Page 75 of Pretty Nightmare

“It’s got nothing to do with how big someone is, Mags. And it’s not actually six feet. The depth of a grave varies by locality. But deeper is better because it keeps the animals away.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That’s gross, Adam. It’s inside a coffin, anyway. Animals don’t have thumbs. They can’t unlatch a coffin or open a lid. Seems stupid to go so deep.”

“Listen, a shallow grave comes with all kinds of consequences. So if, at some point in your life, you find yourself digging a grave and figure you can take a short cut and only go two feet”—I point at her—“you’d better think again, princess.”

She chuckles. “I’m not gonna be digging no graves.”

“We’re digging a grave right now.”

“You. Not me.” She wrestles with the front pocket on her bib overalls and then pulls out her phone. “It’s nearly five, Adam. Hurry. You know how much I hate lying to McKay.”

I sigh and take another stab at the dirt with my shovel. Throw the dirt over my shoulder so I can stab at it again. “What’s the difference if we get home at seven or nine? It’s the same fuckin’ lie.”

“I know. But this is gonna be a hard one.”

I pause my digging to point at her. “A test of your skill.”

“Dig. Or I’m gonna jump down there and do it myself and you can hold the stupid light.”

I tsk my tongue at her. “You just told me you weren’t gonna be digging no graves.”

“Why are you so impossible?”

“I learned from the best.”

She grins and the light from the lantern makes her look like a spook. “From me?”

She’s hopeful. She’s a good kid. A very, very good kid. So very, very smart. I had her intelligence tested last year and the woman took me aside afterward and told me she was gifted. A genius. IQ of a hundred and forty-nine.

No surprise there. She’s not as smart as Donovan—his IQ is somewhere in the high one-sixties, I believe. But she is Company. And related to him.

Maybe. Maybe not. I hate that McKay brought up Nathan yesterday. He is not Maggie’s father. I would rather it be Carter than Nathan.

But who her real father is isn’t even the point.

Company kids are not born. We are bred.

Even McKay has an IQ of one thirty-two. And he’s considered slightly above average for a Company kid. I’m just a bit higher in points. Mine was clocked at one forty back when my father had me tested. Respectable enough, for an Untouchable, but not standout special as far as my father was concerned.

That testing woman wanted to put Magnolia into a program for little geniuses. But that was in Germany and we were only visiting, so it was easy to say no.

But now we’re settling in. And even though I know that Maggie will get a proper education homeschooling with me, McKay, and Donovan, sometimes I get this urge to slip her into a more typical life.

It’s a dangerous urge. Because people will take notice of Maggie if she becomes part of regular society. They will, at the very least, become curious. Possibly obsessed.

Little Company girls like her just have this… draw to them.

“Sure,” I tell Maggie, finally answering her question. “I learned it from you.”

“Now you’re just lying to me. Who did you learn it from? Indie?”

“Did we or did we not just have this talk, hmm?”

She tsks her tongue. “Mama. Fine.”

She does not think of Indie as her mother. But I’m doing my best to fix that. I really am.

I don’t answer Maggie’s last question. Just stab the shovel at the dirt. And when it hits something that is not dirt, and makes that sound everyone who has ever watched a treasure-hunt movie recognizes, I look at her and smile.