Shadow Bound
Page 39
“She accidently bound you to something?”
“To three of my friends. We were just messing around, like girls do, promising to always be there for one another, and Kenley said we should write it down. Looking back, it seems obvious that she was feeling the first manifestation of her Skill, but at the time, we didn’t know we came from Skilled blood. So we went along with her suggestion that we prick our thumbs and stamp them under this promise she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper, and that was that.”
“Wow. How long did the binding last?” Ian asked, and my laughter that time sounded bitter and tasted even worse.
“It’s still intact.” Sixteen years ago, my little sister had bound me to my three best friends—Olivia, Annika and Noelle—and I’d been tied to them ever since. That oath was the reason I’d had no choice but to help Liv and Anne when they’d called. That oath was the reason I’d gotten shot, the reason Jake got shot and the reason I’d spent six weeks being tortured in his basement.
“How is that even possible?” Ian frowned, and there was something new behind his eyes. It looked like…fear. But surely that was just the dim lighting playing tricks. He wasn’t scared of signing with Jake, so why on earth would he be scared of my little sister?
“I don’t know. She hadn’t had any training. My best guess is that the purity of her intent was off the charts. She really wanted us to be friends forever.” Another shrug. “She thought of them as her friends, too.”
“And did that work? Are you still close to the other three?” Ian looked fascinated, but I couldn’t miss the tight line of his jaw and the way his hand still clutched his glass.
“The binding worked flawlessly. The intent failed miserably.” And all of us had suffered from both.
“So you don’t talk to them anymore?”
I shrugged. “Noelle’s dead. Olivia and Anne…well, it’s not safe for us to see each other,” I said, and Ian frowned, like he wanted to argue. Like he might want to convince me that nothing was more important than our human connections—a concept my grandmother had drilled into me from the day my parents died. But I didn’t need to hear that from him. “Bindings never favor those being bound, Ian. Ever. Even most married couples who are totally, sloppily in love when they say the words will one day resent the binding that ties them together.”
His brows rose. “You don’t believe in love?”
“Of course I believe in love,” I admitted, and his eyes widened in surprise. “But I also believe that binding yourself to someone is the quickest, most efficient way to kill that love. Love should stand on its own feet, with no force or obligation.”
“So, you’d never sign a sealed marriage contract?”
“Hell no. Binding yourself to someone else is like literally tying yourself to them. Eventually the ropes start chafing and you can’t move without pain and the constant reminder that even if you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. When love has to be defined by an inability to leave, it isn’t really love. Real love is staying with someone because you want to be there, not because you have no other choice. Anything else is just lust, or obsession, or something less innocent.”
The waitress set our third drinks on the table, and I asked for the check and two glasses of water. But Ian was still frowning, still thinking through my discourse on love. “Is Tower bound to his wife?”
“Not in the way that you’re thinking.” He wasn’t obligated to stay with her, and the opposite was also true. “And she’s not bound to the syndicate, either. She’s his wife, not his employee.”
“And you like that about him?”
“No.” There was nothing I liked about Jake Tower, except the fact that he’d kept Kenley safe, even if he had his own reasons for doing that. “But I respect it.”
Ian nodded faster, like he understood. “But you don’t respect his business—the political influence that is his bread and butter?”
“Names and blood are his bread and butter. Which sounds kind of disgusting, when you put it that way. But he doesn’t limit himself to politics. He works with casting directors, record labels, and all kinds of the rich and soulless who’ll do and pay anything to slant the odds in their favor. He also has a growing reputation with patent holders and inventors in the technical sector. You wouldn’t believe how much money there is to be made in new tech. And how reluctant the designers are to give up their rights to their own inventions.”
“Bastards. Where’s their team spirit?” Ian’s eyes sparkled in good humor for the first time since he’d seen Jake’s pet project.
“Always thinking of themselves,” I said, grasping at an opportunity to lighten the mood, because anything was better than the way he’d been looking at me earlier. “There’s no I in intellectual property.”
“So, where does Tower get these names and blood samples? I assume he doesn’t just go jabbing strangers with needles.”
“Don’t assume anything.” I drained the last of my drink and thanked the waitress when she set two glasses of water on the table. When she was gone, he watched me, waiting for me to continue. “Let’s just say there’s a nurse’s uniform hanging in my closet, and it’s not for Halloween.”
“Stealth phlebotomy. Illegal, immoral and incredibly dangerous. But also devilishly clever. I’m impressed.”
