"So," Bron said. "I come from some kind of a breeding program?"
"Probably," Olivia said. "For thousands of years, your people have selectively bred for strength, speed, intelligence, and beauty. How well did you do in wrestling?"
Bron shrugged. He didn't want to brag. "Fourth in state, for my weight division."
"That's a relief," Olivia said. "If you were a purebred, there's no way that you would have placed only fourth."
"Why is that a relief?"
"Because it means that you're not completely evil. The evil masaaks ... think of their bodies as being like the hardware to a computer. They're bred to be cold, cunning, indifferent. If you were one of them, you would be... easily corrupted."
Bron worried about that. He sometimes felt so distant from others, so ... broken. Now Olivia was suggesting that someone might have made him that way, left him broken on purpose.
"But what about training," Bron said. "Some people say that nurture is more important than nature."
"Imagine that I could take out your memories, your 'software,' and put in new ideas and attitudes—anything that I want. If I inserted the right propaganda, the right mix of hatred and cynicism and superiority, I could create something... completely evil, both on the genetic level, and on the nurturing side. Your friend Riley had that happen to him. That's what our enemies do."
"So you think they'll come for me?" Bron asked. He was frightened by the thought, but Olivia was pale and shaking, and he wondered if he should be even more scared.
"I think they should have come a year or so ago. You're growing quickly, and just as your body matures, so do your powers...."
Bron felt intrigued by the possibilities. "I read a story about changelings once," Bron said. "The fey, the dark elves, put their beautiful babies in human cribs, and let the humans raise them."
"Some fairytales come close to the truth," Olivia said. "That is but one name that we have been called, 'the fey.'"
Bron had to ponder that. The word 'fey,' had so many undertones—powerful, dangerous, beautiful, and deadly.
"The changeling grew up," Bron said, "and went to war with the fey."
Olivia didn't say anything, but there was a hopeful look in her eyes. That's what she wants me to do, he thought, go to war with her enemies.
"Bron," Olivia said. "That boy Riley came to school today, hunting for you. The secretary caught him in a lie, and told him that there was no one at Tuacahn with your name. Maybe she threw them off our trail, but you need to know, our enemies are looking for us now. We'll need to keep a low profile. Don't go into town. Try not to attract any more attention."
"Okay."
"And you need to know that the boy who was killed, it wasn't our fault. They hunted us. I threw the caltrops out of the car hoping only to disable their vehicle. If they hadn't been speeding, no one would have gotten hurt. If they had caught us, you can't imagine what they would have done."
Bron considered that for a moment, nodded. But a thousand questions warred in his head. "So, do you think I can take people's memories, too?" It seemed like a tremendous power, greater than anything that he had ever conceived.
It also seemed absurd. Everything that Olivia had said was warring in Bron's mind. He couldn't process it fast enough, and yet, he had to believe her.
"Not all of us can take memories, or grant new ones," Olivia replied. "We will have to perform some tests with you, begin training. But I think that you're not a memory merchant, like me. I think you're something far rarer. Mrs. Stillman said that you sucked the energy from her at your last home. Your social worker was quite amused by that accusation. It could be madness talking, or she could be right, in a way. Yesterday, you rejected Galadriel, and she just curled up in a ball and quit breathing and all but died. And Mr. Lewis, back when you were a child, he curled up and died, too."
"I've never heard that," Bron said.
Olivia paused. "It's in the state's records. I think that you're a danger to those that threaten you. You're what we call an asufaak arru'yah, a dream assassin."
"A what?" Bron demanded.
"A dream assassin. It's a rare kind of masaak, the very rarest. With my powers, I can access many parts of the brain, but not all. I pull memories out of the cerebral cortex. I can even train neural pathways. But a dream assassin can go into a place that I never see, deep into the amygdala. He can draw out... hopes, desires, and ambitions from those around him. He can use them as fuel to shape his own goals."
"I couldn't have done that," Bron said. "I never touched any of those people!"
"A very powerful dream assassin wouldn't need to touch them," Olivia said. "Your will alone could have sapped them, even from a distance. Among every breed of masaak, there are some who can sap others from afar. We call them leeches. I think that you're not only a dream assassin, you're a powerful leech."
"Wow," Bron said sarcastically, "an assassin and a leech. Can you think of anything else to call me?"
Olivia smiled through tight lips. "We've been using these appellations for thousands of years. Among our people, they don't have negative connotations. Far from it. Leeches are revered, and dream assassins ..." She changed the subject. "Think about this, Bron: each one of these people gave you reason to fear or dislike them. You saw Mr. Lewis as a threat to your mother, and how did he die? He lost the will to live. He simply curled up in a ball and quit breathing—just as Galadriel will, unless you learn how to control your powers!"
Bron took a deep breath in surprise. "I wasn't trying to hurt her! I never wanted to hurt anyone!"
"I know," Olivia said. "Don't blame yourself. It's a natural defense mechanism, like an adder striking by instinct when surprised. We're going to have to go to Galadriel. You'll need to return what you took—by accident. You're going to have to give her the will to live."
Bron considered. "What if I give Galadriel too much ... ambition? I might end up like her, without the desire to do anything at all."
"No, you wouldn't," Olivia said. "You would simply save yourself. You'd leech the will from others around you."
He considered this for a long moment, then said, "Why should we bother with her? Why not let her die?"
Olivia shuddered and took a deep breath. "How could you even think such a thing?"
Bron shrugged. "People die every day. She's trouble just waiting to happen. She's the kind of person that when she trips, someone else gets to take the fall. When she gets cut, the rest of the world bleeds."
"What do you mean?" Olivia asked.
Bron tried to explain. "She's rich, beautiful, spoiled. She begged me to run away with her, but if I had, what do you think would have happened when we got caught?" He waited for Olivia to answer, and explained, "I would have gone to juvie. She would have gotten grounded. I would have gone up on charges—runaway, rape, theft, kidnapping. She would have lost her cell phone privileges. That's the way that it works when you're a kid from social services. You saw Officer Walton. He can tell you. If a window gets broken, must be one of us who did it—not some kid from a 'good' family. As soon as Galadriel went missing, he came knocking on my door. How fair is that?"
"It wasn't fair," Olivia said.
"Damned right it wasn't fair. That girl is a danger to everyone around her!"
"You can't be that cold!" Olivia said.
Bron gave her a knowing smile. "Oh, yeah? Watch me."
Olivia didn't know him at all. He'd been pulled from one home after another, abandoned by his mother. Everyone he had ever loved had been stripped from him. No one had ever cared for him. Why should he care for someone else?