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Welcome to stories from among the stars. You're listening to the book eaters by sun yi dean. Narrated by katie eric. Chapter 3 Devon by night Present day But where did the Book Eaters come from? There is no evidence to suggest that they are a mutant strain of evolution at work, and humanity took thousands of years to develop paper making technology. The Book Eaters themselves tell wildly unbelievable legends of the Collector, an extraterrestrial being who created them to look humanoid and who placed them on Earth for the purpose of gathering knowledge, book eating and sampling human experiences. Mind eating. But the Collector, so the bizarre story goes, never returned. Hence the Eaters remain remnants of an abandoned alien science project. Amarinda Patel Paper and a Secret History Devon dreamed of hell, as she often did these days. Some humans had sexual fantasies in their nightly visions or nightmares about going to job interviews naked. Her dream was neither, though it had elements of both. It always began with the ground opening beneath her feet into a broad tunnel streaked with lava. Cartoonish that she fell without resistance or surprise and landed on her knees in a subterranean pit worthy of Dante's Inferno, a book that she'd once tried to eat but had spat out because it tasted of brimstone and bile. She'd never had much of a palate for classics. A voice spoke from the blackness, telling her politely that she would suffer for her sins, and she laughed with relief until she cried. A whip cracked comically, landing across her shoulders, and Devon woke abruptly with searing pain in her spine. She was lying on the bathroom floor, head twisted at an angle and neck protesting with a stubborn ache. Her phone, when she checked it, read 12:04am Devon uncurled herself and threw up a belly's worth of whisky into the toilet. Human food was beyond distasteful and gloopy. She had been curious enough to try it a few times, but alcohol went down easier. Especially wine. Lovely, amazing wine. Poison expelled, Devon crawled over to the sink and pulled herself to standing. A haggard, lined face peered out from the warped bathroom mirror, haunted by tired circles under each eye, that blend of traits and features courtesy of her convoluted heritage. Chipped nails, chapped lips, and a Nirvana shirt with more creases than seams completed the bedraggled appearance of an accidental Goth after a bad night out. I used to be a princess, you know. Her reflection frowned doubtfully. Princesses in the books she'd read were pretty delicate things. Few of them were six foot tall murderesses with a penchant for shorn off hair and leather jackets. Funny that Devon flipped herself the finger and set about brushing her teeth. Both sets of teeth, because her buck teeth needed cleaning, too. When her breath no longer stank of vomit, she went in search of her son. Kai had moved from his room to the sofa and fallen asleep on the cushions in a tightly curled ball, so small, so painfully thin. Devon didn't have the heart to move him back to his bed. He might wake if she did. And anyway, he hated being cooped up in that cramped space. Not that she could blame him. The kind of life he lived would be a misery for any child. At his age, she'd spent more time outside than in. But Devon's childhood hadn't been ruled by a hunger that drove her to scoop out people's brain matter with her tongue, as Kai's was. If her son were to have any hope of a functional life, he needed redemption. Not the religious kind, but the chemical kind. A family manufactured drug developed specifically for Mind Eaters. When taken regularly, it allowed him to eat paper the way she did. The trick was getting a hold of some. Her mobile phone buzzed on the kitchenette counter. She walked over, picked it up, and flipped the shell open. Chris, I found him, said what you told me to say. Let's meet and chat. Crow's Nest Pub, 8pm tomorrow. Will you be there? Devon thumbed the cheap plastic keys. Only one of the families, the Ravenscars, had ever produced redemption. The Ravenscar patriarchs had kept the ingredients and process a tightly kept secret, which allowed them to maintain a position of power and money over the other families. All that changed when, a couple of years ago, the Ravens cars had abruptly imploded. Some of the patriarch's adult children had tried to break away from their family, something that Devon could sympathise with deeply. A bloodbath fight broke out that ended with dozens dead, including the Patriarch himself. Meanwhile, the surviving Ravenscar siblings disappeared and took the stores of redemption. Good for them. Not so good for her son. Kai had been raised on redemption like most other Mind Eater children. In the aftermath of the Raven's car coup, access to the drug dried up almost overnight. All remaining doses were with the Knights and kept for their adult dragons. Kai had only three choices for his future. Consume humans, starve to death, or get put down by the families. Devon wasn't going to let her son starve, nor would she let anyone kill him. The Ravens cars were still alive somewhere, and that meant there was a chance they could help if she could convince them it was worth their while. First, though, she