Macabre Melody: Book 7 in the Spellsinger Series

by Amy Sumida

  Slate's face was pressed against my cheek. He whispered in my ear, “I see everything.”

  Then his heat and hardness were gone. I stumbled. Shivered. After the steel door shut, Slate stared at me through the barred window; his eyes glinting like the blade he'd taken from me.

  “The worst is yet to come.”

  Chapter Ten

  I sat on my poor excuse for a bed and stared at the steel door before me for a long time. At the bars. The lock. The handle. Even the rivets. They all blurred together as the memories overtook me.

  Gage lying dead before me. The awful churning in my stomach that ultimately freed me. Then the horrifying realization of what I'd done. Not just to him but to all of those innocent people. Shining Ones. Immortals who weren't immortal anymore. I heard the screams again. Smelled the smoke of their burning flesh. And I felt the power surging through me.

  I ran for the toilet and vomited violently. When I'd wasted all my dinner, I stumbled to my feet and rinsed out my mouth at the tiny sink. Head hanging, I rolled my gaze up to my reflection; part of me dreading what I'd see. Has the monstrosity twisted my face? Has it made its way to the surface? But it was only me staring back. My chin trailing water. My eyes haunted. I stared at the rounded collar circling my throat like a noose waiting to hang me. Or a snake about to strike.

  I wiped off my mouth and went back to bed. I stripped down to my underwear and slipped beneath the blanket, but I didn't lie down. I pressed my back against the wall and tried to hold back the memories with the motion. I'd been doing so well ignoring the pain; focusing on my lovers and planning our weddings. Focusing on my people and protecting Kyanite. On anything but remembering.

  Here, it seemed as if that was all I did.

  Hadn't I thought about this? That maybe I was the one who should be hunted. It seemed as if the Universe was having a big laugh at my expense. Or perhaps it was giving me what I needed; a karmic slap and a purgative. My mind needed to vomit as my body had. Deep down, I knew I wasn't entirely to blame for what had happened. But my problem wasn't with my subconscious; it was right there, raging on the surface of my conscious mind. In my face, showing me the stains Faenestra had left on my soul. On our soul.

  The problem was, even if I accepted that Faenestra was the villain of my tale, I couldn't blame her for every foul deed. She hadn't been around when I'd slaughtered the Sapphire Kingdom, or when I burned a bunch of blooder mercenaries, or nearly destroyed an entire planet of Jotun. She'd been trapped in a black orb when I'd turned lovers against each other and made one kill the other. I hadn't even known about Faenestra when I made a blooder woman bleed just because she'd hit on Banning. Faenestra had been ten times as bad as I had been, but I didn't think for one second that her being gone had made me good.

  No; I had been heading towards her long before she was freed. Every new power, every ounce of fresh strength, had made me a little more like her. Being in that arena—forced to kill every day—was reconnecting me with that ruthless side of myself that I'd thought I'd cut away. There, in that cell, pressed against a cold stone wall, I was hit with a harsh realization. An epiphany of sorts. It wasn't the lack of Faenestra that had turned me back into Elaria; it was the lack of her power. And if I kept walking this road—the same one I'd been on before I'd released her—I'd become her again. Except for this time, there would be no saving me with a soul-severing dagger.

  A purgative was exactly what I needed. A purge of my soul. I couldn't let myself become that person again. And that meant that I couldn't ignore the pain and guilt I felt for my actions. They were my saviors; they'd keep me from becoming a monster. I had to force myself to feel the horror of what I'd done. Because if I didn't, I'd become numb to it. So, to save myself and those I loved, I tore down the walls in my mind, and let it all wash over me.

  With a sob, I covered my face with my hands and wept.

  Chapter Eleven

  I felt stronger in the morning. The purging had helped, and I awoke with a seed of hope in my heart that I could hold onto compassion and mercy. Onto my humanity. It was going to be a rough ride—especially with me fighting in that bloody arena—but if I waited for a good time to face my fears, I never would. If I cried like a baby every night, so what? It's not like anyone could see me. In fact, this was the best place to cry out the pain; bleed out the infection. There were no consorts knocking on the bathroom door asking if I was all right. I could puke and cry in peace.

