Half-Born (Half-Blood Chronicles #1) (The Half-Blood Chronicles)

by Ivy Baum

  He smiled a little. “Right now, there are many competing plans. No one quite knows what to do. All we know is that Blood Right is probably going to escalate until things come to a head with the humans.”

  “And we’re going to let that happen?”

  He smiled crookedly. “You say that like we have a choice in the matter.”

  I started to protest, but he raised a hand.

  “Look, Kes, it’s complicated. Honestly, I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this.”

  I frowned.

  “Don’t take it personally. It’s just that Nev’s friends really prefer to remain anonymous.”

  A silence settled between us.

  Finally, I asked, “Are you going to leave again?”

  He sighed. “Everything depends on the next few days.” He pushed off from the desk and started for the door. “I should let you get some rest.”

  “Sol, I—”

  He stopped, tensed—as though waiting for me to finish my sentence.

  Don’t go, I wanted to say. Don’t leave me again. But the words stuck in my throat.

  Sol looked away. The moment was gone.

  His gaze landed on The Origin of the Sources, which lay open on top of my pillow.

  He picked it up. “Looking for something to put you to sleep?”

  “You were gone awhile. I got bored.” I frowned. “I thought you were the one who left them here.”

  “Me? No. This stuff really isn’t my taste.”

  I thought about what I’d read. “Is any of it true?”

  “I don’t know. But I’d definitely take it with a grain of salt.” He winked as he moved toward the door. “Always remember who wrote it.”

  The next morning, one of Elspeth’s polite household staff came to my door.

  “There’s a messenger for you. He’s waiting downstairs.” I saw a crease of disapproval cross her face. “He’s from the Common Market. I can tell him to leave, if you wish.”

  She clearly would have preferred that. But I shook my head. “No. I’ll go see.”

  Even at the front door, the servant hovered nearby.

  The messenger, a man I didn’t recognize, said, “This message is for you alone.”

  I shooed away the servant, and she retreated, bristling.

  “What did Roche find?” I was almost breathless with excitement.

  “If you want information about your father, then you need to meet with a man named Marl.” He passed a slip of paper. “He will be waiting here.”

  I frowned at the unfamiliar address. “It’s not at Roche’s office?”

  The messenger’s face didn’t change. “This was the message I was given. He’ll be there at four o’clock tomorrow. Shall I tell him you’ll be there?”

  I nodded, and he departed.

  “Kes?”

  I turned to find Sol jogging up behind me. He was trying to get a look at the man, who was now departing rapidly.

  “Who was that?”

  “I—just some personal business.”

  “With someone from the Common Market?”

  I felt a twinge of annoyance. “I already went to the Common Market. This person was just following up on my request.”

  Sol flushed. “Then you were probably robbed blind.”

  “I didn’t pay anything.”

  He gave me a long look. “Nothing is free in the Common Market.”

  Damn. I was going to have to come clean.

  “It was Roche.” I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up. “He promised to look into something for me. It was his way of apologizing.”

  Sol had gone very pale. “You went to see Roche.”

  “I didn’t know it would be him.” I shook my head. “He said he never meant to hurt us.” And then I found myself repeating, almost word for word, Roche’s explanation.

  Sol was silent. But I noticed he didn’t contradict it. “What’s this about, Kes?”

  “I wanted to know about my father. My real father.”

  “Finding your father won’t solve your problems, Kes. It won’t solve any problems.”

  “I know.” I exhaled. “But…I have to try. This is just something I have to do, okay?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

  “I don’t need you there. I’ll have Theo with me.”

  Sol smiled. “Look, I’m sure he’ll do a fine job of making sure you don’t end up murdered, but he can’t negotiate for you.”

  “Negotiate?”

  “Roche may be the kind of guy who gives out favors, but whoever you deal with next is going to expect payment.”

  I didn’t argue. Roche had said as much, after all.

  Sol cracked a half-smile. “You’re going to need me to negotiate the price. Make sure you don’t get fleeced.”

  I sighed, then nodded.

  “So where are we going?” Suddenly, his mood was jaunty, almost eager. “Roche’s office? Because I know that place like the back of my hand.”

  I handed the paper to Sol.

  He frowned. “This isn’t Roche’s address. It’s not even in the Common Market. It looks like a private apartment on the north side.”

  The way he said this wasn’t encouraging.

  “But you know how to get there?”

  He nodded, but he seemed distracted again.

  Later that night, I would remember the worried look on his face—but I had come too far for second thoughts.

  Chapter 45

  The north side was quieter than the Common Market—but as we made our way through the wide tunnels that served as the underground “roads,” I felt the back of my neck prickle.

  There was a sense of quiet menace—a sense that we were being watched, and not by those with our best interests at heart.

  A scowling man answered the door. He wasn’t the messenger, and I didn’t recognize him, but he seemed to be expecting me.

  He did not look happy to see Sol.

  “Who’s this?” he demanded.

  “Her bodyguard.”

