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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 ehrich.
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Chapter 9 the 1015 to Edinburgh, present Day in previous eras, Mind Eaters were mostly killed at birth. That changed in the 1920s when the patriarch of the Ravenschan Manor took it upon himself to create a cure for one of his sons who had been born a Mind Eater. Whether he did so out of love or out of a practical realisation that there was power and money to be had from such a venture is a matter of speculation. All we know is that some 25 years later he eventually succeeded in creating a prototype of the drug we now call redemption, and the six families were changed forever. Amarinder Patel Paper and a Secret History in the alley below Devon's flat, a lone dragon walked up the Detroiter strewn pavement, crossing from one end of the alley to the other. Devon dropped to a crouch behind the railing of her flat steps. They're learning my methods. The knights must have gone straight to check the shelters this time. Shelters? Hester crouched at her side, a still smouldering cigarette between her fingers. Wherever leaf Kai's victims, humans mostly ignore their impoverished, so almost no one tips off the police. True. They're as cruel as we are in their own way. Hester held up a compact mirror, angling it to see around the railing of the steps. He's gone for now. A little close for comfort, Devon checked her watch. 9:50pm the mobile phone was burning a figurative hole in her pocket. If she was going to flee to the Ravens cars tonight, then she needed to let him know. Aloud, she said, did she drive down here? Is there a car we can take? Sadly, no. A friend drove me to the city limits a couple of days ago and dropped me off. Huh. Curious choice. Why not hang around in case this was a family trap and the city was full of knights, Hester added reluctantly. And I didn't realise we'd be leaving under such duress like this. Fair enough. I guess we're taking the train then. Train? With you to see Killick Raven's car. I see. Hester stubbed out her vanilla cigarette on the filthy brickwork and flicked it off the side. Not that I'm complaining, but why the change of heart? I thought you didn't trust me. It's not my decision, is it? Kai needs your cure. I can't deny that. If I want a shot at giving him a free and happy life, then I need redemption and a path to safety. Devon stalked back into the flat. I'll start packing. What's happening? Kai said. Are we still leaving? Yes. She grabbed her suitcase by the wall and took it to the bedroom. Grab your Game Boy, please. No. Put it in my messenger bag. There won't be room in the case. On top of the clothes, she squashed down a handful of old fairy tale books she still owned, the History of Photogena, Night Terrace, the King of Elfland's Daughter, Princess Furbal. Alright. He unzipped the messenger bag and tucked his console inside. Important things stayed in there, like the 20 odd grand in cash, an emergency book to snack on in her mobile, and now the Game Boy, which gave his life continuity. Something about the same levels, the same challenges held his attention despite all those disparate feeds he consumed. Can I help? Hester said, still hovering near the front door. Thanks, but I'm already done. Devon slammed the suitcase shut on her meager possessions. I need the toilet before we leave. She also needed a phone call before they left. We're in rather a hurry. Right. And I'll be quick. Devon escaped into the bathroom before any other objections could be raised. She sat on the seat because she did need to go, and dug out her mobile phone from her coat pocket. Her list of recently called only had four contacts in it. She selected a particular number and pressed the call button. At times like these, Devon intensely disliked her inability to write or even text. If not for that, she'd be able to text discreetly instead of having to do these awkward calls where she might be overheard. Three rings, followed by the stillness that came from someone picking up but not speaking because it wasn't safe to talk. Devon pressed the asterisk key in rapid succession on her end. The phone was perfectly silent, but for her listener. They would hear the sound of a key dial arranged into longer and shorter beeps as she converted the phrase change of plan, sit tight for more info into a string of Morse code. She waited a tense few seconds, receiver to her ear, for a series of return beeps to ping down the line. Roger that. Are you done yet? Hester called through the door. Devon covered the mobile's mic with her thumb. Keep your shirt on. Not enough time to get in touch with her other contact. She'll just have to go with Hester for now and get in contact later. Devon hit the flush, yanked up her jeans, then closed the mobile and washed her hands before stepping out. I'm ready. Hard enough to keep her coded conversation