had to find them. For reasons that Devon could not fathom. The Ravenschorse were, as far as she could tell, apparently continuing to manufacture redemption. There was no reason for them to do so, since they did not have mind eaters of their own to feed. Whatever their motivations, it made Devon's life easier. For the past year, she had traversed the country, trying to track down the Ravenscars through their chemical suppliers. In the meantime, she fed her son humans to keep him alive. After months of searching, she'd finally had a reply. One man, an illicit drug dealer, admitted he was still selling quantities of certain compounds to the Ravenscars. He also claims that he could put Devon in touch. If he were telling the truth, this was the breakthrough she'd sought. A moaning shuffle broke her reverie. The vicar stirred mindlessly in Kai's room. Reluctantly, she folded the phone shut. Replaying could wait until she got back and Kai was awake. He could help her with the typing. The vicar lay curled on his side on the floor of Kai's room. A tiny trickle of dried blood ran from his ear. He was still alive. He breathed, he blinked, and his heart still beat. Sometimes he grunted. His survival surprised her. Many of Kai's victims did die from shock or internal cranial bleeding. Having a chunk of one's brains liquefied and sucked out wasn't pleasant, but in every practical sense, he might as well have died. His memories, personality, all that he had ever been, now belonged to her son. Until the next meal, anyway, when much of that would be overwritten. Afresh, Devon went through his warm pockets. Vickers didn't tend to have much money, and he was no exception. She plucked out all of the id, but otherwise left the wallet intact. He didn't have enough worth stealing, not compared to the 20 odd grand she kept in her bag. He did have a Bible. At least Devon liked those. She unsheathed her book teeth and bit through the spine. Worn leather, loving hands, sweat, communion wine. Words flowed across her tongue. Psalms merging with commandments, sacred newborns blending with war and desecration. Wafer thin paper flesh crinkled delicately with every chew. Used books never had the crispness of new ones, but they each carried a flavour unique to their owners that Devon, like every proper Fairweather, enjoyed discovering. 12 bites to finish the book. She wiped ink from her chin, belly pleasantly full even as her head buzzed with archaic verses and old prophecies. Eating settled her mood, and her lingering queasiness from the alcohol abated. Devon stripped the vicar down to his boxes. He'd wet himself. They usually did. From a sack in the closet, she dug out a selection of tattered, dingy clothes she had collected from charity shops. She dressed him in trousers, shirt and foul smelling coat. That done, she put the empty Scotch bottle in her bag and slung it on. Up you get. Devon slid an arm underneath his shoulders. He weighed about 180 pounds, she judged, but bookeaters were strong. She supported him with ease, guiding his shuffling form toward the door. Of those who lived, some could walk, some couldn't. He could. So much the better for her. Devon checked her watch. Time wise, it was almost half past one in the morning. She steered her charge down the stairs toward the alley exit. The night hung moonless and dark, punctuated at semi regular intervals by rusted lamps. I'm glad you aren't married, she told him softly as they stepped into a puddle of streetlight. It kills me to pick the married ones, you know. It's not fair on the children or the partners. The vicar didn't answer. He had no more words to give. The pages of him were blank. Devon skirted the main streets, sticking to alleys and underpopulated areas, crossing through the local unlit park to avoid a busy neighbourhood. In the dark and at a distance, they looked like two lovers out for an evening stroll, or two drunk friends leading each other home. Disposing of Kai's victims was one of her biggest hurdles. Ethically difficult because she struggled with the guilt, but also logistically difficult. The grimly practical aspect of hiding bodies. Even when they survived, she could not keep them with her, incontinent and unable to feed themselves. And simply leaving them at a hospital would be suspicious. Medical examinations might bring to light the strangeness of their injuries. Fortunately for her, human society already had an entire underclass of people who were functionally invisible. The homeless shelter came into sight as Devon and the vicar drew closer. Much like the people it served, the building had seen better days. Someone had converted a series of shop fronts by knocking through the walls and replacing the glass windows with metal gratings. Concrete steps led up to a triple locked door. Some shelters had cctv, which made things awkward. Devon knew from past experience that this one did not. She settled the vicar on the steps. He slumped sideways. Devon adjusted him to be more comfortable, tilting his head to a better angle. The absolute least she could do. Then she took the now empty Scotch bottle from her bag and tucked it into the crook of his arm. All that done, she cast a final glance around. Empty road, Spill, Dink, sky. No one about. She gave the vicar