  Despite Slate's ominous prediction, my situation improved. An hour after I woke, Jago moved me into a champion cell; across from Cerberus and next door to the little Sasq'et girl. Tessa. She stared at me solemnly through the barred window in her door as I passed; giving me the tiniest smile as she waved.

  “Don't worry, Tessa, I'm going to make sure you get home,” I vowed.

  “Okay,” her voice had been as tiny as her smile.

  Inside my new digs, there was a real bed, a separate little bathroom, and a trunk full of sturdy clothes. It looked as if the champions got to dress up. There were leather pants and tops, jeans, T-shirts, and heavy boots for fighting in as well as soft cotton tunics, pants, and sandals to relax in. All in my size. The fucker really did see everything.

  But then came the battles.

  I had a feeling that Slate was deliberately seeking out the fiercest opponents for me to fight. I thought that damn gorgon was difficult, but every match after her seemed harder and harder until I began to wonder if I was going to make it out of the zone alive. I didn't move around the arena to draw it out anymore; I ran for my life.

  “Training?” Jago asked from the barred window.

  He asked that question every day. The imprisoned champions got to exercise for two hours in the training yard daily; hours when the gargoyle guards weren't using the space. I always said no. My power wasn't in my physical strength, it was in my magic, and I was beyond the age for training that. I suppose I could have run laps, but I was getting enough running in the arena. I just wanted to relax and save my strength.

  “You don't have to lift weights or anything,” Jago said. “You could just sit on a bench and get some fresh air. Wouldn't that be nice? Better than being cooped up in here.”

  That would be nice. I stood up. It would also give me a chance to scope out the area without Jago pushing me along into Gargoyle Headquarters.

  “Yeah; all right.”

  Jago grinned and opened the door. “You need to stay within the yard; if you even look as if you're making a break for it, one of the guards will take you down. And they're not all as nice as me.”

  “I know the drill, Jago.” I pushed past his thick body and into the hall. “We going or what?”

  “Yes!” Cerberus declared from his cell. “You're coming out today?”

  “Just to get some fresh air,” I said.

  Of course, Cerberus had been making use of the exercise time; he loved to work out. I didn't understand that. I loved to sit on my ass and watch my men work out, but as far as expending energy that I didn't need to? No. I'd rather use it to make a cocktail. Or make love to the men I'd just watched work out. Mmm... sweaty Gage. Yeah; I could get behind that. And in front of it and to... damn it! I missed my guys!

  “El, you really should start lifting,” Cer said as Jago let him out of his cell.

  Cerberus swept me up into a hug before Jago could get between us.

  “All right, come on now.” Jago nudged my back. “I get it; you love each other. That's adorable.”

  “She's been my best friend for over two-hundred years, Jag-off.” Cerberus stepped back from me only to glower at Jago. “If you weren't such an asshole, you might have a friend like her too. And then you'd understand.”

  “I have friends.” Jago's whole body looked disgruntled as he pushed both of us forward. “You know where it is, Dog-turd. Get to walking.”

  I shot Cerberus a look, and he smirked at me. He liked Jago. Yeah, okay; the gargoyle guard was growing on me too—like a smelly foot fungus.


  We strode out of the cell block and into a courtyard. I took a deep breath and stared up at the cavern's ceiling. It was so odd not to see the sky above me. The ventilation in the Zone was good enough that there was even a slight breeze moving against my face. It felt as if I were truly outside. But even though the lights, far overhead in the cave ceiling, were dimmed to resemble stars, they weren't real stars and there was no moon among them. I had walked out of one cell and into another. The best prisons had layers—levels to break through before you reached freedom—and the Zone was a damn fine prison.

  There were already several beneathers working out in the yard; all under the supervision of gargoyle guards. I walked by a wendigo doing push-ups, and he stopped to look up at me as if he felt my stare. At least his collar kept him from shifting into his monster form. Wendigos could transform into the walking dead; gaunt bodies, ashen skin stretched over bones like a fist against plastic film, tattered and bloody lips. He would have smelled like death too. But even though the eyes he raised to me weren't sunken in his skull, they were still full of malice.

