The voices crooned to him, making pitying, motherly sounds. Hands brushed the hair from his eyes, caressed the welts on his face. Pax pushed himself onto his back, groaned. A voice like chocolate said, “There there. We got you.” Small hands slipped under thighs and waist—“One, two …”—and then he was off the ground and swaying. Bruised skin awoke. Nerves totaled up damages. “Wait,” he said. His voice cracked. He forced open one eye. Two beta children cradled him between them, moving sideways toward the house. The girls were identical, with placid faces the color of wine. “I can walk,” he said. “Are you sure?” the girl to his left said, and the other one said, “We got tired of waiting.” The sky vanished as they carried him inside the house. His father’s house; even with his eyes closed he would have known it from the smell. They lifted him easily onto the couch. They carefully peeled off his shirt, damp from dew, and tsked at his bruises. They found washrags and dabbed at the crusts of blood on his face, then plastered him with Band-Aids.
What do You think about The Devil's Alphabet (2009)?
