Chapter Thirty-Three

Conversation

The Miskenupik card fell onto the bed as Cleve released Rebecca’s hand. Two Grace nurses smiled at each other when they witnessed Dr. Umbra’s covert moment of compassion and warmth. His back was to them, and he could not hear their whispered adoration for their selfless medical director.

Pink curtains fluttered ghostlike as February wind blew into Rebecca’s room through open windows. Shadows danced on the walls. Cleve had just witnessed the girl’s capture by the Binders of Souls. They taunted her as they dragged her into the black waters of the bay. She would never again see the light of day. He shuddered.

Wasn’t she just an innocent child?

“No,” answered the Angel of Tyranny, the spirit of the black walnut. It could read his thoughts. The wind suddenly died, causing the curtains to become still. Darkness filled the room. “Why is she a patient at Grace Station?” it asked.

“She, she…” Cleve caught himself talking out loud and looked around. He and Rebecca were alone. He continued the conversation telepathically.

“She had a seizure. She overdosed on cocaine.”

“Who forced her to poison her body?” the Angel asked.

“No one,” Cleve answered with conviction. “She betrayed her family’s trust. She did this to herself.”

“Who should suffer for her crimes?”

“She should. She has.” Cleve shuddered again.

The Angel’s tone became darker. “Look around this hospital, Dr. Umbra. You are surrounded by victims whose abusers walk free. Do you know what sentence was handed the babysitter who shook the little baby from room seventeen?”

Cleve pictured the infant. He would never walk, talk, or feed himself following the trauma. “She was freed for time already served,” he answered. “The judge said she had suffered enough.”

“Compassion is weakness, Cleve. Each of the All-Father’s Pillars have weakened the very foundations of our world. Unity, wisdom, love. Have they protected the wards of Grace Station or have they protected criminals?”

“Criminals,” Cleve answered.

“You must finish your work, my son. Eight more bindings.”

“Yes, eight. One at each new moon.”

“There is another task, my son,” the Angel said paternally. “That little brat, Isabel, has died but her Kesemanetow remain hidden. You have been searching for them, yes?”

“Yes,” Cleve answered dutifully.

“You must find them. Destroy them.”

“Yes.”