secret from Kai, and now she'd have to avoid Hester, too. She felt the start of a stress headache in her temples. They slipped down the stairs in a tight group of three, Hester leading the way with Devon following, her small suitcase and messenger bag slung across one shoulder. Kai stuck close to her side as they left without a backward glance. All homes looked the same when abandoned. We're tight for time. Hester had one hand stuffed into a purse, and Devon wondered what weapon she had hidden in there. Give me a shout if something catches your eye. The night they walked beneath was not the night Devon had stepped into a couple of hours before. Sobriety drew sharp the lines of every building, and the temperature had dropped colder. The sidewalks were slowly thinning of people. Somewhere, distant clusters of revellers shouted and cheered on the Eve of Christmas. Kai tugged his lip anxiously. What happens if we meet a dragon or a knight on the way to the train station? Hester shortened her purse strap so that the bag was close against her body. Then we run and hope to shake them in the station crowds. St. Mary's Cathedral came into view as they segued from St. James Boulevard onto Neville street, its solitary bell tower thrown tall against the dark winter sky. They were not far from the train station, only two blocks away on the other side of the road. This would have been easier and less dangerous if we'd left sooner, devon said, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes. I could have met you hours ago if you'd wanted. I had no idea it was so urgent. The other woman's glasses were misting up from her own breath as she spoke. Besides, you're the one who dossed about in a pub for an hour. Well, you weren't exactly in a hurry to, Devon began, the words dying in her throat. Two men were standing on the wide courtyard steps that led up to St. Mary's Cathedral, their backs towards her. The first man was a dragon, rendered faceless by his helmet. The second man had the same dark hair as Devin, the same slant to his shoulders, but a little older and taller and broader, wearing a pressed suit with his hair combed back neatly. He half turned, and she caught sight of a lapel pin shaped like a tiny silver tree, which pierced his collar and nailed it in place. Ramsay Fairweather, now a family knight, her brother and friend, her enemy and hunter. The second man was one she'd also met and knew to name Eland, a friend of Ramsay's, also a night. She wasn't surprised to see them. This was the encounter that she'd been expecting, even waiting for the nights were nothing if not reliable and predictable. Still, this particular timing was inconvenient as all hell. Hester slowed her pace. What's wrong? Nights ahead. 10 o', clock, Devon said. Stay calm. Hester swiveled to the right, toward the road, completely cool and unfazed. She was a veteran at this. Let's cross the street, see if we can pass them by. They'll see us, kai whispered. If they look this way. Keep your head down and don't panic. Devon took her own advice, a curious kind of excitement stealing over after so many days of drab repetition. She was almost relieved to have something happen. They closed the distance to the station with rapid steps, crossing a road nearly devoid of traffic, Devon keeping her head down and Hester keeping her collar up. For a moment it seemed they might slip past simply by crossing the street. When a taxi pulled up to the nearby curb, a group of drunken young men spilled out. One of them tripped over the curb and pinwheeled like a clown, while the rest broke out into loud, horsey laughter. Ramsey turned automatically at the noise and saw them at once. His form stiffened and the dragon at his side swivelled around in a sharp jerking motion, as if someone had pulled an invisible string to whip him tautly in their direction. Eland followed his gaze, eyes widening. Fuck, said Kai. Watch your bloody mouth. Devon caught him by the wrists and started running. Chilly night air slapped her face from the speed of her jaunt. Hester also broke into a run, keeping pace. The sidewalk had grown slick with ice as the temperature had continued dropping through the evening, and her cheap boots skidded on gum scabbed pavements too clunky for efficient running. Devon kicked them off in a fury, to the astonishment of the taxi passengers, and ran barefoot on the cold ground. Hester swore and almost tripped over the discarded boots. But you get to swear. Kai ran free and light in his two small shoes, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him move so fluidly. They'd fled cities before, once with human police circling and once with knights on their tail, but she'd had to carry him both times. How come I have to watch my mouth? It took Devon a full two seconds to pass what he was on about. What? She said, shoving him beneath the arches of the station entrance. For Christ's sakes, I'm a grown up. Swearing is my privilege. Departuresport, Hester