a tiny salute. He stared with vacant eyes, a soul unknowing and lost. Bye, devon said, and walked away. She didn't look back, irrationally afraid she might turn into a pillar of salt. The Bible she'd eaten was colouring her fears with a religious tint. In the morning, someone would find the vicar and bring him inside. Just another poor sod on the streets having a breakdown, having a stroke, something. They'd be suspicious, but unless they gave him an mri, no one would ever know what he was missing. The streets around were dead and still, as if the city were holding its collective breath, and she instinctively matched its silence with her own drifting, fluid walk. Eerie tranquility thickened the air. Something reflective glinted in the streetlight and she halted, flattening into the nearest shuttered doorway. It was deep enough to hide the lines of her body. From this vantage point, she scoured the streets. Two blocks down, a solitary man stood in the middle of an intersection. A cream suit cut with a 1980s flair draped his bulky frame. No scarf coat or gloves despite the below freezing temperatures. A tattoo encircled his neck, visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. Another man walked over to meet him, footfalls eerily silent. Navy pinstripe suit and the same tattoo etched into his skin, that of a hungry serpent eating its own tail. Devon wrapped her arms around her chest, squeezing herself tight, though she wasn't cold. These men were dragons. Not true mythical beasts, but adult Mind Eaters, so named for the stylised tattoos coiling around their throats. The symbol they bore was old as the families themselves, an ouroborous dragon that ate itself endlessly. Mind Eaters destroyed themselves with their own hunger for the process of feeding consumed them even as it fed them, and Ouroboros was the perfect representation of that bleak concept. Even if given redemption, which enabled Mind Eaters to feast on books instead, the desire for mind eating never went away. At some point in childhood, a knight must have inked in those tattoos as they did. For all their charges, knights had been little more than cast off sons once, tasked only with limply enforcing peace between families and escorting brides between houses. With the advent of redemption, they acted now as keepers of monsters, holding dragon hunger in check. Or at least that was how it was supposed to work. In practice, they tended to wield their tamed dragons for their own benefit and game. She risked another glance. The two men stood facing each other so close their foreheads almost touched. If they spoke, it must have been quiet, for Devon could hear no words, though she listened acutely. The traffic light cycled from green to red, and still the dragons remained inert and stationary on the empty road. Once she'd feared that life as a dragon would be Kai's fate, tattoo and all. She had bigger problems these days, like worrying whether her son would go insane before he starved or whether he'd starved before he went insane. How much redemption would the knights have left in their stores? Surely their dragons were fast becoming unmanageable. Like her, they desperately needed to find the raven scars. Unlike her, they sought redemption as a means to reclaim social power. Devon only wanted to save Kai. Her knees ached from crouching so awkwardly, vision obscured by strands of hair that she dared not brush away. Focus and control be present in the moment. If dragons were roaming, then knights would not be far behind, and that meant she needed to leave the city. She closed her eyes and opened them again in time to see a large Volkswagen with tinted windows rumble up from the opposite direction. Tense and still, she watched as the car braked at the intersection and opened its doors. The driver wasn't visible. Both dragons climbed inside. The Volkswagen performed an illegal U turn and drove off, heading back the way it had come. Devon blew out a long breath and pulled her jacket tight as if it were armour that could protect her from danger. Easing from the doorway, she ran home with silent steps. Kai was awake when she got back, cradling a Game Boy in his lap. You're home again, he said, and she suppressed a wince. He spoke with the vicar's inflection, used the same elongated vowels. These little changes threw her every time. Every victim did you say there was skin cream? I'm itchy. No, sorry. She kicked off her shoes, feeling embarrassed and guilty. Lad at the till carded me for vodka and I walked out like an idiot. I'll get you some soon, I promise. Always making him promises. One day she'd keep them. It's okay, he said, still absorbed by Mario's endless quest. Outwardly, her son looked like any other 5 year old. Small, a little scrawny, dark haired. Her eyes and her features. The exceptionally long tongue kept coiled in his mouth gave him a mushy lisp that Devon found endearing. But no five year old Devon had ever met conducted themselves with such certainty or adult poise. He was far too intelligent for his age. Of course, most five year olds didn't consume the minds of other human beings for sustenance. Made a big difference that most days. She wasn't sure how much of Kai remained and how much of him was overwritten with another person, their