Authors: C.N. Crawford
Thick water dripped onto her wings as she flew. The Fury’s wails echoed through the hall, nearly piercing her eardrums. But there was something else echoing—a rhythmic sound. Either it was her frantic heartbeat, or someone was running through the tunnels.
At last, the tunnel opened into an atrium. It was a circular room, connected to more passages—like spokes of a wheel. Fiona paused, trying to hear through the Fury’s cries.
Mariana is in here somewhere.
Someone was breathing in these depths—quietly and slowly. But before she could home in on the sound, something burst from the ceiling above her.
It coated her wings and head, burning her skin, and her body lurched back into her human form.
Red dust.
It burned off the aura, searing her skin, and she shrieked in agony. It felt as though she’d been thrown into a volcano. Her wails mingled with the Fury’s.
This must be what Hell is like.
Her vision had gone dark—or was it the room that was dark? Footfalls hurried toward her, and rough hands hoisted her up, dragging her through the tunnels.
Pain ravaged her body, and her feet trailed on the ground until they reached a dimly lit corner, where iron sconces held guttering candles.
She caught a glimpse of the small, blond guard hauling her into a cell, but as the dust burned deeper into her skin, her mind went blank from the agony.
She closed her eyes, nausea welling in her stomach. There was a groaning noise—creaky metal—before the guard threw her onto a cold, wet floor, the dampness a small mercy against her burning skin. He tossed a wet cloth at her. “You can use this.” There might have been a note of pity when he added, “For the dust.”
She rolled over, heaving out the cranberry tart. Another sob escaped her and she grasped for the cloth, the dust still scorching her skin. With shaking hands, she started to scrub at her face. She rubbed at her arms, chest, and shoulders and strained to reach her back. When most of the dust had been scrubbed from her skin, she collapsed back in her cell with a sob. “Mariana?” Even her voice was shaking.
She wanted to call up an orb to light the cell, but she was too afraid that another spray of dust might await her. There was no way she was going through that again. “Mariana?”
There was no reply, just a steady dripping sound.
She leaned against a rough stone wall.
Drip, drip, drip.
In the quiet cell, it was hard to keep the memories at bay: the black noose hanging from the Tricephelus, Eden’s head sagging to the side, her neck broken.
Tobias is a liar, just like Jack.
Fiona pressed her palms into her eyes, rubbing hard
.
She didn’t even know what Tobias was anymore.
Drip, drip.
He didn’t seem quite human, so full of an otherworldly rage and grace.
Murder was in his blood now. Just like it was in hers.
Alone, she couldn’t silence her own thoughts.
Drip, drip.
Mariana knew what Fiona’s father was. An
“
enforcer,” it was called. Fiona was ten when she’d been walking on the beach, just at the wrong moment. She’d caught the police recovering a gray and bloated body from a shallow grave, the man’s clothes sodden with seawater. She’d never forget its putrid smell, or the way its face looked. Or rather, the lack of a face. His actual features must have splattered all over the sandy beach when her father had blown it off. No one ever identified him.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Mariana!” She crawled forward, wrapping her hands around the cell bars. “Mariana!” Her own voice echoed in the tunnel.
She’d only been a little girl when her parents had split. She’d used to see her father every weekend, and she’d always eagerly awaited their Saturday trip to
Amrheins
for burgers. Her father knew everyone, or so it had seemed. She’d liked to watch him throw his head back when he laughed over his food, washing it down with pint after pint. But sometimes his face changed too quickly, as if all the laughter had been for show.
It wasn’t until she’d seen the arrest on TV that she knew what he did for work—that it was her father who’d buried that man in the shallow grave on the beach. And then, with some kind of bargain, he was out in five years. Fiona had never seen him again. The image of that swollen, faceless body invaded her thoughts whenever her father was mentioned. Amazing that someone could laugh over burgers one day, and hold a shotgun to the back of someone’s head the next.
She rose. “Mariana!” Her voice was ragged with hysteria. She couldn’t purge her mind of the dead man’s ragged face cavity.
