Page 124 of Pretty Nightmare

“You just told me—”

“It’s my fucking brother. If I want something inside his coffin, I’m gonna go take it.”

“Graverobber!”

I sigh. “I’m tired, Donovan. I’ve had a fuckin’ day, OK?”

“You’ve had a day? I’ve had a fuckin’ day!”

“Details, Donovan. I need details. Do you have any on these people, or not?”

He looks at me for a moment like he’s got something on his mind. But his problems can wait. Something is definitely happening. Like… right now. Under my feet or over my head. I can’t see it, or hear it, but I sure as fuck can feel it.

“I feel like I’m missing something, Donovan. And whatever it is, it’s very important. No one knew I had this obsession with my father’s missing secrets. No one except Maggie. And I know she didn’t tell anyone. So why does this message show up on the very day that McKay gets a call from someone who should be dead and—”

“Who?”

“That’s a whole other conversation, OK? Just… do you know anything?”

He sighs. Picks up the passports and papers again. Shuffles through the death certificates. “Well, I guess they might have a connection. On first glance, no. They’re in totally different classes, genetically speaking. Ameci was a family we used when we needed new blood, but didn’t want to add a new family to the roster. We just used them as breeders with the Tate men. But that was a long time ago. This Sidonia, though, she was second generation. So she technically was Company. Full blood. Through and through. But she had red hair, so they didn’t want to use her for the program and just left her alone.”

“All this off the top of your head? What kind of freak are you?”

He looks up at me, hurt.

“Donovan, I’m fucking kidding.”

He frowns at me for a few extra seconds, then says, “Oh.” But the frown remains.

“Sorry, dude. I didn’t think… you’re not a freak. OK? Anything else?”

“Szabó.” He squints his eyes. Like he’s thinking. “I’m not sure about this one. I know the name, of course. But they were workers. I’m fairly certain that no one ever used them for breeding stock. They worked—” He pauses, kinda stares off into nothingness.

“They worked where?”

“Snake Island.” He picks up Mallory’s passport. Studies her picture. “They ran…”

“They ran what, Donovan?”

“The hunts. They were huntmasters.”

“Huntmasters for…?”

“Hunts.”

“Obviously, Donovan. Jesus Christ. What’s going on—”

“She was the foundation mare.”

“What?”

He holds the Mallory passport out. “Sorry. That’s a little breeder inside joke. Kinda tasteless, I do admit. But… Mallory Machette. She was the very first zero.”

I grab the passport and study her picture again. “She’s not blonde, though. She’s got dark hair. She can’t be a zero.”

“No. They bred in the blonde hair and blue eyes over several generations using Tate men.”

“Huh.” I have to admit, it’s a little bit fascinating. Also… more than a little bit sick. “So why did my father have this shit? And why hide it in an empty grave? And why did someone want me to find it now? And where the fuck is my dead brother?”