memories and thoughts and morality flooding his mind with their own. She dreaded him remembering and dreaded him having no sense of self. Misery lay down either route. Devon sat next to him. How are you feeling? The couch sagged with their combined weight, springs creaking as she tried to find a comfortable recline. Better, I think. You think? She echoed and brushed hair from his forehead with her fingers. It needed cutting again. Kai squeezed the Game Boy tight. I'm still hungry. Oh, sorry. He flushed. No, no, don't be. Devon put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him so she wouldn't have to look at his face. You can't help it. Let me worry about these things. You do you, she added. It'll be right, eh? It was something an aunt had said to her once, and she found the phrase oddly comforting to repeat. Kai nodded dully. His shoulders were thin beneath her fingers and the bones of his spine pressed into her arm. Starvation diets would do that to a lad. His hunger was growing as he aged, and this was the third month in a row he'd needed more than one meal within a span of 30 days. Really, he needed to feed much more than that. But Devon couldn't bear to hunt every week, and logistically it was difficult. She walked the thin line between destroying as few lives as possible and forcing her son to live in perpetual hunger. As it was most of every month, he was too weak to leave his room. How the specifics of hunger and feeding actually worked, Devon did not know. There could not be that many calories and a few mouthfuls of brain matter. Yet without feeding, the madness would set in, whittling away at his fragile psyche. Eventually his weight would also drop, toxins flooding his system, organs slowly failing, driven always by need and necessity to consume, per the collector's biological design. Kai pulled away, evidently fed up with her hug. She let him go. I saw dragons on the street while I was walking back. We'll have to leave soon. He pouted at the console, saying nothing. Mario had died on a mushroom while they were distracted. Sorry. I know how you hate travelling. Where is it this time? He sounded so listless. That's my good news of the evening. I'm meeting the Ravens car contact. She waved the phone. This meeting with Chris first grabbed the contact details he offered, then catch the bus out. Tight timing, but doable. If this goes well and they can sell me their cure, we might be going to Ireland very soon. Finally, at long last, his shrug was sullen. Can I eat before we go? I'm really hungry. Inside his mouth, that that long tongue uncurled and recurled. If I see Someone suitable, she said, heart aching at his reaction. He'd lost so much hope over the past few months, she shouldn't expect him to hold out for disappointment yet again. I'll do my best, but I won't have time to stalk anyone properly. I'm not fussed. He leaned across and turned the te on, flicking idly through the channels before settling on an episode of Red Dwarf. Devon sat for a while, watching despite herself. Lister, Cat, and Rimmer were riding horses, embroiled in some kind of wild western scenario. Studio laughter crackled at appropriate moments. I thought this was a sci fi show. Devon didn't catch much television, although she'd eaten a few TV Guides on occasion. It was worth absorbing a modicum of pop culture if she wanted any kind of shot at fitting in with society. They're stuck in an artificial simulation, kai said, eyes on the screen inside Crichton's head. He's the robot guy. Devon smiled. Didn't know you were a fan. Oh, yes, he said with an intonation that perfectly mirrored that of the vicar and a hint of genuine excitement. When Red Dwarf first came out, there was nothing else like it on the telly. Ground breaking show. Her smile died, annoyed with herself for walking into such an obvious emotional trap. Red Dwarf had first aired 14 years ago, long before her son had been conceived or born. The Vicar, though, would have been around to see it. A sour feeling brewed in her belly. One thing at a time, she told herself. Focus on what you can control. Hey. She touched her shoulder. Can you text something for me? The eternal frustration of not being able to write, even electronically. Another text? Do I have to? Do you want to find the Raven scars or not? She said waspish, then regretted her sharp tone. He was tired and hungry and exhausted. Same as her. She said more gently, I know you don't remember what it was like to be on Redemption, but everything will be better when we get that drug again. That's what you always say, he said, aggrieved. None of these people ever know anything. This one is a dealer in illegal chemical compounds who used to do business with the Ravenscar family, devon reminded him. She'd explained before the feeding sometimes confused his memories. We've been tracking him down since Doncaster, remember? He says he can put me in contact with the Ravens Car twins. Ok. Ok. He plucked the phone out of her hands, under her direction. He tapped out, yes, let's meet. I'll bring cash and hit send. Thank you. She went to brush Kai's forehead with a kiss. He flinched away. I'm gonna go out this morning and grab you that skin cream and also our bus tickets, just in case we have to bail later. What about your vigil? He said. It's nearly Christmas. A hollow pain formed in her chest. I'll hold the vigil if I can, but I have a lot to do first. Like getting some more sleep. Too much stalking this week. More like too much vodka, he retorted, but he was grinning and ducked good naturedly when she swatted at him with a pillow. I think you need a shower first, cause you smell like booze. Thanks, kid. Kind of reach yourself, you know? He stuck his tongue out at her, a momentous bit of effort given it was tubular and eight inches long. Devon laughed, glad to see something of a child still lingered in him. She threw the pillow at his head and went to take an icy shower. Chapter 4 A Knight's Tale 17 years ago what do you fear, lady? He asked. A cage, she said. