Page 34 of Bad Blood
The Pythia doesn’t whisper. The Pythia doesn’t plead. I could feel those words—or something like them—simmering just below the surface of Nightshade’s silence.The FBI cannot begin to fathom who and what the Pythia is—to you, to your brethren. You won’t tell them.
Silence is power.
“Show him Mason Kyle,” Dean suggested beside me.
Take away his power, I thought,take away his silence.
Agent Sterling didn’t say a word as she pulled out the photograph Sloane had found of Mason Kyle.
Michael let out a long whistle. “His chin just jutted out ever so slightly. He can barely keep his lips from pressing together. Look at the way his hands are folded on the table—there’s tension in his thumbs.”
“He’s angry,” I inferred. “And he’s scared.” I thought about everything I knew about Nightshade. “He’s angry that he’s scared and scared that he’s angry, because he’s supposed to be above things like that. He’s supposed to be above it all.”
My understanding of emotion came from a different place than Michael’s. It had nothing to do with the muscles in Nightshade’s jaw or the glint in his eyes—and everything to do with knowing what a man who lives to win felt when he realized he’d bet everything on the wrong hand.
When he realized that he’dlost.
“This is an age progression of that photograph.” Agent Briggs pulled out the sketch that Celine had done for us.
As Nightshade stared at his own face, Agent Sterling went on the offensive. “Mason Kyle, born in Gaither, Oklahoma, Social Security number 445-97-1011.”
That was the sum total of what we knew about Mason Kyle, but that was enough.We were never supposed to know your name. You were supposed to be a phantom, a ghost. Even sitting in a cell, you were supposed to have the power.
“I’m a dead man.” The words were barely audible. Months of silence had not been kind to the killer’s throat. “I am not worthy.”
To the Masters, that’s a death sentence, I thought.A Pythia who is not worthy dies in battle against her successor. When a child is shown to be unworthy of the mantle of Nine, they’re left to die in the desert. And a Master who fails in his duty…
“It will be painful. It will be bloody.” Nightshade—Mason Kyle—stared through the agents, like they weren’t even there. “She cannot afford to let it be otherwise—not after choosing to let me live until now.”
My mouth went cotton-dry.Sheas inmy mother.
“The Pythia?” Agent Sterling said. “She’s the one who decides if you live or die?”
No answer.
“Let me talk to him,” I requested. Neither Briggs nor Sterling gave any sign that they’d heard me. “Let me talk to him,” I repeated, my fingers curling themselves into fists and releasing, again and again. “I’m the only one he’s ever really spoken to. He won’t tell you about my mother, because you’re not a part of this. But in his eyes, I am—or at least, I could be.”
The last time I’d spoken with this man, Nightshade had told me that maybe someday, the Pythia’s choice—to kill or be killed—might be mine.
With a slight nod, Agent Sterling removed her earpiece. She set it on the table and turned up the volume so that Nightshade could hear.
“It’s me.” I struggled to find the right words. “Lorelai’s daughter. Your Pythia’s daughter.” I paused. “I think my mother is the reason you took Laurel when you left for Vegas. You weren’t supposed to. And you certainly weren’t supposed to tell me where she was. You all but gift-wrapped her for me, knowing I would hand her over to the FBI. My sister hadn’t been tested. She hadn’t been deemed worthy or unworthy. And you let her go.” Still no reaction, but I could feel myself getting closer. “You treated Laurel like a child—not like your future leader, not likeNine.” I lowered my voice. “She told me about the game she plays, when my mother is in chains.”
If I’d been on the other side of the glass, I would have leaned forward, invading his space.
“You know what I think? I think my mother wanted Laurel out. She can be very convincing, can’t she? She can make you feel special. She can make you feel like you don’t need anyone or anything else, as long as you have her.”
“You sound like her. Your voice sounds like hers.” That was all I got in reply—nine words.
“You took Laurel away from that placefor her. You knew they’d find a way to bring the child back. You knew the other Masters wouldn’t be happy with you—but you did it anyway. And now you’re saying that my mother is going to tell the others that you have to die? Why?” I let that question hang in the air. “Why would she do something like that after all you’ve done for her?”
“Haven’t you learned yet?” The reply was low and fatally amused. “The Pythia does what she has to do to survive.”
“And to survive, she’ll have to tell them to kill you?”
“You mentionedthe game. But do you know what thatgameinvolves?”
I know it involves my mother chained to the wall. I know it involves blood.