pointed. Find out what platform we're on. We need the next train to Edinburgh. Well, I'm 25 grown ups, so I can say bad words 25 times more than you, kai said. You're a grown up when I bloody well, say you are not a moment sooner, devon said, fuming. Why do children always have to talk back at the worst times? Hess, don't bother with the board. It's platform six. Are you sure? I've eaten the train schedule. Let's go. The situation fractured into a series of moments. Four men detached from the shadows of the station, all closing in a tight circle. Two were knights in suits, two were dragons, dark tendrils of ink marking their necks. The taller of the knights pointed straight at Hester, calling out above the station noise. A raven's car. Hester pulled a revolver from her purse and headshot all four men with stunning accuracy. Screams and gasps. The remaining passersby fled or ducked for cover. Knightly bodies disintegrated as they fell, flesh growing brittle and pale, ink layers peeling away to sheaves of paper that fluttered through the station. Each hit the floor as a pile of paper. Stuffed suits. Awesome. Kai broke into a grin. Devon was speechless. Ramsay Fairweather burst through the station entrance, accompanied by another knight and a lone dragon. He saw the crumbling forms of his colleagues and hesitated. Caught off guard, Hester whirled and shot him. He ducked smoothly behind the closest pillar, the other knight ducking with him. The dragon stood uncertainly out in the open, half crouched and scowling. Shit. Hester snarled. The gun was empty, Devon realised, a five shooter only from the safety of his covered position. Ramsey called out, obadira Jacorn. The lone dragon snarled, peeling away from COVID and sprinted forward. Devon picked up her carryall and flung it straight at him. It was a good throw, making a perfect arc through the air. Despite its awkward shape, the dragon didn't dodge in time. He toppled from the weight of the hefty bag to his face, clothes and books scattered on the concrete as the zipper burst. Hold tight, devon said, and slipped an arm around each of her companions waists. She bounded through the station with six foot strides, no longer caring about looking inhuman. Nothing was going to be more conspicuous than the other woman opening fire in a public place. Right now, they simply needed to get away. That night is chasing us. Hester shouted into her ear while Kai said, dev, I think we'll miss the train. Shut up, both of you. Pedestrians were meant to go up the stairs and over the footbridge to reach the other platform. That would take too long. Companions held fast. Devon coiled to strength and leaped the gap between train platforms. She landed cleanly on the gravel that lay between both sets of tracks, rebounding up and over to platform six, accompanied by the noise of Hester's swearing and Kai's laughter. Devon pelted through the waiting room, past a scattering of shocked travellers, out the other side, and then straight onto the last Christmas Eve train to Edinburgh, right as the conductor blew his whistle. Chapter 10 the Princess returns to Elfland seven years ago she rose at once, and now Earth had lost on her the grip that it only has on material things and a thing of dreams and fancy and fable and fantasy. She drifted from the room. Lord Dunsany, the King of Elfland's daughter Salem, wanted shells for her third birthday. She had never been to the sea and wasn't allowed to go, but had fallen in love with the idea of waves upon beaches. Devon sought an audience with Luton in the evening, knocking politely on his study door. Shells? Where did she get such ridiculous ideas from? Said Luton. The girl is barely eating books. She's eaten the Little Mermaid. Devon cringed at his expression. Isn't that ok? It's a classic. I grew up eating it and I saw it on your shelves, so I thought you should have checked with me first, he said sourly. Still, I suppose there's no harm. I'll see if I can get her some shells. Anything else she wants. For all his grumbling, Lewton remained indulgent of Salem, a fact that seemed to surprise him as much as it did Devon. No, you've given me a lot as it is. I'm grateful. She was lucky. Other mother brides had to give up their children, but over the months Luton had listened to Devon's arguments, had seen the strong bond between herself and Salem, and agreed to give special consideration, providing Devon lived with them and did not take the girl back to Fairweather Manor. Sometimes the rules could be bent. Behave, be good, toe the line, follow the rules, and the patriarchs would be good to you. In the end that had proved true after all, to Devon's chastisement. She should have trusted that wisdom sooner. After all, it was family traditions that had gifted her Salem, a child she might not have otherwise had, and the girl was a truly wonderful thing. Grateful, he echoed, and a funny expression crossed his face as if he'd