  They stared each other down for a moment. Finally, though, he stepped aside, leading us through a narrow series of passages.

  We ended up in a shabby little room with two sagging couches and a coffee table that didn’t look particularly level.

  Unlike the man at the door, Marl made a show of friendliness. He smiled and pumped Sol’s hand as he took the seat across from us.

  But Sol had no patience for it. “Cut the crap. Do you have information for her, or not?”

  His smile faltered a little. “Unfortunately, I was not able to confirm the whereabouts of your pureblood father. My sources are working on it, but I’m afraid it may take awhile.”

  I felt myself deflate. We’d come all this way—and for what?

  “I did, however, stumble across an interesting tidbit that I thought you might find interesting. It has to do with your adoptive father, Jonathan Adler.”

  Beside me, I felt Sol stiffen. He put a hand on my arm. “Let’s go. This was a waste of time.”

  I didn’t move. “What kind of information?”

  “His location.”

  My heart sank. “I already know where he is. That university in Germany—”

  “Ah, but he’s not. Not as of yesterday morning.” Marl’s oily smile widened. “As it turns out, he’s right here in the U.S. In White Falls, Illinois, to be precise.”

  “Are you sure? What’s he doing there?” I leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse at the papers he had in his lap.

  “It seems your childhood home was finally sold. The one in Silver Oaks.”

  I felt my heartbeat pick up.

  Sol leaned closer. “Kes—”

  I waved him away. “What else?”

  He frowned down at the papers. “It looks like he came back to town to finalize the sale. In fact, he’s staying there.”

  “He’s at the house?” I almost couldn’t believe it. Our house had been dark and unoccupied since the week Mom a
nd I had moved out.

  “Yes. I imagine he’s packing up, overseeing the move, that kind of thing.”

  Sol put a hand on my shoulder. “Well, this has been very informative, but I think—”

  “That’s not all we found out.” The man shot me a sly look. “It seems he’s been asking about you.”

  My heart, which had been galloping in my chest, seemed to freeze. “He asked about me?”

  “Apparently, he’s been trying to find your whereabouts. Perhaps he’s concerned about your disappearance…”

  There was that smile again—but I barely noticed it.

  I thought about the message I’d left for him the other night.

  He never called you back, I reminded myself.

  But there were any number of reasons for that. Cell phone service in Outlaw City was notoriously unreliable. For all I knew, he’d been trying to call me for days.

  I’d been telling myself he wasn’t my real father.

  But now everything had changed.

  The man folded his hands in his lap. “I know this isn’t what you were looking for. But perhaps you will find it useful.”

  Sol snapped, “Payment?”

  The man waved away the question with a broad, unconvincing smile. “No need. I was paid for my preliminary research. It was a gift for you, I believe. Since I was unable to uncover anything about your pureblood father, I’ll consider this a sort of…consolation prize.”

  He pushed his business card across the table. “Do keep me in mind for future projects.”

  Before I could pick up the card, Sol pulled me toward the door.

  “Best of luck,” the man called after us.

  Sol wouldn’t say much until we were back in the apartment and the door was closed firmly behind us.

  His face was grim. “Kes…”

  I crossed my arms. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. And I don’t care. I need to know. I need closure.”

  Sol sighed. He walked to one of the fake-windows and looked out into the artificial view—a snowy mountain vista.

  “Let’s pretend, for the moment, that I don’t think this guy is an opportunistic sack of shit. Let’s say what he’s telling you is true. Then what?”

  “Then I get a chance to talk to him. To ask—to ask about what happened.”

  “And what good would that do?”

  I’d get some answers, for one thing. But I remained stubbornly silent.

  Sol’s voice was gentle. “Kes, you spoke to your mother. You know the truth.”

  But it’s not enough. I need to know why.

  Besides, there was always the possibility that if I had the chance to actually talk to my father, face to face, that he might listen.

  And that he might forgive me.

  Sol’s expression softened. “Can I give you some advice, Kes? Let it go. It’s in the past.”

  I shook my head. “It’s my life.”

  Sol snapped, “It was never your life. It was a lie—from day one. Didn’t you listen to anything Diana told you?”

  I felt as though I’d been slapped. He’s wrong. It wasn’t a lie.

  No blood test could erase history.

  My old life had existed, once.

  I just had to get it back.

  I folded my arms and faced Sol with a new resolve. “I’m going to see him.”

  “What?” He was aghast.

  I felt a perverse satisfaction. “I’m going to White Falls. I’m going to see him.”

  Even as I spoke the words out loud, a plan was forming in my mind. I’d go to my old house. Catch him by surprise—so he couldn’t possibly turn me away.

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Have you seen what’s happening out there? This isn’t exactly the best time to hop in the car and go on a fifteen hundred mile road trip.”

  “I don’t care. I’m going.”

  He was shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous. You haven’t seen what it’s like out there. They have road checkpoints. Some cities are thinking about curfews…”

  I had seen the news, which the household staff left running in one of the dining rooms. There were countless “special reports” about the “new terrorist cult.”