  I winked at him and moved on. Never let them see you sweat. Speaking of which...

  “Hey, beautiful.” It was the thunderbird who'd asked Jago about me.

  His long hair was braided back from his face; out of the way while he did pull-ups on a bar. His biceps bulged as he lifted himself up, and then he dropped to his feet gracefully and leaned against the pole to leer at me. He was bare-chested and gorgeous; all golden-brown skin and hard-earned muscles. But the look he gave me was broadcasting all the things he wanted to do to me; bloody things involving claws and a rending beak.

  “Look at her like that again, and I'll carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey,” Cerberus said casually to him.

  The thunderbird smirked, but he also looked away.

  “What's up, Edgar?” Cerberus called over to a cynocephalus.

  The dog-headed man nodded in greeting. His hands were too busy clinging to a weight bar to wave; curling up what had to be over three-hundred pounds. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted.

  “I usually train here.” Cerberus waved at an open weight bench. “But we can move over there for today.” Cer pointed at another bench that was a few feet away from a wooden picnic table and started ambling toward it.

  The yard was full of all sorts of equipment but they were pretty basic; benches, weights, pull up bars, dipping bars, kettlebells, and a couple of primitive pulley stations. Most of the equipment was being used but a few of the prisoners stood in groups socializing. And there were more women than I'd expected. One was a stunning kitsune; a fox-shifter who had fluffy tails even in her human form. And yes, I said tails as in plural. The more tails a kitsune had (up to nine) the more powerful they were. This lady had the ultimate amount; a silky mass that wrapped around her feet like a furry train. She slanted a sly glance at me and smiled in a way that made my skin crawl. The wendigo hadn't disturbed me as much as this lady did.

  I climbed up on the picnic table; sitting on the top with my feet on the bench so I had a good view of the yard with my back to the wall. Jago had left as soon as we reached the yard; leaving us in the care of the numerous guards who were already posted there. The gargoyles stood in a loose circle around us with even more of them along the entire length of the wall. Sharp, gray eyes scanned everything; inside and out of the facility.

  “There are some dumbbells over there.” Cerberus nodded to a collection of weights. “Do some biceps curls or something; you look like a pussy sitting there.”

  I grimaced at Cer as he added more weights to the barbell that was laid across his bench. Each disc had “100 lbs” cast into it. I didn't realize they went that high. Maybe they were special, beneather weights. I shook my head as he added the third disc on the left side; it had started with one. I picked up a ten-pound dumbbell and lugged it to the table. Climbing back on my perch, I scanned the area again and scowled as I saw a naga approaching us. I set my elbow on my knee and started absently curling my forearm up as I focused on the naga.

  “Incoming,” I murmured to Cer.

  Cerberus stopped what he was doing to turn around. An annoyed expression settled on his face. He crossed his arms and waited for the man to reach us.

  The naga was in his man form; only his vibrant, green, snake eyes betraying his race. I was starting to appreciate the collars we were forced to wear. I dearly did not want to see this guy in his snake form. He smiled viciously at me and flashed a pair of needle-thin fangs; one more clue that he was a naga. I hated nagas; most of them were the kind of mean that you get from having a bad childhood. But Nagas weren't the victims of child abuse, they were born like that. I heard they were hatched from eggs; just like Griffins. But where Griffins are known to be noble creatures, Nagas were known to be... well... snakes.

  “You're on my bench,” the naga hissed.

  “My girl's out here today; she needs a seat. So, I'm working out here,” Cerberus said. “Do me a favor and use another bench.”

  It was damn polite for Cerberus, and I lifted a brow at him in surprise. He didn't usually respond well to the type of tone the naga had used.

  “I don't want to use another bench,” the naga said. “I want this one.”

  I looked at Cerberus. Yep; there went the polite act.

  “Fuck off, fang-boy.” Cerberus hunched forward as if he were about to launch himself at the naga.

  The gargoyle guards started edging closer; electric rods at the ready.

