Page 95 of Shadows of Perl

“Where is the child who slept in this bed?”

The woman whose fidgeting gave away the hiding spot sobs quietly until a gentleman pulls her into a tight hug.

No one speaks.

“Are they hiding somewhere else?” I ask.

The woman wails.

“Did they die?”

“We’ve been raided before,” the gentleman says.

“No one is raided and lives to talk about it.” Black tickles my palm. “Last chance—the truth.”

“It’s true, we have been raided,” another says.

“Then why aren’t you dead?” Yani asks, black spooling in her hands.

“We were told we’d survive if we gave up the boy!” The woman buries her face, shaking with grief.

“What’s so special about the boy?”

“He’s a…”

“Hush, now, Rosie,” an older fellow who hasn’t spoken chastises her.

“We can’t hide it anymore. He’ll kill us!” Her voice cracks. “We knew the risk taking him.” She meets my eyes. “He’s a descendant of a family line that was cursed with…with toushana.”

“A Darkbearer’s child.”

“She swore she wouldn’t hurt him,” Rosie goes on.

She.

“Who is she?”

“She didn’t give a name,” the older fellow speaks up. “We never saw her face. But she said she’d keep quiet about our little operation here if we gave her the boy and occasionally did favors for her. Errands, she called them. And then she had us keep track of her research, which I think you’ve seen in the basement.”

Yani’s eyes meet mine.

“She said she would raise the boy to have a better life,” Rosie says. “So, as a house, we agreed. She even sends pictures from time to time.”

“Show me,” I say.

Rosie grabs a photo book from beneath a mattress and hands it to me. I flip past a bunch of unknown faces and stop at a man wearing a red ball cap: the man from Yaäuper Rea. Rosie turns a few more pages and points. “We got that one about nine months ago.”

I gasp at the picture of a young boy in a fine tuxedo, with dark messy hair, shimmering hazel eyes, and reddened cheeks. He is unmistakable.

“Stryker.” My heart rends.

“You know him?” Rosie smooths away her tears. “Is he alright?”

“Beaulah.” The headmistress of House of Perl is raiding safe houses to collect Darkbearer descendants. I try to ask why but the question dies in my throat. I know the answer. A shiver runs down my spine as the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together.

“The Sphere is cracked, Yani. If it bleeds out, the Headmistresses—”

“Are dead,” she finishes.