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Damon looks at me. “I’m Lost Boy.”
“A what?” That had nothing to do with what I asked, but I know his English isn’t very good, so I go with it.
“Lost Boy. How much book have you seen?” he asks, the words jumbled, but again, I understand what he’s trying to ask.
“I’m up to 11 I think.”
His jaw tenses. “You have far to go.”
“Like, how far?” I know how thick the book is, but I was sort of hoping it wasn’t that long.
“Final page 66/6.”
“Well, that’s poetic. The mark of the beast, just great.”
Damon looks to me, his features frozen. “Sixty-six chapters, six pages in final.”
“Did she mean to do that?” I ask.
“No,” he shakes his head, “she not. You learn about Lost Boys soon. I am them.”
“Okay.” I look around the car. “But how do you know so much about me?”
“I just do. We all do. But I know the most.”
“Why?” I ask, needing to know more information. “Why do you know the most? Why do I feel a connection to you I’ve never felt before? Why is it that I trust you even though I trust barely anyone?”
He looks at me. “You are my sister. I’m your twin.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?” I SHOOT up in my chair, hitting my head on the top of the ceiling. “No… no, that makes no sense at all, because my mom and dad would have told me. And that makes no sense because that would mean you would be a King, but you’re not. You’re a lost boy, and you’re here, living this…” I look outside. “…weird-as-fuck life, and my mom and dad are actually good people. I mean, I’d like to think they’re good people and they would never leave you to be living this life and—what the fuck?” I repeat after my freak out. “Okay.”
Breath in and out. Slow intakes of breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
I look at him, but his face is still the same. He’s watching me in fascination, like I’m a foreign object he wants to learn about. “Don’t do that,” I murmur, suddenly realizing how uncomfortable it’s making me now, because it’s as though he can read my thoughts.
“I can.” He nods.
“What?” I snap. I swear to God, if this turns all supernatural-y, I will demand that Dean Winchester roar into my life in his fucking muscle car and sweep me off my feet, or I’m done.
“I read what you think, but not because I read mind. Because I read your expressions. You need to control them.”
“My expressions are fine the way they are.”
“Fine?” he asks, confused with the word.
Oh, sweet mother of God. I came here to relax, and instead, I’ve been thrown into a pool of more questions. Finally calming my breathing enough to ponder his revelation, I turn in my seat. “If that’s true, and you are my brother, my twin brother—”
“It’s true. I do not lie, Madison.”
“Let me finish.” The way he cuts into my conversation has me thinking he’s obviously my brother.
“Why? Why are you here? Why did Mom and Dad not tell me about you?”
“Those are questions I not answer. Not me. Not now. Another time. You must go.”
“No!” I yell, just as his hand touches the door handle. “You can’t drop a bomb like that and leave! What is this place?” I look up to the ranch and then back to him. His eyes are sad as he looks back to me.
“Hell.”
“Who else lives here?” I ask, pressing with more questions and wanting him to bleed out more answers.
“Katsia and Lost Boys.”
“Katsia is your boss?”
He shakes his head. “Katsia owns Lost Boys.”
He goes to open the door again, and I stop him. “What? This is obviously not the same Katsia as the one in the book.” Again, I remind myself about my earlier statement of Dean Winchester.
He looks back at me, confused. “Never mind. But is she good or is she bad?” Though I already know the answer to this, I just need clarification. I’ve been wrong in the past.
“Malus,” he whispers, finally getting out of the car. I inch up off my seat, reaching for my phone in my back pocket, and switch it on. Malus? This fucking language is going to kill me one day. Typing Malus into google translate, the word Bad comes up in the little white box. Great, as suspected, she’s bad. Are there any good people left in this world?
Leaning back in my chair, I think over what my options are right now. I could leave, tell the boys, and then come back and get Damon. But what if they already know I have a brother? What if they already know about this place? About Katsia? No, I’ve only got myself. Tilting my head, I look toward the ranch again, watching as Damon stands outside the main entrance, his hands behind his back and his eyes remaining forward. Such posture, poise, and discipline.