Maybe that was what drew her to Jack, to Tobias.
The murder in my blood.
“Mariana!”
But there was no answer. Only more footsteps and muffled shouts echoing through the tunnels.
Are they coming for me again?
She scooted away from the door, her hand brushing something soft. Her heart hammered hard against her ribs.
A body.
Her first thought was that she’d been locked up with a corpse.
Mom will be here soon. She should have arrived already.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see the slow rise and fall of a chest. She squinted into the shadows, just making out smooth black hair and ragged dark clothes.
Mariana.
She reached out to touch her friend’s arm, when a deep scream erupted from the tunnel. An unnatural, otherworldly scream.
Tobias.
“Shut up, witch!” a deep voice barked, and a thudding sound cut the wail short. The footsteps drew closer, along with the choking and gasping sounds of a struggle. The behemoth came into view. He was holding his chalice aloft and muttering, just like he had in the attic.
Fiona’s heart stopped as two smaller guards dragged Tobias into the light, his hands bound behind his back. His shirt was ripped through the front, his jacket lost along the way. Purgators’ dust coated his skin, but she could already see bruises growing beneath it.
Fiona gripped the bars, staring at the guards. “You need to let me out. My mother is supposed to be picking me up. She won’t find me in here.”
The behemoth erupted into a wheezing laughter as he jammed a set of keys into the lock. “Your
mother
is picking you up? I don’t think so, sweetie.” He clanked the lock open, and yanked open the cell door.
Fiona edged back. “You’re putting the demon in with me?” She didn’t even know what he was anymore. All she knew was that he wasn’t a normal human.
The behemoth reached down, gripping her shoulders and ramming her into the wall. He slammed his forearm into her chest, pinning her against stone. His pale eyes opened wide as he leaned into her, so close that she could smell the onions on his breath.
“Leave her alone!” Tobias yelled. His eyes blazed, but the dust snuffed out his magic. He was powerless against the guards, his skin burning from the red powder.
The behemoth ran a pale finger along her neckline, and revulsion pulsed though her.
He slipped a hand under the strap of her dress. “You’re telling me you don’t want to be locked up alone with your demon friend? I’ve seen the way you look at him.” His upper lip curled back from his teeth. “Seems a modest dress for a girl like you.” He ripped the strap off.
“Leave her—” Tobias’s demands were cut short by an arm clamping over his mouth. Fiona had a sudden desire to be a demon herself, to have access to his powers. She’d incinerate this pervert.
The behemoth’s waxy face shined in the flickering candlelight as he slipped his finger into the other strap. He ripped it off, running a hungry hand over the front of her bodice. “I look forward to watching what they do to you tonight.”
She jerked her knee up, slamming him hard in the groin. Doubling over, he lost his grip on her, and she brought her elbow down into his kidney with all the force she could muster. His back arching, he stumbled onto the ground, fixing her again with his cold stare.
“We need to go,” one of the smaller guards said in a harsh whisper. “Mr. Ranulf is inspecting the tunnels.”
The behemoth straightened, wrenching back his arm and punching Fiona in the temple. The blow dazed her, and she stumbled back into the wall, her head throbbing. She didn’t know which way was up or down, but she had a vague sense that he was gripping her arms again.
“Don’t know what you’re so shy about.” She was seeing two of him now—two shiny red mouths with grimacing smiles. “That dress will come off later tonight at the ritual.” He gripped her hair in one hand, pulling her head to the side, and she felt another wave of revulsion as a slimy tongue ran up her neck. She shoved him off with a grunt, trying to get her bearings.
The two smaller guards hoisted Tobias into the cell, tossing him against a wall. He landed on his side, nearly smacking his head against the stone floor. The behemoth locked the cell door behind him, and with one last rosy-lipped grin, he lifted the keys to jangle them before lumbering away.
Tobias’s hands remained shackled, but he sat upright, leaning against the wall. With the dust still coating his skin, he must be in agony. But he wasn’t really Tobias anymore, from what she’d seen. She rubbed her throbbing temple.