“To three of my friends. We were just messing around, like girls do, promising to always be there for one another, and Kenley said we should write it down. Looking back, it seems obvious that she was feeling the first manifestation of her Skill, but at the time, we didn’t know we came from Skilled blood. So we went along with her suggestion that we prick our thumbs and stamp them under this promise she’d scribbled on a scrap of paper, and that was that.”
“Wow. How long did the binding last?” Ian asked, and my laughter that time sounded bitter and tasted even worse.
“It’s still intact.” Sixteen years ago, my little sister had bound me to my three best friends—Olivia, Annika and Noelle—and I’d been tied to them ever since. That oath was the reason I’d had no choice but to help Liv and Anne when they’d called. That oath was the reason I’d gotten shot, the reason Jake got shot and the reason I’d spent six weeks being tortured in his basement.
“How is that even possible?” Ian frowned, and there was something new behind his eyes. It looked like…fear. But surely that was just the dim lighting playing tricks. He wasn’t scared of signing with Jake, so why on earth would he be scared of my little sister?
“I don’t know. She hadn’t had any training. My best guess is that the purity of her intent was off the charts. She really wanted us to be friends forever.” Another shrug. “She thought of them as her friends, too.”
“And did that work? Are you still close to the other three?” Ian looked fascinated, but I couldn’t miss the tight line of his jaw and the way his hand still clutched his glass.
“The binding worked flawlessly. The intent failed miserably.” And all of us had suffered from both.
“So you don’t talk to them anymore?”
I shrugged. “Noelle’s dead. Olivia and Anne…well, it’s not safe for us to see each other,” I said, and Ian frowned, like he wanted to argue. Like he might want to convince me that nothing was more important than our human connections—a concept my grandmother had drilled into me from the day my parents died. But I didn’t need to hear that from him. “Bindings never favor those being bound, Ian. Ever. Even most married couples who are totally, sloppily in love when they say the words will one day resent the binding that ties them together.”
His brows rose. “You don’t believe in love?”
“Of course I believe in love,” I admitted, and his eyes widened in surprise. “But I also believe that binding yourself to someone is the quickest, most efficient way to kill that love. Love should stand on its own feet, with no force or obligation.”
“So, you’d never sign a sealed marriage contract?”
“Hell no. Binding yourself to someone else is like literally tying yourself to them. Eventually the ropes start chafing and you can’t move without pain and the constant reminder that even if you wanted to leave, you couldn’t. When love has to be defined by an inability to leave, it isn’t really love. Real love is staying with someone because you want to be there, not because you have no other choice. Anything else is just lust, or obsession, or something less innocent.”
The waitress set our third drinks on the table, and I asked for the check and two glasses of water. But Ian was still frowning, still thinking through my discourse on love. “Is Tower bound to his wife?”
“Not in the way that you’re thinking.” He wasn’t obligated to stay with her, and the opposite was also true. “And she’s not bound to the syndicate, either. She’s his wife, not his employee.”
“And you like that about him?”
“No.” There was nothing I liked about Jake Tower, except the fact that he’d kept Kenley safe, even if he had his own reasons for doing that. “But I respect it.”
Ian nodded faster, like he understood. “But you don’t respect his business—the political influence that is his bread and butter?”
“Names and blood are his bread and butter. Which sounds kind of disgusting, when you put it that way. But he doesn’t limit himself to politics. He works with casting directors, record labels, and all kinds of the rich and soulless who’ll do and pay anything to slant the odds in their favor. He also has a growing reputation with patent holders and inventors in the technical sector. You wouldn’t believe how much money there is to be made in new tech. And how reluctant the designers are to give up their rights to their own inventions.”
“Bastards. Where’s their team spirit?” Ian’s eyes sparkled in good humor for the first time since he’d seen Jake’s pet project.
“Always thinking of themselves,” I said, grasping at an opportunity to lighten the mood, because anything was better than the way he’d been looking at me earlier. “There’s no I in intellectual property.”
“So, where does Tower get these names and blood samples? I assume he doesn’t just go jabbing strangers with needles.”
“Don’t assume anything.” I drained the last of my drink and thanked the waitress when she set two glasses of water on the table. When she was gone, he watched me, waiting for me to continue. “Let’s just say there’s a nurse’s uniform hanging in my closet, and it’s not for Halloween.”
“Stealth phlebotomy. Illegal, immoral and incredibly dangerous. But also devilishly clever. I’m impressed.”