  Sol seemed to lose his patience. “I forbid you to go.”

  I laughed. “Weren’t you the one who couldn’t wait to get out of Outlaw City?”

  Sol was quiet. After a moment, he said, “This information might not even be reliable. You can’t trust anything given away for free.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that he has some ulterior motive. I don’t know what it might be, but the last thing you want to do is play right into it.”

  “I’m not naive. What harm is there in going to check out the house? Seeing if he’s really there? It’s not like I have anything else to do with my time.”

  Sol was silent for a long time. “I’m going with you.”

  I gave him a look. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. You’re going to need something less conspicuous than the big black van if you’re going to go to Silver Lake. Last time I checked, you weren’t old enough to rent a car.”

  Well, he had a point. I hadn’t exactly thought this far ahead.

  “But you won’t stop me from see him?”

  He smiled sadly. “I couldn’t. Even if I wanted to.”

  “Why do you want to come with me?”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? It beats sitting around here reading the dusty old books in Charles Marovech’s library.”

  I felt disappointment stronger than I would have thought possible.

  Well, what had I wanted him to say?

  That I meant more to him than just some useless half-blood.

  Get over it. You’re being ridiculous.

  Sol wasn’t my future. The group had already fallen apart. We were going our separate ways. It was only a matter of time before Sol left me, too.

  I had to stay focused on my real future. My family.

  My mother—and my father.

  Chapter 46

  “Ten minutes, Kes.”

  Ten minutes would barely give me any time at all. Maybe not even enough to convince him not to shut the door in my face.

  Then again, in ten minutes, it might be over. For all I knew, he’d kick me out. Call the police.

  But I knew not to push it with Sol.

  Gaining this concession—ten minutes alone—had been hard enough.

  I knew why he was nervous.

  Out in the real world, things hadn’t fallen apart completely. We were, I hoped, a long way from that. But things had changed.

  The signs were all around us as we made the drive: the roadside LED signs urging us to report suspicious behavior, the curfew notices. And, most of all, the new wariness in people’s eyes.

  It was pushing four o’clock by the time we arrived in Silver Oaks.

  Sol asked if I’d rather wait until tomorrow—it had been an overcast day, and there wasn’t much daylight left. But I shook my head. I wanted to get this over with. Today.

  The first time, Sol drove right past my house, barely slowing.

  There was a small, dark sedan in the driveway. Not a luxury vehicle, but nice enough, and new-looking.

  “Do you recognize the car? Is it his?”

  I glanced at Sol, who had taken us on another loop of the neighborhood “No. It’s probably a rental.”

  I was trying to hide it, but seeing my old house had brought a flood of memories.

  For the millionth time, I went over the speech I’d been practicing.

  I know why you left. I would have done the same thing. But you were my father for seventeen and a half years…

  It sounded hollow as I rehearsed it now. Probably because I’d repeated it so many times.

  The thing was, I needed a script. Otherwise, I might just start crying, and that would definitely scare him away.

&
nbsp; Sol pulled up to the curb. Across the street, my old house sat serenely. It was as though the past six months never happened.

  “If you need me before the ten minutes is up—for any reason—call me.”

  I nodded and patted the cellphone, which I’d shoved in my back pocket. I was leaving my backpack in the car. I didn’t want my father to think I was moving in with him or something.

  As I approached the house, my legs felt weightless, my stomach a bottomless pit.

  I tried not to think about what might happen. Or the million ways this could end badly.

  The car pulled away. I had to force myself not to watch it go.

  The truth was, I did want Sol with me. But I couldn’t risk scaring away my father.

  Besides, it was only ten minutes.

  You can do this.

  The front lawn was more unkempt than I remembered.

  I wonder if my father had noticed it, too.

  I went to ring the doorbell, then hesitated.

  No, I would knock. Somehow, that seemed less…intrusive.

  I strained my ears and didn’t hear anything. But I’d seen a handful of lights on upstairs, and there was a car. He had to be here.

  I considered the doorbell again—then stopped.

  It would be easy for him to look out one of the windows and see me there, on his front porch. All he’d have to do was not come to the door—and wait until I left.

  But if he saw me face to face first…

  I knew, then, what I had to do.

  I thought of Dad—laughing at my mother the few times she had tried to lock the front door during the day. Where do you think we live, exactly? Detroit?

  I pushed the door open a few inches.

  My heart was beating wildly in my throat.

  But then I was inside, and I felt as though I’d stepped back in time.

  It smelled slightly different than I remembered it. Maybe since we’d moved out they were using a new scent on the hardwood floor.

  But everything else was unchanged.

  I walked past the narrow table by the front door and slowed.

  I could remember standing in this exact space the day I’d come home from a trip to the mall with Sydney.

  I had placed my empty Starbucks cup on the table—then thought better of it. The icy drink was covered in condensation from the warm spring afternoon, and was already starting to drip all over the fine, dark wood.