Shock registered on the faces all around.

“And, well, since Aaron is . . . ah . . . ,” he added weakly, and then finally he gave up trying to be sensitive and blurted out, “You’re their only kin. You see?”

In the long moment that followed, Alex appeared to have turned into a stunned statue. No one else moved either.

“You’re saying my parents are dead,” Alex said finally, “and I’ve inherited these screaming babies.” It wasn’t a question. He shook his head slowly in disbelief. First Meghan, then Aaron, then this craziness . . . it was all too much. What was Alex supposed to do with two helpless babies on top of everything else he had to do?

“Yes,” Liam whispered.

“No,” said Alex. “I do not accept this. Not any of it.” And then, without another word, he turned and walked up the stairs.

Simber started toward the stairs to follow him, pain and worry etched on his stony face, but Ms. Morning touched his shoulder. “Let him go.”

The cat frowned. Every instinct he had urged him to go after the mage. But sometimes Claire understood human things better than he did. He stood at the base of the staircase for a long moment, and then he bowed his head and returned to his spot by the door.

Heartbreak and Loss

Alex stared unseeing at the library shelves in the Museum of Large, trying to process everything he’d been through in the past few days. He still couldn’t believe Meghan was gone forever, along with ten other Artiméans. Then his brother was kidnapped, and Alex had no idea where he could be. Then Liam told him his parents were dead, and he had somehow inherited two crying babies that he’d never laid eyes on before.

He closed his eyes and gripped the shelves, wanting to pound his head against the wood, but ultimately deciding to rest his forehead against it instead. Meghan had been the closest thing to family Alex had known for years. Ever since Alex’s parents had told him that he was Unwanted at age ten, they’d distanced themselves from him. He’d always pretended it didn’t hurt, because that’s what a good Quillen would do.

And now Meghan was gone, his parents were dead, and Aaron . . . Alex squeezed his eyes tighter, trying to tamp down the pain and tears, but his breathing grew heavy and wretched, and before he could pull himself from the grip of reality, he found he was hurtling toward it. He cried out in anguish—a deep, ugly groan that began at the depths of his gut and burst from his throat, and then he dropped to the floor and pounded it, sobbing incoherently about the unfairness of life and his awful childhood.

Growing up in Quill, being taught not to feel—those lessons would never quite leave him completely, no matter how hard he tried to forget them. He hated Justine for it, and Aaron, and all of Quill for inserting their fears and rituals into his mind. He hated his parents for it. Even in their death, he hated them.

As he sobbed, feeling terribly sorry for himself, it began to occur to him that maybe the only reason he was so troubled by the injustice of growing up in Quill was because he had experienced life differently since then. He’d experienced something that his parents and Aaron had never known. And that maybe, if he hadn’t been Unwanted, he’d have been just like them.

“I wouldn’t!” he said, but immediately he doubted himself. And then he began to regret that he’d never reached out to his parents from Artimé once he’d had the chance. He’d always thought of it as their job to come to him if they wanted to see him, and they’d chosen not to do it. They’d chosen to let him be sent to his death, and they’d chosen to stay in Quill once Artimé was exposed. That was their decision! Even when Alex saw his father near Mr. Today’s grave, Mr. Stowe had hurried away from him, as if Alex were somehow dangerous. What was Alex supposed to do? Beg? After what they’d done to him? But he’d never asked. And maybe they assumed Alex would hate them. They’d have been right.

Maybe if he had invited them to Artimé, they would have come. But he hadn’t, and now they were dead.

His heart tore anew when he thought about Aaron. Aaron had been close, once. Close to joining Alex in Artimé. He’d been tempted—Alex had seen it in his eyes. But when he’d reached out, Aaron ran the other way. It was too late for him.

Alex sometimes wondered what would have happened if he’d let Aaron get the infraction. Would Aaron have turned out differently if they’d both been Unwanted from the start? Would they be friends now? He’d never know.

“You’re so stupid!” he cried into the floorboards, and then he pounded them once more as another wave of anger and remorse flowed over him. “Aaron,” he pleaded now, “you had so many chances. So many.” He grew quiet as the waves of emotion softened. “And I never let go of you. How could I?” He lay there for a moment, as pain began to swell inside him, this time sharp and physical, like half his soul was breaking away, being torn from his body and hovering just out of reach. Alex gasped in agony and surprise and pushed himself to his knees, holding his side where the pain ripped through him. A revelation came over him as he knelt there, alone in the stacks, clear and vivid as any dream, and as certain as the pain that split his soul.

“He’s dying,” he whispered. “Right now, this minute, he’s dying. Oh, help me. Someone . . . anyone . . .”

Element-ary

Alex pushed through the pain and tried to take hold of the truth—his brother was dying, and he was never coming back to Quill. But the pain in his side remained sharp and steady, no matter what Alex tried to do. He stared at the library shelves and tried to focus, but he wasn’t making much progress.