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of doing great deeds has gone beyond recall or desire. JRR Tolkien the Return of the King the whispers were everywhere. Babies made from science. The six families struggled with fertility. Few girls were born, and those who were born could only carry two children before early menopause set in, sometimes three at a stretch. Out in the wider world, human scientists had begun trying to cure infertility in their own kind, and that excited the families very much in case that knowledge could be adapted to bookeater women, too. Devon wasn't supposed to know things like that, since she was still only twelve years old and kept apart from adult business. But Devon also liked to listen at doors and was very good at sneaking around. So she found out anyway. She told Ramsay all about it while they were playing on the parapets of Fairweather Manor, climbing the sloped tiling as they had so many dozens of times. A mother bride was arriving that afternoon after many long years of no new marriages at Fairweather Manor, and they both wanted to catch sight of the procession. You're being daft, Devon the Daft, ramsey said, bracing against the roof. He was always doing that with her name, assigning her a sing song title to go with it. Devon the Distracted, Devon the Dizzy, or today, Devon the Daft. Who ever heard of such a stupid thing? Babies born in a test tube. Have you seen those things? He held up a thumb and finger, illustrating the size of a test tube. They don't grow inside the tubes. Stupid head, devon said, edging along the gutter. They just use the test tubes to help, like A magical baby potion? She was guessing, didn't want to admit ignorance. He laughed. If you say so. Ramsey clambered atop the east wing chimney. Its flue's long since sealed off. Sounds made up to me. It's not made up. Devon perched next to him, fully exasperated by his arrogance. Everyone's talking about it. And if it works for the humans, then one day it'll work for us. And if it works for us, then we won't need the knights anymore to arrange all the marriages. The aunts discuss that a lot in their private quarters. No more knights, no more dragons. Women marrying who they please, and other things that Devon didn't really understand. Although she could sense the cautious hope in their words. Ramsey wasn't listening. Hey, look. There they are. He grabbed her arm and pointed. Devon squinted. A loose knot of vehicles approached in the distance, winding through the moors on the potholed roads toward their manor. The bride was arriving. Women did not leave home except for marriages and sometimes parties. Even within the manor, the aunts never seemed to do anything except manage the household or do other tasks that Uncle Ike referred to as women's work. And since the Fairweathers had been too poor to afford a wedding during the Devons 12 years of life, this arriving mother bride would be the first non fairweather woman she had ever met. The procession drew up in a glistening limo painted the colour of chalk. I'd have been on a horse back in the day, ramsey said with confidence that came from being three years older. A big white horse with a saddle, and he gestured vaguely. All that you know. Do you think she could be one of our mothers? Devon had never seen so much as a picture of her own mother, only heard the name Amberley Blackwood murmured in passing. Gossip. Don't be silly, ramsey said. Our mothers have been and gone. All of them. Nobody gets married to the same house more than once. He was right. She felt chagrined for forgetting. On the front drive below, the limo door opened with electronic grace, and the newest mother bride, a Fairweather manor, stepped daintily from her metal chariot. Pale hair had been teased into a formal style more suited to a woman twice her age, for she was young, around 22. A white frilled tunic threatened to drown slender shoulders in fabric, and the blue skirt, overwhelmed with embroidery, seemed to weigh more than she did. You can tell she's a Gladstone with that hair, ramsey said, chin jutted out. She isn't proper old country stock like us. Devon rolled her eyes. Ramsay had developed a zealous pride in their heritage Lately, even though neither of them had ever been to Romania. To her mind, Romania or the Old country as their elders referred to it, was embroidered dresses on special occasions it was singing star caravil at Christmas while one of her brothers ran around them wearing a goat mask. It was offering gifts to the fate