swallowed a bug by mistake. She thanked him and left shells for Salem. Lovely little dark haired Salem, who found butterflies funny and hadn't met a tree she couldn't climb and loved to go riding with Devon, tiny though she was taking the steps two at a time, Devon ran down the stairs and out into the garden populated by acacia trees and Spanish rosebuds, where her daughter was tossing pebbles into an ancient fountain. Mum. Salem held her arms out and Devon scooped her up with a smile. Her daughter was a mirror of herself, same wide shouldered builds and aquiline features and dark hair. Lewton had contributed nothing more than a technicality. Strangely, she had never missed having a mother till becoming one herself. With both arms around her daughter's back, Devon could, if she closed her eyes, imagine a young Amberley Blackwood from long ago picking her up in the same way. But even then the only face she could picture on such a figure was her own, albeit older. It was so hard to imagine a thing you had never seen from the other end of the garden, Gaily and the rest of the ants watched with a scowl. They'd welcomed Evan among them when she had been pregnant, but after Luton's change of heart they no longer spoke to her. If she so much as glanced their way, they drew back. Not that Devon really cared. She had woods and streams and frost laden gardens to explore with her child, sometimes on foot and sometimes on horseback with Salem carefully bundled on the saddle with her. Let the old bats enjoy their self inflicted isolation. Stuck in their fusty quarters for most of the day, Devon set off into the cultivated orchards of Winterfield Manor, holding Salem's small hand. Lewton was true to his word, arranging for a box of shells to be bought and delivered to Winterfield Manor. Devon inspected them carefully the evening before the party, then packaged the lot into pastel gift paper. Salem turned three on Christmas Day, the ground dry and crisp with a sprinkling of frost. Devon spent the morning hanging bunting in the main dining room and even took the time to put on a forest green chiffon dress. She had never cared much for dresses, but Salem loved pretty fabric, both wearing it and seeing it. The things you did for a child's happiness. Birthday parties had never really been a big thing at Fairweather Manor, but the Winterfields liked celebrations. The garden was filled with people sitting and talking or wandering about. Lewton even took time from his work schedule to come outside, smartly dressed but looking ill at ease. Thank you for coming, she said, slouching down because he hated looking short next to her. Lemmy will be glad to see you. Lewton swirled a cup of ink tea and didn't answer. He'd never used her nickname for their daughter. Salem zigzagged through chairs before circling back around, eyes bright with joy. There you are, Lemmy. I have a present for you. Devon held out the paper wrapped bundle. From both of us, lewton said quickly, as if it had been his idea and not hers, but she let it slide. He had bought them, after all. Salem snatched the package and poked a hole in the thin, crinkling paper, crowing with delight. Shells. Lots of shells. Devon drew the girl into her lap and helped to unwrap the rest. We can make a necklace with some of them if you want. Salem picked up the biggest shell and put it to her ear, smiling. See? Other adults came forward, along with the handful of older Winterfield children. Salem did well out of her birthday. She was plied with small gifts, mostly the usual children's picture boards that she'd recently started eating as her book teeth came in. A package of toy teacups had also arrived, courtesy of Fairweather House. Devon twinged with embarrassment on seeing the address label. She'd hardly had contact with home in her three years here, but Salem took so much of her time and energy, not to mention the constant tiny tug of wars with Lewton. She couldn't call them since Uncle Ike did not keep a connected landline. Ms. Fairweather? Devon jumped, startled to find Gayly standing in proximity. What is it? Mr. Winterfield would like to see you. Come with me, please. Gaily's expression was flat and dour. Lewton? But he was just here. Devon swiveled her head, surprised to find her husband had apparently left. Can't this wait? It's the middle of her party. Won't take a moment. Can you? Gaily said stiffly. You'll be returning very soon. Fine, if I must. Devon kissed the girl's hair. Go play, Lemmy. I'll be right back. Salem didn't look up as they left. She was too busy arranging shells in a neat row by size, squinting in the winter sunlight. This way, gaily said, as if Devon didn't know the layout of Winterfield Manor by heart after all this time. Perhaps, as with so many things about Gaily, she simply operated on autopilot, speaking words and making gestures that had become as reflexive as breathing. Devon, following dutifully, resolved to never become such a robotic