Mark of Betrayal
Page 19

He sighed heavily. “A bit easier, actually. From what I'm told, if you slice the back of my neck, you know, sever the spinal cord, I’d be gone.”
“Would you come back if we regenerated you?”
“I don't think so. Created Lilithians don't—not from that.”
“Why do I?”
“Well, you technically don't, either. Once your soul leaves your body, you reincarnate. There’s no going back.”
“But Jason said I needed some serum to kill my kind—to stay dead.”
“Well, that’s a load of bullshit, Ara. If he’d not put your heart back in your body, or if your head had been chopped off, you’d have stayed dead.”
“But not real death. He said that my soul stays tethered to the realm of life—that it’s really hard to sever the connection.”
He rubbed his chin. “Did he?”
“Yeah.”
“Hm.”
“What’s hm?”
“Just…there may be some truth to that. I read somewhere that if a body is rendered useless, but the soul hasn't been untied, they wander the earth for eternity—and that’s how we get ghosts.”
“So, what, because I'm a pure blood, my soul can't be untethered?”
“I'm not sure, baby. Guess we’ll have to do a bit more reading.”
“I could ask Arthur.”
“What would he know about it?”
“He knows quite a bit.”
“Yeah, well, let’s just keep him out of it for now. Ask your husband, instead.”
“What would David know?”
“More than you might think, pretty girl.”
I smiled to myself. He hadn't called me that in ages. “So, being that we’re Lilithian—quite close to human, will the Damned try to eat us if we go in the cage?”
“Ara, they try to eat vampires. And they won't just eat you—they’ll toy with you first, make you really scared so your blood warms.”
“No, they won't.” I smirked to myself. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
I heard him laugh, and when I looked up at him, I had to laugh, too.
“You look like a big uncle playing in his nephew’s cubby house,” I said.
“Yeah, I think we’ll take the other passage next time.” He reached up to touch the roof without any effort. “This was built in a time when humans weren’t quite as tall.”
“It’s not too low for me.” I shrugged.
“Ara, you can walk straight in a tube slide.”
“Hey.” I flicked my hand out at him.
“Ow.” He rubbed his chest. “You gotta stop slapping me.”
“Aw, doesn't baby like a little slap?”
“Me? I love a slap. I just like to be the one doing the slapping.” He gave my butt a soft whack, to which I returned a little squeal.
“I can't believe you just did that.”
“Meh, it’ll do you some good. And what’re you gonna do about it?” he said, shining the torch in my face; I covered my eyes from the almost blue flash. “You gonna tell the king on me?”
“Yes,” I said, pushing his hand down, seeing the grin he wore behind the light’s glare.
“Ha! He’d probably shake my hand for disciplining you.”
“Yeah, probably.” I looked away, my smile dropping with the ghostly sound of dripping water. My shoulders tightened, and an unnerving cold moved in, layering my tongue with a strange metal tang. I moved saliva around in my mouth, trying to swallow the taste down.
“Right.” Mike angled the light to show a string of lanterns hanging from the arched ceiling. “Look for matches.”
“Matches?”
“Yeah, you know, little sticks that bring flame.”
“Ha-ha.” I dropped to my knees and scrambled around for the feel of a box or something, but there was only dirt, really cold dirt.
“Here. Got ‘em.”
“Erk. Of course you do.” I stood up and dusted my hands on my jeans. “You just wanted to see me get all dirty.”
“Or I just thought you should get down on your knees and pray.” He laughed, making himself sound like a preacher.
“Yeah, how ‘bout I pray for Lilithians to have night vision as good as vampires do?”
“Great idea. While you’re at it, get me the power to read minds, will you? That’d be a handy tool.”
“No problem,” I said drily. “Want a sense of humour, too—among other miracles?”
“Are you saying I'm not funny?”
“Who me? Never.”
“Good, because I might just have another smack on the butt sitting dormant in these hands.” He laughed. “And shut up, I can't concentrate on lighting this match with you talking at me.”
A golden flame came to life then, warming the eeriness of the cellblock in the small circle where Mike and I stood, but outside that, the flickering wick of the lantern cast dancing shadows in a creepy theatre show on the walls.
“Where are the cells?” I asked.
“At the end.” He held his arm straight, the lantern hanging from his curled finger, swaying with the movement.
I grabbed the base and held it still. “That’s freaky. Don't let it swing like that. I feel like the cliché blond chick in a horror film—you know, the one who gets killed first.”
“Nah,” he said, and started walking. “Your boobs aren’t big enough. You’ll be the one who lives to tell the tale.”
“Hey!” I folded my arms and followed him.
Twenty or so paces ahead, I could just make out hollows in the walls on both sides, and as we neared them, the dry, powdery scent of dirt made me want to take shallower breaths, not letting them slip past the back of my throat.
“You okay, babe?” Mike walked closer to me, matching my footsteps exactly.
“Why are they so silent?”
“No reason to make noise, I guess.”
He was right. There were no windows, no sunlight, no fresh air, not even a drafty breeze. Just…stillness, darkness. When we reached the end of the tunnel, I peered in through the bars on both sides; two cells, sitting directly across from each other, about three classrooms wide, but completely empty. “Where are all the other cells? I know we have more than two.”
He tapped the brick wall. “Through here—this leads back out to the other passage.”
“There’s no door, though.”
“Not all is what it seems.” He winked, then walked to one end of the wall and slipped his hand through it.
“What the hell?” I ran over and traced the length of his arm, following it through the wall. “It’s an illusion?”
“Yes.” He pulled his hand back; he hadn’t put it through the wall at all—there was no wall there. It ended short on that side, but it was so dark in here that, from the way the bricks were lined up, no one would know there was an opening. “Pretty cool, hey?”
