Michael relaxed with my words, hopefully recognizing the good intentions behind them. It didn’t stop him from peppering me with vengeful comments about my wardrobe as we walked back to the food court. Monochromatic man was the kindest thing he had to say. I liked black. So sue me.
We were halfway to the food court before Michael finally laid off my clothes. I seized the opportunity to ask, “You did get me a coat, didn’t you? And sweaters?”
The smirk on his face was pure, unadulterated evil. “Trust me. I wouldn’t forget you, Stefan.”
He refused to show me the remaining contents of the bags as we sat down to eat our mediocre Chinese food. Instead, he tortured me with vague hints and sly remarks until finally he went quiet and concentrated on twirling noodles around his fork. It was a strange silence, almost wistful.
“Are you wishing you’d bought more sweaters for yourself now?” I toed the bags at his feet. “Nice, sensible, boring sweaters?”
“No.” He rolled his eyes. The glasses had been discarded in his pocket for the moment, but I had thoughts of contacts for him in the future. His bicolored eyes were simply too distinctive. They would be remembered by anyone who saw him up close.
“Don’t come crying to me when Albert doesn’t keep you warm in the snow.” I speared a mushroom off his plate, popped it in my mouth, and chewed. It hurt to swallow, but not too badly. Sevastian would be hurting far more—if he ever woke up. Appetite waning, I dropped my fork and pushed the plate away. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it? This place?”
Michael took a long look around. The crowd was sparse. The snow had kept most people home and it was a weekday, but it was still a mall. “It does,” he admitted reluctantly. He toyed with his food, knotting the noodles into neat little piles. “They drugged us, you know. On the trips.”
“Drugged you?”
“Not so much we couldn’t function.” The fork kept moving. “They wanted us to interact, wanted to see if we could pass for normal. They gave us just enough to slow us down in case we tried to escape.” The tines of the plastic fork bent under the pressure and broke against the plate. “Not that any of us ever tried. What a waste.”
I knew what he was thinking, that his fearless friend John would have made the attempt . . . that he wouldn’t have let the chance go by. But John hadn’t lived that long. “Actually it wasn’t.” I piled our plates on the tray for disposal. “That last field trip is how I found you. One of the girls who worked there spotted you. She’s one of Saul’s. He’s had your description out to his network for years now.”
“She recognized me?” he asked doubtfully. “How?”
“Your eyes. Your age. Faces change in ten years, but there aren’t many kids out there who fit both of those.” I stood and dumped the contents of the tray into the garbage can beside our table. “Face it, kid, you’re unique.”
The expression that shimmered across his face was partly wary and partly something I couldn’t identify. “Stefan—”
“I know,” I interrupted with a tug of the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re not my brother. You can keep telling yourself that, Misha, but it’s not going to make any difference to me. Now, you want to hit the pet store for ferret food before we go or just toss the rat out the window?”
He sighed but went with the change of subject. “The pet store. I like Zilla. It’s nice having someone around I can have an intelligent conversation with.”
“You certainly bitch like a brother,” I grumbled affectionately under my breath. I might have lost my uncle, but I still had family and it was right here with me, bad taste and stubborn nature included.
“I remember that girl. The one who saw me.” Michael hoisted his bags and followed me. “I was off from the group a little. She tried to sell me a hat.” His voice took on a longing note. “She said I was . . . um . . . hot.”
I slung an arm around his shoulder as we approached the doors. “We have to get you a girlfriend, kiddo. We really do.”
Chapter 26
The trip to St. Louis was uneventful. I could see myself saying it. I could hear the words as if I had. The trip was uneventful. Uneventful.