fairies. When new children were born, it was midsummer parties and harvest celebrations. Even though they didn't farm or care about solstice, it was strange flower rituals to welcome in the rainy English spring. But Old country stock, as Ramsay meant it now was also dark hair and dark eyes, towering height, strong legs and broad shoulders. Those traits persevered even as the ethnic heritages of the Book Eaters had diverged and interwoven over the decades. The palette of their skin tones had broadened, but the fair weathers remained stocky and looming, strong of build and nothing like the pale, frail, five foot nothing Gladstone girl who had just arrived. I think she's sort of beautiful, devon said. A little dreamy. She looks like a fairy tale princess. A proper one, eh, girls? All right, I guess. Ramsey shaded his eyes. Hey, now, look at them. Knights. That's a sight to see. Below, a cavalcade of men in dark grey suits and sunglasses followed the procession at a distance, all 10 of them riding pristine motorbikes. Maybe you could be one someday, she suggested, because he always seemed enamoured of them. Ramses shook his head. I'd rather be a patriarch of a manor, money in a house, and telling folk what to do. He grinned to himself, and Devon rolled her eyes. He was far too daft and cocky. The knights coasted to a stop in perfect semicircle formation. Some carried an additional rider, brawny men dressed in formal suits. All of them wore full motorcycle helmets. With the visor down, nothing of their faces or necks could be seen, the grotesque tattoos hidden from sight. Dragons, devon said, uneasy. Dragons. Ramsey straightened up. I wish we could see one up close. It would eat your brain with its giant needle tongue. Devon stuck her tongue out to demonstrate. He swatted her away. Don't be a dolt, Devon. The dolt. That's what the redemption is for. The knights feed them little pills and they don't get hungry for brains. Not true, she retorted. The pills help them not to starve, but they still get hungry and still want to eat your brains. Can't do it with the helmets on, he said, dismissive. Down below, the Mother Bride cast a glance over her shoulder at the entourage behind her. For a fraction of a second, something like unease settled on her features as her gaze skipped across the dragon's helmeted visages. Then she turned to face forward again, wearing her polite smile. Aunts and uncles came out in greeting. Uncle Ike foremost among them. At his shoulder followed Uncle Imber, a quiet and tidy man in his mid-30s, the designated husband. You must be Phaedra Gladstone. Even from this distance, Uncle Ike's voice carried. He swept the mother bride into a hug and pecked each of her cheeks, taking care not to crush the expensive dress. Allow me to introduce ya to Imber. Devon looked down at her own clothes. A faded linen dress, the lacy sleeves ripped to shreds and the hems too short to cover her nettle stung ankles. No shoes or socks. Her dresses suffered badly from days spent clambering across the moors, but girls of the family did not wear shorts and trousers. So that was that. She looked back at the tidy, well dressed figure far below. Do you think you'll ever put in a bid for a wedding? She couldn't imagine herself as a bride. Easier to imagine Ramsay as someone's husband. Her brother waved a dismissive hand. Who wants a wedding? Babies are lame. He laughed. I'd like a girlfriend someday. Guess it'd have to be a human one. That'd be nice, devon said without thinking. He shot her a frown. Girls don't have girlfriends, stupid. Some girls do, she said, because she'd read about lesbians in books she wasn't supposed to touch. Like the well of loneliness which she'd found in Aunt Beulah's side table once. Just like some babies can live in test tubes, he said, scoffing. Oh, hey, everyone's already gone inside. We should go down too. They'll be starting the party soon. Sounds boring, she said. His dismissiveness stung, made her want to be contrary for the sake of it. I can't bear to eat Rapunzel. For the thousandth time, that much was true. We've all eaten those stories a thousand times and that's good for us, ramsey said in lecturing tones. If you eat the same books all the time, your brain will stay fast for longer because it isn't you. But if you eat lots of different books, then your brain will run slower. What rubbish, she said, trying not to sound uneasy. I think you're the one making things up, not me. I am not. And it isn't rubbish. It's true. Completely true. Uncle Oban ate loads of different books when he was young and filled up his brain with words. Now his brain is all full up with words, so he can't hardly move or talk Uncle Oban was odd, she had to admit. Ask him a question and it would take him more than half a minute to come up with an answer, his grey eyes staring off into the distance. And walking from his bedroom to the drawing room was a laborious affair undertaken only twice daily, his steps slow and ponderous. Well, I still don't care, devon said. And I have a better idea than sitting around. She lowered herself off the chimney flues and edged across the tiles, heading for the south side of the manor. Hey. A soft scrabble along the rooftop, followed by a swear word. He shouldn't have known, and Ramsey