“Still very sick.”
“I’m … sorry to hear that.”
“Are you? You referred her to a shrink,” Zane replies. “You told us she had ADHD.” A vein throbs near his temple, and the man shifts back on his stool.
“Listen, Mr. Jenson,” he says, after a quick swallow. “Why don’t you call the office and schedule an appointment, and we can talk about this further there?”
A dangerous light flashes through Zane’s eyes—something I haven’t seen before in him—but his voice remains as even as ever. “And wait another three months to see you like last time? I don’t think so.”
I lay my hand on his back and feel the muscles tense beneath my palm. “Hey, let’s get out of here.”
“She has MLD,” Zane says, ignoring me.
The man pales at this, but he doesn’t say anything. I can feel the tension rising off Zane like a heatwave.
“Zane,” I say more firmly.
But he still doesn’t move, just stares at the man and says, “You’re a specialist. You should have known better. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
With that, he moves past me and heads for the door.
Chapter 36
REED
Seattle, Washington
Age Twenty-Nine
The coffee shop buzzed as Reed approached Evelyn Nash. She blinked up at him when he neared, and he nearly took a step back. Her round, owl-framed glasses were too large for her slender, almost gaunt face. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, her pupils lost in her irises. She had a flat nose that hung over a pair of thin lips and a jaw that tapered into a sharp point. Standing this close, something about her features seemed insect-like to Reed—like he was staring at a human grasshopper.
“Not all who wander are lost,” he read aloud, nodding at the sticker plastered to the back of her computer. “Aragorn, right?”
“Are you a fan of Isildur’s Heir?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“The rightful king. Strider of the Wilds. The one who wields the Flame of the West.”
Reed coughed, unsure how to respond. He opened his mouth and shut it, then opened it again. “I—”
She tapped the sticker. “Aragorn. Are you a fan?”
“Yes, sorry. I loveThe Lord of the Rings.” He’d prepared for this,knew she was into Tolkien. He’d even spent some time brushing up on all things Middle Earth over the last few months in preparation, but her direct question and clipped, monotone caught him off guard.
“I don’t see how that can be the case if you don’t recognize his many names.” She waited for his reply, her face an expressionless mask as her insectoid eyes clicked over him in a series of slow blinks.
Reed hoped she liked what she saw: a man a few years older than her wearing scuffed jeans, a blue denim jacket, and a black T-shirt showcasing her favorite band, The Strokes.He’d grown his hair out and tucked it behind his ears, pairing it with two days’ worth of scruff. Like her, he wore a pair of framed glasses, except his carried no prescription. He looked ruffled but not homeless, just distressed enough to be her type.
“It’s uh, been a while since I read the books,” Reed said, placing his hand on the empty chair across from her. “Mind if I sit?”
“This is a public space, isn’t it? The chair is available.”
Nope,he thought, about to break for the door.No way.But he forced himself into the seat anyway, and Evelyn spoke the second he did.
“I met Julian once. He’s an introvert. He’s also highly intelligent. Some would classify him as a genius.”
Reed nearly flinched. The change of topic felt like machine-gun chatter, her words spitting into him in a way that made him want to duck. But this time he knew exactly who she was talking about: Julian Casablancas, the lead singer of The Strokes. She’d noticed his shirt—was staring at it now like he’d hoped she would.