“Hell yeah.”
“They say de la Mort is pretty much made up of walls just like this.” He tapped the bricks with a flat palm.
“And that’s why you want the map.”
He looked back at me, lifting the lantern a little to see my face. “Yes.”
“Fine. But I'm telling Arthur you have it.”
“Fine. Then I’ll tell David you drank Arthur’s blood the other day.”
I grumbled to myself. “Fine. I won't tell Arthur you have the map.”
“I knew you’d come to your senses.” He wandered over and shone the lantern into the cage; “Can you see them?”
“No. Are they even in there?”
“They cluster in the back corner.” A man popped up suddenly.
“Oh, God!” I touched a hand to my racing heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry, Majesty.” His ghastly old face showed in the dim light; the folds in his skin made deep shadows along his jaw and under his eyes, while his crooked nose darkened the gaps in his teeth behind a curt smile. He walked with a hunched gait, as if he’d trolled these low-roofed tunnels for too many centuries and now lacked the ability to stand tall.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Caretaker. Folks call me Mr. Keeper.” He turned away and nodded into the cell. “Strange, really, how they all bunch together like that.” He held his own lantern up to the bars, and I saw them then—little faces, about twenty of them—all huddling against each other like puppies in a small box.
“Oh, my God.” I covered my mouth.
“Yerp. No feelings, no sense, yet they all seem to bunch up, like they’re scared.”
“They are scared.” I grabbed the set of keys from the caretaker’s dirt-covered hands. “They’re children.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the hideous old man warned. “It’s feeding day—you’ll get ripped to shreds.”
“I'm willing to take the risk,” I said, and as I jammed the key in the lock, Mike grabbed my hand.
“Okay, Ara, you’ve had your fun. It stops there.”
“But, Mike?”
“No buts.” He took the keys and hooked them over a nail on the magic wall. “Baby, even if they were capable of humanity, which they’re not, they’re hungry. Look how unreasonable you get when you’re hungry.”
My heart grew bigger and split open inside, filling my chest with a tight ache when I saw the gaze of the few who dared to look up; sad black eyes, like opals, set deeply into pale faces absent of innocence and animation. “How often do you feed them?”
“Couple of humans a month,” the caretaker said.
I spun around quickly to face him. “What? That's not enough for that many children.”
“Ara—” Mike stepped forward, reaching. “Move away from the cage.”
I sidestepped quickly, looking behind me, catching a glimpse of a grey hand stretching through the bars, just out of reach of my hair. The child hissed at me, his mouth gaping like a hollow cave; his eyes completely black and empty.
“That was close.” I chuckled.
“Too close. Now, move a few more steps away,” Mike said, but his eyes went wide, the world going cold all around his soul as my head jerked awkwardly to one side, my feet leaving the ground as my spine hit the bars, the wind bursting from my lungs in a short squeal. Solid little hands circled my face, ripping at my hair; I reached up to pry them away as Mike darted forward, driving his elbow between my neck and the bars. But there were too many—grabbing my skin, scratching it, their dry, sour-tasting fingers slipping into the corner of my mouth, yanking my head against the metal.
They refused to give up, fighting so hard against Mike that I felt like a sack of beans on the backseat of a minivan driving off-road. I couldn't even scream, couldn’t get a breath past the thumping in my throat.
“Snap her neck!” the caretaker yelled over the chaos. “Snap her neck, and they’ll back off.”
My eyes shot to Mike’s; a split second passed as he played that thought out in his mind.
“No,” I breathed.
“Sorry, Ar—” His hands moved in slow motion; one cupping my chin, the other firmly grasping the back of my head.
I screamed, jolting forward as tiny talons dragged my feet backward through the bars. Mike dropped me, reaching out quick, catching my hair as I went down. I heard it rip as my elbows hit the dirt—felt it come lose from my scalp in a big clump that he threw to the floor by my hand.
“It’s okay, baby. I got you.” His feet parted, his hand coming down to grab my arm, just as my body spun, slipping forward at full speed toward the cage until I wore the bars like a metal pair of underwear, driving into my flesh, threatening to rip me apart from the middle, up. I screamed out as my shoes came away, then the legs of my jeans, leaving my shins and ankles bare, cold. I couldn't kick, couldn't drag myself away from the cage. And Mike pulled, lifting my arms above my head, fighting a battle of tug-of-war with starving immortals.
“Get back!” a thunderous voice sent a shockwave of fear over the tunnels.
Mike and I flew backward into the wall, landing in a tangled heap as my legs suddenly came free. High-pitched shrieks wailed through the air, circling around and disappearing like a banshee’s echo, the children retreating to the rear of the cell.
I struggled to my feet, with a little help from Mike, clutching the base of my neck where my hair was missing, and hobbled over to the cage.
“You. Know! The. Rules!” the caretaker jammed his metal stick into the floor on each word.
My eyes strained against the darkness, with the torch lamps dim, lying sideways on the ground. But as I peered through the bars, wrapping my fingers around them, saw something shift under the caretaker’s stick—something no bigger than a pillow.
“You rotten little maggot!” he growled.
“Ah!” A boy howled, tucking himself into a ball as his ribs wore the brunt of the caretaker’s fury. He sounded like any other child, not some demonic immortal; his small voice quivered, laden with panic, calling through his hands for his mother—an instinct so human it broke my heart.
“Stop it,” I screeched, dropping to my knees, reaching in through the bars. “Stop hurting him.”
Mike landed in the dirt beside me, grabbing my shoulders. “Baby, stay back.”
“No.” I tried to get up—to go to them. “Let me help them.”