Page 166 of Feed Your Fiends

But I’d been the closest to him physically, and he’d latched onto me, desperate for answers I couldn’t fully give him because my mind’s a tangle of half-truths and incomplete assumptions. That’s where his mother came in to complete the picture.

She wanted to talk to him in person, but Hale hadn’t wanted to see her. Not yet.

She confirmed after heavy hesitation that Marisol Pelletier was his biological mother and that they’d met at a five-day-long Roma festival. Twice. Once the year before, and again after Marisol had given birth.

Marisol was desperate, frantic, and she’d promised Rosella, the only person she trusted in Hungary, money and papers to immigrate if she secretly brought Hale back to her.

‘Mari and I snuck out to a gypsy festival where we danced barefoot for two days before returning home.’Delphine’s earlier words swirl in my mind. If she hadn’t been so ignorant and used the correct termRomaorRomani, Gant would’ve drawn the conclusion a week earlier. But would the outcome have been any different?

He ends the call on her mid-sentence, and the room grows quiet again save for the comforting beep and hum of Gant’s machines. They give me permission to close my sleepless eyes for five minutes because I can hear that he’s safe, but I won’t. Despite the audible assurances, I’m terrified he’ll disappear and petrified that I’ll have to follow him.

“Gant’s my brother,” Hale’s thin voice cracks the silence and my dark thoughts. “And no one told me?”

“Everything happened in a rush. Gant found out two days ago when he saw your baby photo. The one of you and your mu—” I clear my throat. Rosella not birthing Hale doesn’t change the fact that she’s been his mother for nearly two decades. Still, the word seems too triggering for him now. “—Rosella at the beach. The date on the back was wrong.”

His baby blues slide from my face to the floor, but he doesn’t explain the discrepancy. He doesn’t have to. Rie Rie already did.

“I found out an hour before the party. Once I saw you’d replaced that old photo with a photo of you and Gant, I knew he’d seen it too. I knew he’d pieced it all together. Golden hair. Eyes like pools. A name like royalty. Hungary. Roma Festival…”

Hale runs a hand through his chestnut locks now. In the right lighting, like beneath Libellule’s chandeliers, the golden hues still shine through. “All this time… I’ve been Marisol’s? I’ve been a Pelletier or a Parish… No, both.”

I want to comfort him, but how can I when I’m so damn broken myself? I need to climb into Gant’s arms, but that’s not close, reassuring enough. I need to melt into his flesh, sink into his pores and wear him like a second skin. That’s how close I need us to be.

I can’t shake the macabre thoughts or the selfish ones.

Please wake up.

Please open those black pits and stare into my soul again.

I need you.

I slide my foot, still covered by black lacey stockings, across the linoleum and touch my toes to Hale’s boot like Rin had done to me that night my world ended. I’d ditched the ill-fitting stilettos hours ago, and it’s just hitting me now that I’m practically naked in the freezing room, save for a jacket draped over my shoulders. Hale’s? When had he put it there?

I squeeze doll Gant in my palms and watch his far apart black eyes bulge even farther apart.

He gazes down at the contact and presses his boot closer as silence swarms us once more. But then the door creaks open, interrupting the steady, rhythmic beeps.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hale hisses, his foot leaving mine as he scrapes his chair back.

But Zedd’s not looking at us. He’s focused on Gant. For a millisecond. When he tears his red-rimmed eyes away, it’s not in dismissal. It’s because looking at him is unbearable.

“For the same reasons as you.”

Hale shakes his head slowly. “You were in on it. I know you were.”

“What?” I mumble in confusion, but Zedd’s expression doesn’t waver from stoic solemnness. He knew the accusation was coming. I sit straighter in my chair, gripping the armrests with blanching knuckles.

“You were in the kitchen. You mixed those drinks that killed Bart and nearly killed Gant.”

My head sways, new revelations washing over me. In all the drama, I hadn’t thought of Zedd once.

“You told me not to touch the silver trays. You had one girl serve us the entire time with gold trays…the curly girl…the only girl who passed my auditions with some level of competence. You…you were in on it, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Zedd says bluntly. “I was carrying out Bart’s orders at Gant’s request. Only one person was supposed to die last night, and Bart wanted it to be you.”

Hale takes a stumbling step back. “What?Why?” But more revelations are pouring over him, just like they’re dripping down my spine. “That overdose was meant for me? Bart wanted to kill me because I’m Marisol’s son? Why does that matter to him?”

“You heard Bart last night. He’s‘won’back twelve percent of his company shares.”

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