  “You're getting a lot of attention,” I warned them.

  But neither man heard me; they were too busy tossing testosterone at each other. The naga narrowed his snake eyes and then leapt at Cerberus. I groaned as Cer gave him an uppercut that sent the snake flying. But the naga didn't stay down. In fact, he'd barely hit the ground before he twisted about and flung himself back at Cerberus.

  The other prisoners cheered and gathered around as the guards shouted and closed in. But the brawling men ignored everyone and just started bashing each other.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as I saw the naga's head reel back; his fangs lifted to strike.

  Naga venom was deadly but not to immortals. Still, it would sting and possibly paralyze Cerberus for a minute or two. Enough time for the naga to tear out Cer's throat. So, I tossed the dumbbell at his head.

  Everyone froze as the naga's head whipped back from the blow of metal to his cranium. Cerberus laughed and used the distraction to grab the naga's neck. But as he choked the snake (so many jokes), it did a perfect Taekwondo side kick. Not at Cerberus but at me. I was knocked off the table and into a pumped-up satyr. The goat-man made a screaming, grating sound and punched me in the face; sending me reeling into a suparna. The suparna shoved me into the kitsune. Her nails sank into my arms as I jerked away; leaving bloody trails that dripped down my arms. I hit the back of the thunderbird, and he turned around to reach for me; his eyes lighting up like it was Christmas morning.

  I was getting sick of the spellsinger ping-pong ball routine, but I wasn't about to stop on the thunderbird paddle. I lurched away, but the thunderbird grabbed me. His face lowered to mine; his stare holding me frozen as he lifted my left arm and licked the blood away. He closed his eyes and shivered. I kneed him in the balls and ran.

  The thunderbird howled but there was a look on his face that said he'd enjoyed the pain. It was foreplay for him.

  “El!” Cerberus shouted.

  The gargoyle guards were busy brandishing their wands; sending prisoners trembling to the ground in palsy. But they had acted too late. The entire training yard had joined the fun. It was a fucking bloodbath, and there I was with my magic suppressed and the physical strength of a wounded wombat.

  Okay, I wasn't quite that weak. I could hold my own, but against the likes of the beneathers in that yard, I definitely felt like a crippled marsupial. I was about to get my ass handed to me from all sorts of bad motherfuckers. Still, I wasn't going down easy. I punched, kicked, and even bit my
way to Cer's side. By the time we reached each other; I was bleeding all over the packed dirt.

  “Stand down or I will fucking start shooting!” Slate stood at the edge of the training yard with his guards.

  He had a grenade launcher pointed at the mass of writhing, punching, hissing beneathers. Everyone froze. Then they slowly backed away from each other; bloody hands lifted in the air and stares focused on the barrel of the gun. Most beneathers could survive a gunshot but the rounds in that monster weapon would be enough to kill one of us with a single hit. Slate's eyes roamed the lot of us; pausing on me briefly before moving on.

  “Get them back in their cells; training is canceled until further notice,” Slate snapped.

  The prisoners muttered angrily but wiped the blood off their faces and went peacefully back to their cells. As peacefully as a bunch of murdering psychopaths could go. Jago came to collect me and Cer. We were the last group to head inside.

  “You okay?” Jago asked as he brushed some blood off my lip with his thumb.

  I was startled by the gentle, intimate act and stared at Jago warily.

  “Yeah; she's fine, Jag-off.” Cer pushed Jago's hand away. “Stop touching my girl like you're in love or something.”

  “I was just checking to see if she needed a healer.” Jago sounded gruff but his expression looked embarrassed.

  “She heals fast enough on her own; leave her be.” Cer stood between us; staring Jago down.

  “Is there a problem?” Slate's voice cracked over us like a whip.

  “No problem, Boss.” Jago smirked at Cer. “The Hound is just howling a bit about his bitch.”

  “She's not my bitch; don't ever fucking call her that,” Cer snarled at Jago. Then he transferred his glare to Slate. “You need to tell your guards to keep their wandering hands to themselves. And that goes for you too, fucker. I've seen the way you look at her.”