Full Rune

The gift must be small enough to hide in one of her fine-boned hands. That means he can afford to browse the more expensive woods he usually wouldn’t consider buying.

He needs a wood hard enough to survive getting flung into suitcases every other week when Witness Protection moves them, to hide them from the people who want their escaped experiment and the one who took her.

Butternut would dent too easily and dull his tools. She would like the reddish brown of the cherry, but cherrywood is too hard. It would be impossible to shape for such a small piece.

He decides on the rich darkness of black walnut. It’s a sturdy wood, difficult to carve but not insanely so.

It’ll match her hair. It’ll do.

— • —— • ——— • —— • —

“Director Hartwood, how much money, how much time has been spent on this project? Now you tell me the resultant subject can do nothing?!” The man in the Gucci suit glared at the director, who wore a white doctor’s overcoat.

Hartwood quickly shook his head. “You misunderstand, sir. The subject is exactly what she is supposed to be.”

“Yet she can do noth—”

“You will recall that the purpose of this project was never to produce one single viable subject, but to produce a docile one whose children would inherit a… supernatural level of psychic ability. What we have is a breeder, sir. If the test pregnancy goes as expected, we will harvest her ovules to place in surrogates. Her offspring should have sufficient capabilities to more than placate your client.”

“And who will sire these offspring? The sperm bank?”

Hartwood’s lips thinned, and he tapped his clipboard. “Nonsense. The law still recognizes her as a person, regardless of what she is. She’ll desire someone on her own, and we’ll ensure something comes of it. I told you people when we started this that it could take fifty years—a century—and you’re fretting over a piddly two decades? You’ll get your psychics. The subject demonstrates increased animation in accordance with the full moon, as is to be expected for someone sensitive to the energies inherent in the lunar cycle.”

The man froze and gave Hartwood a hard look. “The subject is a psychic herself?”

“Hardly.” Hartwood waved a dismissive hand. “It’s like someone with an extraordinarily good sense of taste. It makes her able to become a remarkable cook, but only if she’s taught what to do. The subject is too docile to teach herself anything or provide the client with what he needs, but her children won’t be. I’ve made certain of that.”

The man straightened the lapels of his suit. “We’ve already spent twenty years on this project. And yet you tell me we must wait another twenty months for the subject to reach majority before we can even begin the year-long test to discover if we’ve been successful?”

Hartwood smiled. “And yet we'll still be a good five years ahead of schedule.” He paused, giving the man time to consider that point, then pointed out, “The public will discover us someday, sir. And when that happens, I have little wish to be arrested for contributing to the corruption or abuse of a minor.”

— • —— • ——— • —— • —

The black walnut warms in his hand as he seeks the creature trapped within. He hopes it isn’t a canine—she’s afraid of those, has been ever since scent dogs tracked her down the day she accidentally slipped her leash, before she realized she possessed a leash at all.