The Emperor

by N. M. Brown

  Nic’s smile widened and he ascended the last few steps. He wore the same baggy sweatpants Echo had seen a thousand times, but strangely he had company. A little drug bunny high on something was tucked under his arm, swaying on her toes. “Do? For me…? Nothing, nothing I’m afraid." Lounging backwards on the railing, Nic gazed turned curious. “You are such a wonder.”

  “I don’t know what you mean?” She said timidly. The Sins weren’t kind or complimentary for any reason unless it gained them something. They already had Echo’s loyalty, her devotion; so, she found her guard raising.

  “You are just so…” Nic took a breath. “Human.” He finished and his words knocked the air from Echo’s lungs. She tried not to show her feelings on her face, but spiteful words Sydney had said were hitting her again.

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Echoignored the backhanded compliment. “I don’t think I can help that.” But Echo knew she wanted to be better than normal, better than being just a human. It was what she thrived to be. From the day she’d been born and all her life she’d dedicated herself to being one of them; just like them, as close as she could possibly be.

  Nic hummed, gently pulling himself off the stairwell banister like a cat. “That is a shame.” And tuged his bunny away, leaving Echo utterly breathless.

  Shoulders hunched, she gripped the banisher and looked to the floor below, the warm gloom concealing rampant sex, dodgy dealings and broken tibias. What would they hit her with next? She had lost their confidence, their belief in her abilities and they questioned her every move. Taking the steps slowly, Echo walked down, the confidence and self-worth she’d felt in her apartment draining with every step.

  She saw both Archer and Samantha’s doors open, while two parties slowly trickled in. Some of the customers stumbled on their feet and Echo wasn’t entirely sure the right parties were going into the right rooms, but then again, who was to say they wouldn’t enjoy where they ended up. Nevertheless, she hid in the shadows of the bottom steps, watching for afar. She could feel a distance forming, widening with every moment she hesitated, but her feet wouldn’t move.

  Black and white: that had been what she and Adin would say. The darker the task the more they thrived to achieve it. The hard the Sins played, the harder she and Adin would play to keep up. No matter the cost, no matter the requirements, they did as asked, their loyalty to this family black and white. Clear cut, unquestionable and unwavering. So, where was all this doubt coming from. She had changed nothing of her morals, there was still nothing she wouldn’t do for them. Had life without her shown them they didn’t need her. Was she as replaceable as Sydney tried to be…?

  “Girl.” Echo shivered as she heard Archer’s deep, displeased voice call to her. Once again, he was in an impeccable clean cream and gold suit. Without hesitation she was at his side and though he didn’t look angry, Echo knew not to be fooled; the Sins ever became angry. Just dangerous.

  “Yes, Archer.” She smiled trying to keep her voice from quivering. She was at his beckoned call, was his devoted ward and charge. She was to be everything he need depend on.

  “You’re late which is but a small step above turning up at all.” There was no question in Archer’s words, just a cool, cold statement. “You must have not understood when I made myself clear last we spoke.” Again, no question.

  “No-, I mean… yes, you were clear.” Echo mashed out.

  “So, you deliberately left just hours before we opened.” Again. Not a question.

  “No.” Echo protested. “No, what I mean is-… I-,” Echo felt the words stick to her tongue as she spoke. Nothing she could think of would be a sufficient explanation. No mortal need she needed to fix was above her family. They couldn’t-… wouldn’t understand any explanation she gave. “Detective McQueen-,”

  But Archer cut her off. “This again.” He snapped, getting as close to angry as Echo had even seen him get. “That case is closed. You are to no longer involve yourself with the police.”

  “But-,” Echo ground to a halt as she saw the same look Archer had given countless other mortals: disdain. She felt rooted to the floor and squirm under his gaze.

  “Drop whatever ridiculous vendetta you have and go do your job.” And like an indifferent parent, Archer walked away. Echo knew within moments his face would transform into a charming businessman; one hand in yours with a firm handshake, the other dipping into your wallet. But his thoughts of her would be solidified in his mind.

  Her fists trembled as she gathered her breath. She felt so stupid. Why should she still be so interested in the Detective? For fucks sake, his fucking wife was mooching off her in her apartment. No one ever stayed in her apartment. Ever.

  Tonight, she would work; she’d work her ass off so hard that Archer would never question her dedication to her home, her family or their interests. Her kitchen had all she could ever need; creating the meanest, most terrifying beverages. She could make lives fall apart or come together. Break hearts or tape them back up. She could do anything.

  “I have everything.” She whispered to herself taking in the hall before her. Sydney had been right. Echo had a life to be envied.

  ◆◆◆

  Her kitchen was deserted, as was the wine cellar and Echo gave the cool room a wide birth as she found Gala’s wine. Her back had been as stiff as steel, but as she’d stepped back towards the stairs, she suddenly came to an abrupt halt, her fingers clammy around the wine bottle.

  She hadn’t been down here since Sydney had tried to kill her and some part of her hadn’t wanted to, while the stronger, dominant side told he to pussy up and get over it. Yet, as the bare bulb flickered overhead, Echo was assaulted with flashes and her stomach cramped.

  There, in the centre of the dirt was a round, dried patch of darkness, the dust clumped together, and a slight trail towards the stairs. Blood. Her dried blood. And around it, discard pieces of rubbish brought by the paramedics; bandage seals, strips of plastic and blue latex gloves. The item that drew her attention, however, was discarded against the wall, the white fabric dusty and stained black. Holding it up gingerly, Echo opened it out and was amazed as flecks of excess blood rained down. McQueen’s shirt soaked thoroughly in her blood. Her saviour…

  A cold hand clenched around Echo’s throat and the shirt dropped to the floor. So much blood. Echo had seen grizzly sights before; exsanguinated carcases, bloody faces and even a heart or two… but this was her blood.