old woman. She tucked the stairs two at a time, impatient to get the visit over with, and turned on the landing toward Lewton's study. No, your quarters, gaily said. Her hands were twitching. He wants to see you in there. What's this about? Devon was struck with a sudden urge to flee back to the winter garden where her daughter waited. Devon, please don't argue with me today. Gaily sounded tired. I have things to do and other places to be, and it won't take long. Fine. Suit yourself. She stalked off down the hallway toward her own room. Lewton Winterfield was waiting when she got there, sitting in the miniature living area that Devon shared with her daughter. He'd taken off his smart jacket and thrown it across the couch arm. A newspaper spread its heavily inked pages across his lap. Oddly, he was reading it rather than eating it. A rare sight. Hello. She spoke her greeting like a general sending a scout into hostile territory. Took your time. Lewton flipped a page of his newspaper. There's a cup on the side table right next to you. Drink it, please. He wasn't actually reading, just running his fingers over the pages with agitated energy, fiddling with it. She looked to her left, inspecting the mug. What's this for? It's just tea, for God's sakes. He hadn't spoken to her so sharply in over a year. Drink it and sit, won't you? I cannot abide argumentative women, and Devon couldn't abide rude men. But she was only 22, felt she owed him for giving her Salem and didn't want to cause an argument. Every single day was fraught with tiny conflicts between herself and the members of this sodding family. Pitching a battle might align him against her. She picked up the cup and drank. Bitterness made her gag. What's in this? It wasn't just tea like he'd claimed. The taste of ink couldn't compensate for whatever had been put into the cup. Go wait in the bedroom, he said. Well, speak shortly. When she didn't budge, he said with visible annoyance, I will explain everything. I just require a moment to compose myself. She didn't yet know how much of a coward he was, or should have been more suspicious. Devon went to the adjoining room and sat on the bed as directed. The minutes stretched by and Lewton didn't appear. She could hear the newspaper rustling, the shuffle as he occasionally moved around. That was it. He was waiting as she was. Drowsiness set in, weighing her bones like liquid mercury. Something was very wrong and she stood up, determined to what? She couldn't remember what needed doing. Salem was in the garden and something was wrong. The ground came up to meet her as she crumpled to the floor. The last thing she remembered before dipping into blackness was the sound of footsteps approaching and the touch of chilly fingers thumbing her eyelids and a confusion of movement, lights and voices, people around her. Sleep that wasn't sleeping, in dreams that weren't dreams. She was a princess in a cave, a dragon roaring all around, but it was only a car engine. Countryside flickered by like a cheap animated show. More hands, more moving, a scent she recognised, then darkness and softness. Devon woke sometime late at night with a splitting headache, a roiling stomach, and a terrible feeling of loss. She scrubbed her eyes, battling queasiness. This wasn't her bedroom, or rather it was her bedroom, but in fair weather Manor, not Winterfield Manor, and the scent she'd caught was of heather and wet moors rolling steeply outside her window. Still dressed in green chiffon, she slowly turned over. Two men were in the room, both of whom she recognised. Uncle Ike sat in a chair with legs crossed, holding a half eaten book on a plate. The title was something in Japanese, a language she'd never eaten before and and so could not read. At his side stood Ramsay Fairweather. She almost didn't recognise him. More than 10 years had passed since they'd physically met. He looked older, as one would expect, hair cut short from unruly boyish tumble into a military buzz. His features, always a trifle sharp and narrow in boyhood, reminded her now of a hatchet blade. Its you, she said. Her head throbbed. Hello, Dev. Been a few years, eh? Ramsey toyed with a silver pin on his lapel. I should call you Devon. The dame, now that you're grown. The old nickname habit filled her with a rush of warmth. I missed you. Still sentimental, he said, deflecting as always. How's married life? Married marriage, Luton, Salem. She sat bolt upright. Where's my daughter? Ike bit a corner off his Japanese book, speaking for the first time. At Winterfield Manor, where she belongs. His book teeth were unsheathed for eating, distorting his words. And you've returned home at the close of your contract, where you belong. Under his breath he added in Japanese, eshajori, as they say. Even then she didn't understand. No, that isn't right. I get to stay with Salem because Lewton and I reached an agreement. Let me be direct, her uncle said between mouthfuls. Your