Free Redlisted by Sara Beaman Page B

different
abilities. One is the ability to assume false personae—to
deceive others into believing we are someone we aren’t.”
She looked up at the sky. “My real father—the man who
initiated me—used our line’s powers to alter my mind. And
he hired someone from your family—a renegade, I guess—to
do something to my memories. It’s all still a mess, really.
Thankfully the Wardens found me and brought me to Master Julian. He’s
helped me through the worst of it.”
    Maybe
you can help me with the rest, I heard her think to herself as clearly as if she had spoken the
words aloud. She bit her lower lip.
    “I don’t
know how to help you,” I said, regretting the fact.
    “Oh God, I’m
sorry. It’s not easy for me, I’m not used to dealing with
telepaths—“
    “You mean
Julian’s not a telepath?”
    “No.”
    “Wait. So
how can I...? I don’t understand.”
    “Sometimes
manifestations of the blood skip generations, so to speak.” She
shrugged. “But honestly, I feel terrible. You’re so
young. I should be helping you, not the other way around.”
    “I’m
thirty-eight.”
    A patronizing
smile flickered across her face.
    “I’m
sorry,” I said. “You don’t look any older than
twenty.”
    “Thank you,”
she said, smoothing out her skirt.
    “So how old
is Julian?”
    “He was born
on the thirty-first of December in the year sixteen-hundred, so...”
    “Are you
serious? He’s three hundred and ninety two years old?”
    “Three
hundred and ninety-one,” she corrected me with a tiny,
self-satisfied smile. “Wait, no, I’m mistaken. December
thirty-first was the day he was initiated—he only celebrates it
as his birthday. I imagine he’s some twenty-five years older
than that.”
    “Once you’ve
passed the hundred-year mark, does it really matter anymore?”
    She tilted her
head to the side, shrugged. “You’d be surprised. He’s
one of the youngest leaders of a sanguine house. His age is difficult
for him at times.”
    “Oh.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. “Okay.”
    “I might be
older than him, actually,” she admitted. “I can’t
remember.”
    ///
    When I got back to
my quarters, I tried to sleep. Given what Julian had told me, I
thought that perhaps I could dream something that would buy me my
release. I didn’t know what he wanted me to discover; he hadn’t
elaborated on that. I hoped I’d know it when I saw it.
    I took a shower,
shaved, brushed my teeth, turned off the lights, and climbed into the
four-poster bed. I closed my eyes and lay still underneath the duvet
cover. The sheets gradually grew cold as my body cooled to room
temperature.
    I listened to the
clock ticking on the bedside table until the sound started to
irritate me. I got up and put it inside the wardrobe, wrapping it
inside a sweater. I got back into bed.
    I told myself to
relax and just sleep. I was awake for hours telling myself that: just
relax and go to sleep.
    It wasn’t
working.
    I’d had
insomnia before. Whenever it was this bad I’d take sleeping
pills. Would they do anything for me now? Could my dead body
metabolize medicine? It seemed doubtful.
    Two or three hours
passed, than four or five more. I started to worry that, having
fallen out of the practice, I’d somehow lost the ability to
sleep.
    Then I heard the
phone ring.
    I climbed out of
bed and turned on the lights. I walked through the sitting room and
into the office. A few seconds later, the answering machine picked
up. “You’ve reached the office of Adam Fletcher,”
it said in my own voice. “Please leave a message with your name
and phone number at the tone.”
    The tone sounded,
and then another familiar voice began to speak.
    “Whoever
this is, we need to talk,” said Elena. “I don’t
know how you got my phone number, but—“
    I picked up the
receiver. “Elena?”
    “Who is
this?” An accusation, not a question.
    “It’s
Adam,” I said. “Adam Fletcher—“
    “Adam
Fletcher is dead. Adam