, dark eyes. His father’s son. His eyes are soft, warm.

And I’m Barrons, staring down at him …

His eyes say, I know you won’t let me die.

His eyes say, I know you will make the pain stop.

His eyes said, Trust/love/adore/youareperfect/ you willalwayskeepmesafe/youaremyworld.

But I didn’t keep him safe.

And I can’t make his pain stop.

We’d been in the desert holding this child, this very boy in our arms, losing him, loving him, grieving him, feeling his life slip away …

I see him there. His yesterdays. His today. The tomorrows that will never be.

I see his pain and it shreds me.

I see his absolute love and it shames me.

He smiles at me. He gives me all his love in his eyes.

It begins to fade.

No! I roar. You will not die! You will not leave me!

I stare into his eyes for what seems a thousand days.

I see him. I hold him. He is there.

He is gone.

But he’s not gone. He’s right here with me. The boy presses his face to the bars. He smiles at me. He gives me all his love in his eyes. I melt. If I could be someone’s mother, I would take this child and keep him safe forever.

I push to my feet, moving as if I’m in a trance. I’ve held this child, inside Barrons’ head. As Barrons, I loved him and I lost him. In sharing that vision, it became my wound, too.

“I don’t understand. How are you alive? Why are you here?” Why had Barrons experienced his death? There was no question that he had. I’d been there. I’d tasted it, too. It was reminiscent of the regrets I’d felt about Alina …

Come back, come back, you want to scream … just one more minute. Just one more smile … one more chance to do things right. But he’s gone. He’s gone. Where did he go? What happens to life when it leaves? Does it go somewhere or is it just fucking gone?

“How are you here?” I say wonderingly.

He speaks to me, and I don’t understand a word of it. It’s a language dead and forgotten. But I hear the plaintive tones. I hear a word that sounds like Ma-ma.

Choking back a sob, I reach for him.

As I slip my arms through the bars and gather his small, naked body into my arms, as his dark head floats into the hollow where my shoulder meets my neck, fangs puncture my skin, and the beautiful little boy rips out my throat.

42

I die for a long time.

Much longer than I think it should take.

Figures I’d die slow and in pain. I pass out several times and am surprised that I regain consciousness. I feel fevered. The skin of my neck is numb, but the wound burns like I’ve been injected with venom.

I think I left half of my neck in the child’s impossibly expandable jaws.

He began to change the moment I took him in my arms.

I managed to tear myself from his preternaturally strong grasp and stumble from the cage before he completed the transformation.

But it was too late. I’d been a fool. My heart had wed Barrons to a sobbing child and embraced sentimentality. I’d seen the chains, padlocks, and wards as Barrons’ way of keeping a child safe.