Page 8 of Aberrant Monsters
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It didn’t take muchto pick the lock on Uncle Fred’s study door. It was late, a mere hour until dawn. I’d tried to sleep but the sandman was elusive; instead, my thoughts had spun round and round, picking at Jacob’s words and replaying every second of being trapped beneath Telarion, his mouth on my neck and my body in his thrall.
I’d argued against taking a risk, saying we had time before I became a monster, but that wasn’t strictly true. The way Telarion succeeded in making me feel was testament to how far gone I was. There was a hunger inside me, one that he’d placed there, one that echoed his own. And I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fight it.
This was about the sanctity of my body, about control over my emotions.
I didn’t want to feel what he felt.
I didn’t want towantto bea monster.
There was no more time.
I needed a solution to rid myself of Telarion, and I needed it now.
“What are you doing?”
“Fuck!” I jumped, dropping the lock pick with a clatter.
Nandi crossed her arms and arched her brow. “Well?”
I retrieved the lock pick and pushed open the door, ushering her in before closing it softly and turning to face her. “I’m taking your advice.”
“Yes!” Nandi fist-pumped the air. “We can do this. We’ll find the intel we need and pass it to Fred. Sure, he’ll be pissed that we went behind his back, but he’ll get over it once we succeed in separating you from Telarion.”
I stared at her in wonder. “It’s like you plucked that sentence out of my head.”
“Twinsies from separate wombs, babe,” Nandi said. “Now let’s get to work and find the information we need.”
Where to start? I ran my fingers along the leather-bound books. Texts on ancient languages and mythology and titles written in a language I couldn’t read. I pulled one out and flipped it open to find a photo of my mother. She was grinning at the camera, holding up a mug. There was a Christmas hat on her head. I turned the photo over but nothing was written on the back. There was an inscription on the book:To Amy, from your big brother: a gift to feed your voracious mind.
I flicked through the pages, not understanding a word.
“Anything?” Nandi peered over my shoulder.
“No.” I pushed the book back into place but pocketed the photo. I had so few items that belonged to her. I’d be adding this one to my memory box.
It took almost thirty minutes for us to locate the leather-bound diary, probably because Uncle Fred had stashed it in a nook beside the hearth. A loose brick revealed the hiding place.
Nandi flipped through it, eyes darting from side to side as she read the messy scrawl with ease.
“Anything?”
“Names, numbers, addresses, and these…” She pressed the diary to the desk and tapped the page with her finger. “See these asterisks? They’re on a few names and not the others.”
“What do you think they mean?”
“No idea.” She flipped the page to reveal a folded-up piece of paper.
I plucked it out of the book and opened it. “A photocopy of…Looks like some kind of report.” But a lot of it was blanked out. “Redacted…”
“Elina Moore,” Nandi read. “Wait…” She flipped through the diary. “Her name has an asterisk by it.”
I finished scanning the report for whatever I could read. “She was released from the Order with a severe reprimand about a decade ago. No idea what she did, though. But it says she was a handler.”
“That’s what we need,” Nandi said. “Handlers are the closest to rift walkers. They manage them. If anyone knows how to separate you from Telarion, it will be a handler.”
She was right. This could be our key.