clunked after her. Where are you going? I want to get into the south library while everyone is busy meeting the mother bride. Strands of her dark hair tangled in the breeze. Are you coming or not? What you want with the south side library? That's where the knights leave. He trailed off, eyes widening. Where the knights leave their dragons? Devon finished scooting carefully along the roof's ridge board. We should have a look at them. I've never seen one up close. Are you off your rocker? You can't do that. Its just a look, she said, scornful. I thought you wanted to see one up close. Well, yeah, I did. But come on, they're dragons. Oh, don't be such a baby. You're the one who said they're safe. Because the knights have trained them up, she said, liking her own idea more by the minute. The party is boring and I've eaten all those books before. Let's have a look at these dragons. Devon swung her feet over the roof gutter and braced against the downspout to lower toward the window below. It was against the rules, but she wasn't frightened. Bookeater girls were special and rare and didn't get into much trouble. Whenever Devon got into trouble, Uncle Ike never did anything worse than make her eat pages out of a dictionary. This is stupid. Ramsey called down, sounding aggrieved. Shut up. She hissed and alighted on the wide sill pressed up against a glass window. She was immediately disappointed. Rows of oak shelves stood sullen and overladen with books. No one was inside, and there were no dragons to gawk at. Devon frowned, scrutinizing the room carefully. Ramsey landed on the sill next to her. Devon the dumb. Look, the dragons aren't even here. Can we go to the party now? They must be here. The knights always leave them here. She pointed. One of those back rooms. Maybe we should go in and see. I don't think that's A good idea, he said uneasily. We can't just go in and wander around. Why not? Are you scared of dragons? She wriggled her fingers underneath the loose fitting window. Or are you only brave when they wear their helmets? I'm not scared, helmets or no, he hissed, I just think we can get in trouble. So go downstairs and sit in the hall like a good little scaredy cat. I'll sneak in all by me dumb self without your help. Devon wrenched the window open. The act threw her off balance. She pinwheeled backwards, teetering on the ledge. Ramsey grabbed her shirt with a steadying hand. You wouldn't last five minutes without me. I only slipped cause you were talking to me. She squashed her too tall frame. Through the partially open window, the south side library did not get much sunlight. So much the better for preserving the books. The books sat in shadow, carefully dusted, and the shelves in pristine condition. Instead of the usual fair weather preference for dark leather bindings. The cash in here varied enormously, all old to new, hardback and paperback, all in different sizes and designs. Ramsey squeezed in through the window and came to stand next to her. Five minutes and then we're leaving, he whispered. Shush. If they're in here, they'll hear yer. At least three other rooms led off, this one fitted with yet more shelves. The farthest room was sealed away from sight behind a shut door, which immediately drew her interest. Let's try that postern first. She drifted over the tattered carpets around the L shaped bend, weaving between cases to reach the farthest end of the library. You have really terrible ideas, he muttered. I bet they're not even in here. His cockiness was evaporating rapidly to her amusement. One way to find out, she said, twisting the brass knob. And calm down, won't you? I only want a peek. The door opened soundlessly just enough for them to squint through the crack. The side room within was lined with ancient shelves, the wood fractured and dark from years of over lacquering. Tomes older than the house crowded the space, as did stacks of parchment and vellum written in languages she did not know but could learn from eating if she wished. But Devon barely registered those forbidden treasures. At the far end of the room stood two men in suits facing the wall, with heads bowed, necks marked with aerobarous serpents in thickly inked tattoos. No helmets. Hands at sides curled into fists. Chests rose and fell very slightly with breath, but they otherwise did not move or stir. We should go, ramsey said in the smallest voice she'd ever heard from him. Stubbornness welled in her. They'd already come this far. Devon opened her mouth to say just a second, but the words wouldn't come out. Sudden uncertainty bubbled in her belly, spurred by the supernatural stillness of the two figures in the room. She'd never met any adults who were so frozen. As if sensing her hesitation, the dragons turned around in eerie sync, movements sinuous and fluid, bloodshot eyes and pallid faces, nostrils flaring, hands twitching, full of nervous energy when before they'd been so still, so silent. They strode forward and she did not know whether they were attacking, greeting, or simply curious. Nor did she care to distinguish. Devon yelped and slammed the door shut, backing away suddenly. Nosing through off limit libraries did not seem like such a good idea after all. Window, she managed back to the window. Too far. The hall is