Leon set down his tuna. They made tea out of kids’ body parts? What kind of super-evolved beings believed in black magic? Leon worked in the black market himself—he knew all about the things she was describing, only on Earth it was called the illegal wildlife trade. Rhino horns. Alligator skin. Bear gall bladders. They could fetch a fortune, especially in certain Asian and African countries, among discriminating clientele. And yet the difference was, humans weren’t goddamn animals.
Leon stood abruptly, chair scraping backward, and paced to the jukebox. His head felt like it was splitting in two. That same song, over and over. He pounded a fist against the jukebox.
“You must cooperate,” Mali added. “The Kindred keep you safe as long as you obey the rules.” From nowhere, her face cracked in a flat line that somewhat resembled a smile.
They stared at her, mouths agape.
Nok broke the silence with a ragged cry. “The rules? That’s really all this is all about? We eat their food and play their games and have sex and they won’t cut us up for some alien’s tea? Screw it, sign me up. Come on, Rolf. The bedroom. Five minutes.” Her voice was growing hysterical as she paced by the countertop. Rolf’s eyes went wide. The only way to tell he was alive was that he was rapidly turning the same bright shade of red as his flowers.
Lucky came around the counter and grabbed her, forcing her to stop pacing. “No one’s doing Rule Three. They can’t make us do that.”
“Yes,” Mali answered. “They can.” She went back to picking at her toenails.
“She should know, shouldn’t she?” Rolf stuttered, finally coughing some air back into his lungs. “She’s lived with them. Look at the scars on her hands. She was in a cage when we first saw her! What’s worse, ending up like her, or obeying a few rules? I mean . . . it’s hardly torture. We’ve all had sex before, right?”
“It would be more convincing if you weren’t blushing like a girl when you said that,” Leon muttered.
Mali slid her unblinking gaze to him, and he shuddered as if a ghost had passed through him. Those scarred hands. The hollow eyes. That girl had been through god knows what. An instinct in him flared up, fighting against his sympathy. This girl was weak, he tried to tell himself. A victim. And he didn’t associate with the weak. No one in his family did. He used his size to intimidate people. He’d gotten tattoos to show his family’s powerful story. He’d taken a job with his brother smuggling electronics from Bangladesh—he wasn’t a hero. He sure as hell wasn’t interested in being this girl’s hero.
“Don’t feel sorry for her,” he snapped. “She’s probably lying.”
The girl didn’t flinch. Even with her thin arms and thin legs, she didn’t seem intimidated by him in the slightest. In fact, he sensed something else far scarier.
A connection.
She didn’t have a constellation mark on the side of her neck that matched his, but she didn’t have to. The moment she looked into his eyes, something shifted. Some wall fell down, and an instinct to protect her rose. This girl who’d been through so much. This girl who didn’t know how to be gentle, just like him. He didn’t need the stars to tell him she was meant for him, and he for her.
His head throbbed harder, and he stomped out of the diner. Away from the girl with the light brown eyes. Away from what the Kindred wanted him to do. He’d always run away from his problems before, so why not now?
“Leon, wait!” Cora ran out behind him, her blond hair flowing like the trail of a comet. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t sleep in the house with that girl there. I’m going to the jungle—there are huts there. I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast and another spin through the rat maze.”
He didn’t look back.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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21
Cora
WHEN CORA RETURNED TO the diner, the ideas Mali had alluded to—private owners and abducted children—churned in her stomach. She’d thought, after Bay Pines, that she could face anything. That was when the only monsters in her life were bad-tempered guards and other juvie girls who stole her stuff while she was in the shower.
The others formed a huddle by the countertop, whispering, while Mali sat alone at a table and poked at Lucky’s folded aviator sunglasses.
“Cora.” Lucky beckoned to her and, when she neared, dropped his voice so Mali wouldn’t overhear. “Rolf thinks we should listen to Mali—that it’s too dangerous to try to escape.”
Cora shook her head. “No. We stick to the plan.”
Over Lucky’s shoulder, Cora watched as Mali slowly opened the aviator glasses, one temple at a time, examined them, and then placed them on her face.