Page 30 of The Beast's Heart

Right, not that kind of fuck. Of course not that kind. I blush even harder at my misinterpretation. Why in the world would I even think he meant that?

You were right, Babybel. Those kids need an advocate – they’ve probably never had one before. Ishouldn’t have discouraged you. Still think you’re an idiot. But a brave one with a big heart like your pops. Good luck and please call when you can.

Zane

The rush of warm feeling at these words is nearly immediately overtaken by a wave of homesickness so intense I can hardly breathe. Zane isn’t a biological brother, but over the past year—between me job shadowing him and the whole thing with Dad—we’ve grown closer than I’ve ever been with my real brothers. Since he and Sebastian moved into their house up the road from us, they’ve come over for dinner almost every night. Sometimes Lizzy brings my nieces round and sometimes Emma drives in from the city, but mostly it’s been the four of us: Me, Zane, Sebastian and Dad, spending long hours in the living room, swapping stories and talking about nothing.

It’s all too easy to imagine that scene without me. That stings, but the truth hurts even worse. Because while I was in quarantine, the UK went into lockdown. Which means that Dad’s probably stuck in our huge house, completely alone.

13

JONATHAN

Ithrow myself into my work with new vigor. Partly, to make good on Zane’s faith in me, partly to assuage my guilt and prove this whole exercise was worthwhile, and mostly… mostly because I’m now imagining Adam watching everything I do.

So what if my employer wants to observe me? That’s well within his rights. It’s just… well, I keep thinking of things I hope he didn’t see. Like when Mal nearly succeeded in making me cry or that time that Alisha asked a question and I didn’t know the answer. I guess this is the price I pay for being an imposter. It wouldn’t be soembarrassingif I knew what I was doing.

I solve the problem of getting the children to focus for long periods by supplementing their academic work with practical exercises. When Adam doesn’t show up outside my door demanding an explanation, I assume he approves.Or at least, that he doesn’tdisapprove.

To bring the children up to standard with mathematics, we bake. I have Enrique count ingredients like eggs and decorations. As he grows more comfortable with my presence, he listens when I speak to him and even smiles shyly when I praise him. For the others, I use pies and cakes to help them understand fractions and how to measure circumference andvolume. I have them adjust recipes to make larger or smaller quantities. We mix in a little science too — why does the cake rise, how does yeast work? When weather permits, I take them outside and play games that tie into their lessons and allow them the chance to let off excess energy.

Adam continues to stay out of my way. Which is good. Fine. The last thing I want is another confrontation. It’s good that he’s not involved.

Except… except when Mal comments one day that The Beast doesn’t even like them. Except, when Ben wakes up screaming after a nightmare about The Beast attacking him. Except, when Adam comes into the kitchen one afternoon while we’re making meringues and Enrique drops an egg on the floor and dashes into Alisha’s arms in fright. Maybe we are due another conversation after all.

I wait until the weekend to seek Adam out. I leave the children happily playing a game called CraftWar (that somehow involves mining, building, and battling demons) and check the control room first, but it’s empty. No one answers when I knock on the door to the west wing. When I seek him in the foundation office, I find Meredith sorting through some paperwork. She tells me to check the gym.

I follow a passage off the office. A thwacking noise leads me to a side room. It’s a large, dim, space—warm and scented with wood-shavings. Light slants down from skylights, catching dust motes, before falling into pale squares on the unfinished floor.

As my eyes adjust to the dimness, I can make out a row of exercise equipment along the one wall—treadmills, bench presses, a rack of weighs and some sort of pulley system thatlooks like an instrument of torture. A boxing ring dominates the rest of the space. Geoff is beating the living hell out of a punching bag off to the side of it.

“Hi, sorry,” I wave to get Geoff’s attention.

He slams his fist into the bag and I take a startled step back, but when he turns to me, he’s all smiles. He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I was just looking for Adam. Any idea where I might find him?”

“You probably won’t. He’s not a man who likes to be found.”

“Oh.”

Not wishing to be rude, I take a stab at small talk. “So… this is the gym?”

“What passes for it, yeah.” He laughs. “Not thatyou’dknow.”

Apparently the desire for politeness is one-sided. “I’ll leave you to it.” I turn and make for the door.

Geoff calls after me. “Wait! Teach!” He’s still all smiles. “I wasn’t insulting your bod. I meant— you’re not exactly sporty.”

I have no desire to continue this conversation. Yet, for some reason known only to generations of British ancestors, I still feel the need to be polite. I turn back to him to find him in the process of undressing me with his eyes.

I fold my arms across my chest. Geoff smiles impishly. “Not bad, but you’re not my type.”

“Thank god.”

He barks a surprised laugh and holds up his hands. “First off, ouch. Second, I was about to offer you lessons. We’re going to be locked up in this godforsaken place for months and, given how shit the weather is most of the time, this is the best way to keep active.”

“Boxing?”

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