husband lied, Princess lied. She sounded small and pathetic, even to herself. Devon looked to Ramsay for confirmation or reassurance. Her brother stifled a yawn and examined his nails. There is no special agreement, her uncle said. 500 years of eater traditions do not get overturned on the whims of one pampered girl. A long suffering sigh. Still, I wish he had not done so, since he has only made things harder in the end. But what happens under another house's roof is their affair. I suppose he thought it would be the easiest way of pacifying you. For what it's worth, I am sorry, my dear. You don't understand. It's her birthday and I said I'd Be right back. She looked pleadingly at her brother. Won't you take me back? Why aren't you saying anything? Don't be so dramatic. Ramsey sounded annoyed. Your child is weaned and three years of age. Uncle Ike wiped ink stained fingers on a napkin, transferring his now empty plate to a side table. The contract is over, Princess. Do you understand? Something in her was cracking. Little spider web fractures that spread and spread. If she breathed too deeply, she'd fall to pieces. Oddly, the thing she couldn't stop thinking about was Gaily's pitying looks and incessant yet subdued anger, not directed at her, but for her. How unkind she'd been to the other woman, Devon the Deceived, she thought inanely. A stupid girl who was easily tricked. Princess, uncle Ike said again, recalling her attention. I want to see Salem just one more time, she said, knowing it was ridiculous to voice such a desire. The least you can bloody do is let me say goodbye. That tongue of yours, eh? Uncle Ike dabbed his lips. Lower your tone, please. Devon bit the inside of her cheek, marveling how someone she had once loved so much could become someone she hated so unreservedly. It struck her as a terrible, petrifying irony that the Bookeaters thought of themselves as families and yet did not value family at all. Daughters were commodities, sons totally expendable, and children. She had to get out of here. She had to rescue Salem. Devon launched out of bed, almost tripping over the chiffon dress she'd put on this morning for Salem's sake. Everything for Salem. She would run back to Salem and fuck everything else. Dev, stop. Ramsey sprinted after Devon, wretched the door open and stormed down the hallway, crashing into startled uncles and nearly running into an eight year old child. Phaedra's little boy, left here by his mother and Devon couldn't remember his name after four sodding years in Winterfield Manor. She charged past him in a haze of fury. Floor to ceiling shelves were looming dusty guardians, the books gleaming like endless rows of teeth in wooden mouths. Instead of going down the main stairs, she whirled through the first floor drawing room, knocking over tables and chairs as she went in a bid to make the chase difficult. Ramsey, not far behind her, tripped on something and swore no one told him off for using bad words. There was another passage down through the back stairwell, and it'd be easier to lose her brother on that route. Where did the house become such a cramped, twisting maze, such a fearful and gloomy place? Stop, for fuck's sake. Ramsay caught up to her at last, as they both tore into the front hallway, his fingers catching a fistful of tulle fabric. What are you doing? Going back to Winterfield. She yanked her sleeve out of his grip, spun round, and crashed straight into Uncle Ike, who had taken the other set of stairs while she'd detoured through the house until he'd come out in front of her. Devon backed away, hemmed in between the two men. Get out of my way. She was alarmed to see family members gathering in the shadows, watchful and sad. One of the aunts shook her head mournfully. Uncle Ike held up his hands. Princess, she spat. He recoiled. I'm not your princess. Princesses are bullshit. Your fairy tales are bullshit. Stop treating me like a child and use my name. Devon, uncle Ike said warningly, in that do not argue with me tone that no longer frightened her. Because the only thing that frightened her anymore was losing her daughter. Piss on the manor, she said. I hate this shitting house. And I hate these books and the wedding you made me have. And I'm just trapped here with a bunch of Devon Bloody fucking monsters. Uncle Ike uncurled from his habitual stoop, drawing up to his full height. Young lady. She snatched up a vase from a side table and threw it at his head. He he ducked sideways, astonished, stumbling against Ramsey, who staggered back from the unexpected weight. Ceramic shattered against the wall behind them. She darted around both men and through the foyer and out the house and across the driveway, heading south toward the woods, toward Birmingham, where Salem waited to be rescued, shouts and cries ringing out behind her. Devon ran.
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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.