“What else do you like? Do you hunt?” “No, sir.” “Why not?” “Father keeps promising he will take me . . .” I paused, slamming head-on into another promise that would never be kept. Warthrop’s eyes bored into mine, glittering with that strange, unnerving, backlit glow. He’d wondered if I was sick, but he was the one who looked sick: dark circles beneath his eyes, hollow-cheeked and unshaven. “Why do you cry, Will Henry? Do you think your tears will bring them back?” They coursed down my cheeks, empty stygian vessels, useless. It took everything in me not to throw my body across his and beg for
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