He deserves this pain for a while longer.
He stared at her and swallowed, clearly trying to master the pain. “Fiona. Are you okay? I couldn’t stop them.”
She didn’t even try to mask the fury in her tone. “I’m fine.”
“The red dust—”
Pain lanced her head. “That’s not why I’m mad. You know that.”
He closed his eyes, swallowing. “Is Mariana okay?”
“She’s breathing, but unconscious.” Her throat tightened. “And she could be out of here right now if you hadn’t thrown your supernatural temper tantrum.”
“Someone had to kill Jack,” he rasped.
“A little more discretion would have been nice,” she snarled. “Maybe then the rest of us could have escaped imprisonment.” She paced in the cell while Tobias kept his eyes closed, trying to maintain his composure though pain must have racked his body. “What
are
you? What happened to you?”
A shaking breath. “How did you get the dust off your skin?”
Her blood boiled. “Answer my question. What are you? Are you still human? Are you a demon?” The floor was cold and sludgy under her bare feet.
Silence, and then a long sigh. “I went to Jack’s apartment. I was trying to kill him.” He opened his eyes, the dark irises glistening with pain. “He wasn’t there, and a group of Harvesters cornered me. But I found an athame, and I used it to give myself more power.”
“What are you talking about? What’s an athame?” She pivoted again, pacing the other way. Her fingers tightened into fists. “Why haven’t you
told
me about any of this?”
“It belongs to the goddess Emerazel. Goddess of fire. We’re linked now. She stokes my magic.”
Her heart stopped. “Like Jack is linked to Druloch. You’re like Jack, now.”
A short laugh. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“So that’s your excuse?” She turned again, pacing the narrow cell. “What else haven’t you told me? What were you doing that night—when I saw you by the fire?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I conjured a succubus. It was the art teacher I killed. I sent her after Jack, so I could weaken him and kill him. But Jack came here instead. He wanted you.” He was trembling now from the scorching dust. “I didn’t want you involved anymore. Not after what happened in Maremount. You’re not meant for a war like this.”
The anger simmered again. “You think I’m a child?”
His eyes snapped open, and she saw a red spark in his dark irises. “I told you not to come to Maremount. But you did anyway. And now Eden is dead because I had to get you out of the noose first.”
She was trembling now, too. “Why did you save me then, since you seem to regret it so much?”
“I don’t regret saving you, but you never should have been there in the first place.” A brighter burst of red in his eyes. “Eden knew how to fight, and she was still captured. And you have no idea how to fight. We had to stop to get you healed—”
She threw her hands into the air. “If we hadn’t stopped, you would never have known where Eden was in the first place.”
“I would have had the situation under control. It’s a world you don’t understand.”
She crossed her arms. “Just like you have
this
situation under control. Our only hope right now is that Alan can singlehandedly save us all before we’re sacrificed.” She shouted the last word, and her voice echoed through the tunnels.
He shut his eyes, his body shaking. With each breath, his lung made a sharp whistling sound. He was in too much pain to answer.
Maybe he’s had enough, now.
She snatched the damp cloth from the ground and crouched next to him, washing his forehead first. His breathing began to ease as she cleaned his face and neck, working her way down to his chest, his skin exposed through his torn white shirt.
A coughing fit overtook his body, and he winced.
“What’s wrong with your breathing?”
“I punctured a lung.”
“Shit.” Guilt suddenly flooded her at the thought that she’d let him lie there in agony. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. Emerazel will help me heal faster.”
As she wiped off the last remnants of the dust, she glimpsed an angry red scar over his heart—a triangle with a line through it, enclosed by a circle. She gently ran her fingers over the mark. “What’s this?”
“It’s what commits me to the fire goddess.”
“And it gives you power?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “And once I free myself from the red dust, I will use Emerazel’s power to rip apart the guard who punched you.”
Her heart skipped a beat with the realization that the image brought her a shiver of pleasure.
Murder in my blood.