“That sibling I mentioned, killed when I saw my mother killed . . .” He looked up at me, again just the one eye glittering above his burn scar, the other hidden. “Yes?” “Well she’s not properly dead. She’s in Hell plotting her return and planning revenge.” “On who?” “Me, you.” I shrugged. “The living. Mostly me, I think.” “Ah.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Well there you’ve got me beat.” “Good.” I drank again. “I was starting to think we were the same person.”