closer. Ramsey yanked her around the central shelves towards the south side library's main entrance. Behind them, the the dragons emerged from the side room, taking diverging paths to circle around the shelves, picking up the pace as they hunted. Wolf like. Devon and Ramsay skirted another freestanding tower of old books, tumbling over each other in a blind panic to escape, and crashed straight into a knight. Ramsey rebounded off the broad chest, landing on his backside and pulling Devon with him. Reflexively, she fell atop her brother, tipping her head up to goggle at the man framed in their library's main doorway. The night peered down, pale eyes gleaming from a clean shaven face. He was tall and heavyset, wearing a black suit so stiffly pressed, it planed like carved granite. The marks on his collar indicated high rank. Hello, devon said stupidly. She knew this man, though they'd never met. Night Commander Kinsey Davenport. Everyone knew of this man. The two dragons darted into view, alert and ever silent. They paused on seeing a knight, Obadyra Draconas. Kinsey drew a languid gesture in the air. Detain. Eos. Both men flowed forward in a blink, one apiece for each child. Devon yelped as enormous hands closed around her biceps, pulling her up, and still her feet didn't quite touch the floor. Up close, the dragon smelled of sour sweat and overstarched cotton. His palms sweated against her skin. All she could think about was that tongue, unhindered by a helmet. How well did dragons obey their knights? She was no longer sure of anything. Ramsay, also held captive met her frightened gaze with his frantic one. I was told this library would be off limits to children. The commander looked them up and down. How did you get into this room? It was her idea. Ramsay had the audacity to shoot her a dirty glare, as if he hadn't agreed to everything. We came in through the window and Devon returned his glare. I just wanted to look at them. I was only looking. And my brother chose to come along. She couldn't believe he would make it all about her, the utter coward. Only a look, the commander mused. You're both very lucky that I came back in to check on the dragons, or you would have found this door bolted from the outside. I can't say for certain what might have happened then. He rolled broad shoulders. Redemption takes away the need to feed, but it does not take away the desire to feed. They still hunger for you, for anyone to feed on. When it has been years and years since they fed, as it has for these two, then the craving is strong. We won't do it again. Ramsey sounded almost squeaky. Will we, Dev? Promise, she managed. Correct. You will not. Kinsey gestured again. Oberdera, Dracones, Desisto, quiesco. The dragons let go. Devon landed on her backside with a thump, Ramsay on his knees with a wince. Boys of your age have enormous energy and curiosity, the commander said. But breaking into forbidden areas shows extremely concerning tendencies. I think it is urgent that I speak to your patriarch and bring you back with us when the wedding is over. A lad like you needs the discipline of knighthood. You're just taking me to be a knight? The colour was paling out of Ramsey's cheeks. It was just a mistake, devon said in a small voice. We didn't mean any harm. Rules exist for a reason, kinsey said. Our rules hold the families together, keep us safe, and keep order among our kind. Without strict adherence, we risk unraveling. You might view today's mishap as a small infraction, but I think your behaviour speaks to wilful disobedience and criminal ingenuity of the kind that often proves socially problematic, he added. And I think your patriarch will agree with me. A series of expressions contorted Ramsay's face, each one leaving him paler and more shaken. He opened his mouth and shut it again. Shock robbed Devon of her earlier annoyance, leaving her hollow and gutted. She folded over, arms clasped around her middle. They'd only wanted a book or two, a meal, different and exciting, fun and outside of the usual fairy tales. Yet the day had somehow spiralled from one tiny mistake into a catastrophe. And now, if Ramsay were carted off to be a night. What about her? Ramsey said, tight and low. It was her idea, her stupid plan. But you're only dragging me off. I didn't mean for this to happen, she protested. I never wanted you to. We don't punish girls, the commander said, sounding almost regretful. But I will say this, young lady. When you break family rules, understand that those you love will bear the brunt of it, even if you yourself do not. Today your brother has lost his freedom. Tomorrow it may be one of your children or one of your uncles and aunts who takes the fall for your actions. For the sake of those around you, stick with the books you are fed and keep to the boundaries you are given. He wrapped her forehead with hard knuckles. Do you understand? She knelt at his feet, cowed by shame. Good. He clicked his fingers as if they were dogs or dragons. Let's have a word with your patriarch. That's all for now. Thank you for listening. Make sure to follow Stories from Among the Stars on your preferred podcast app to get the next episode. Or, if you just can't wait, you can buy the Book Eaters wherever books or audiobooks are sold.