“They are very scary, Cal. Do you realize between the three of them, they share the fragments of over one hundred tormented souls?”

“Fucking-A. What we can do? How can we make them see what’s really happening? They don’t even know what they are!” I could hear the desperation in my own voice.

Mo’Lock turned and stared at the three teens who were whispering to each other, seemingly unaffected by the fact they were tied up.

“They’re not stupid, Cal. Show them the file, the articles, the whole mess. Let them see for themselves.”

He was right.

I told Mo’Lock to untie Randy’s arms so he could flip freely through the files, but to make sure his legs were secure. I didn’t want the little punk running off on us. Meanwhile, I ransacked the file cabinets for everything I had on the Lazar case.

While I was rooting around, I glanced over and saw Randy staring fascinated at Mo’Lock. Mo’Lock met the kid’s eyes and did something that was all too rare for a ghoul, and truly gave me pause. He smiled. Slight, but distinct. His dead lips parted, curving slowly upward. His eyes, usually stone cold, opened wider and brightened.

I was a minority in the room. The others were cousins in a very large and odd clan—the family of the living dead.

When I’d gathered all the Lazar/Polynice files, I dropped them in Randy’s lap. He no longer glared at me. In fact all three seemed much less hostile. They were like putty, instantly impressionable, easily swayed. Nonetheless, I wasn’t about to untie anybody until after they’d read the files. I had no idea what the reaction would be, but it was reasonable to assume a violent one.

All eyes were on Randy. He began reading the police report, slowly scanning the pages. At first he seemed calm seeing the photos of the men who had created and sold him for a profit. He almost had a look of love in his eyes. But as he began to soak everything in, his features hardened. Word after word, paragraph after paragraph, page after page had a visible effect on him. He began to shake as pages turned. Finally the tremors were so bad he could no longer hold onto a file. I stood by uncomfortably. Mo’Lock rocked from foot to foot behind me. There was nothing we could do but wait for the reaction, the inevitable explosion.

When it came it was fast and loud. Randy’s eyes began to well. He looked up at me first, then shot quick glances at Mo’Lock and me, eyes overflowing with tears. It was as if his soul were bleeding out his tear ducts.

“Who am I?” he asked.

For that, I had no answer . . . but Mo’Lock did.

Mo’Lock stepped past me, stopping close to the weeping boy. The other two had started crying as well, but I doubt they knew why. Fuckin’ puppets. Mo’Lock got down on one knee and addressed his distant cousin.