  It had been her body left dying on the floor…

  Discarded...

  Worthless...

  Human...

  ◆◆◆

  The moonlight that dappled the Kitchen floor as Echo stood over the sink, looking out the window and admired the view. She could see the stone veranda the backed out onto the rose garden, the small gazebo before everything disappeared into the black expanse beyond.

  Looking down, she discarded the corkscrew and cork she held and picked up Gala’s nineteen-fourteen Bordeaux. It was made by Chateau Haut-Brion in France, perfect for red meat and priced at around two-grand. Echo could see where the dust had collected on the side, the wine inside a perfect temperament and unspoiled by time. Was she spoiled now, another mortal on the shelf use only as needed?

  “Bullshit.” Echo sneered “Nothing is wrong with me.” If Gala had caught her, he’d have sliced her throat, but nevertheless she took a gulp of wine straight from the bottle. The tart liquid washed down well, the doubt in her mindwashed away with every gulp she took.

  Looking back out the window, Echo tried to shake herself. She knew her place, she knew where she belonged. “No bitch can take this away from me. No one ca-… no one can-” Echo said to herself but had to blink as the world tilted sideways. “What the-…” But she couldn’t finish. The world had stopped spinning, but was now completely on its head. She felt the cold rush in her veins before a heated flash rippled across her cheeks. Touching them gingerly, Echo couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed.

  Fingers tighten
ing around the bottle neck, Echo tried to take a step towards the door but stumbled colliding with the kitchen table instead. The sturdy wood knocked the air right from her lungs with a wheeze and that was when Echo knew something was wrong. Her body felt too heavy, too hard to move, yet her feet couldn’t touch the ground.

  She was stepping backwards, forward; her feet moving undirected while her hands shook. The expansive bottle smashed at her feet, spreading outwards just like her blood so many weeks ago, but Echo didn’t notice. Her eye were too busy bulging in her head while her fingers snapped to her throat, a strangled gasp crawling out of her mouth as her lungs tried to grasp one more breath. But she dry-heaved, leaving her gaping like a fish.

  Blood pounded in her headand all at once she was on the floor, losing the contents of her stomach. She wanted to scream; scream in pain, scream for help but even if she did sink to that level, she couldn’t. Her throat had completely closed.

  Only thirty seconds must have gone by, but it felt like hours. Her vision was blurry and blinking was taking longer every time her eye lashes fluttered. No air. She couldn’t get any air.

  Her eyes darted to under the sink. Behind the sterilizing liquid she used, tucked behind the ‘U’ bend was her small silver chest. She could see it in her mind’s eyes and with a bout of desperate energy, she launched for the cupboard doors. Bottles scattered as she knocked them away and desperate fingers searched for that small prize. Cold, indented metal ornately designed, tarnished and old, its value was worthless, but inside was invaluable.

  When she’d first been drawn to herbology and mixing concoction, Adin had been her guinea pig. Whatever she made, he tried; telling her what he could taste, smell, what symptoms he had during and after each creation. He’d been her most responsive subject, telling her to a scientific degree what worked and what could make it better. Together they’d spent hours running tests, mixing everything they could think of. Of course, the better Echo got, the more Adin’s interests lead elsewhere and before long he was too busy or had better things to do than play with flowers.

  She’d never forgot the anger she felt towards him, abandoning her like that. Of course, she was too stubborn to say anything and to this day never did, but she also never told him how close she came to dying. With no Adin, Echo had to try her creations herself and they often had disastrous effect. She had lived - just –but learnt from the experience.

  The contents of the little silver box fell all over the floor as she knock it into her lap, spilling tiny needles filled with different colours liquids on the floor. Bunched herbs, dried followed with smaller snuff boxes and leather bags. Eyes hazy, Echo reached for the smallest box, trying to pop the lid with shaky fingers but each time the box fell from her hands. Palms slick with sweat, she felt the blackness creepingat the edge of her vision, and she couldn't even gasp for a small breath.

  Mother fucking fucker, Echo thought repeatedly as her muscles gave way and her fingers cramped, no longer responsive. She wondered if maybe this was it; perhaps it had been a fluke for her to survive a bullet. Maybe Fate had decided to carve her tombstone with a more poetic death: Here Lies Echo Headly. Lived By The Bottle. Died By It Too.

  But whatever cosmic joke the Fates plan might have been, it was out of Echo’s hands now as the blackness claimed her, and she ceased to think anything at all.

  ◆◆◆

  “… at-a girl.” A voice cooed in Echo’s ear.

  Groaning hard, Echo tried to swing her head round, but her pounding head cried in objection. The lights were too bright, and the air was too cold. She shivered uncontrollably but could feel the sweat drenching her clothes. Someone was holding her up, their hand under her chin as the procced to poor more water on her face, getting only some dribbles down her parched throat.

  “She needs more.” A feminine voice spoke up coming into focus, the sound of the running tap falling into the background.

  She was alive. Echo could feel every bone protesting; every muscles aching but she was alive. Just. Blinking she squinted in the harsh light and tried to make out who was her saviour.

  “I know sweetheart. Just give her a moment.” Jacob answered beside Sandi, allowing Echo to sit up on her own.

  “Wha-,” Echo croaked, but ended up in a coughing fit as her raw throat protested.

  “I told you she needed more.” Sandi snapped and thrusted a glass of water back under Echo’s nose, sloshing more down her front. Slowly, like a newborn, Echo lapped at the water, wincing as her teeth clashed against the glass.

  Drinking down every drop, Echo breathed, feeling the euphoric rush as air and oxygen began to recirculate in her blood once more. Breathing deeply, she took her sweet time before facing her saviours. Jacob, seeing she was no longer dead, had sat back, leant on one arm and relaxed with his eyes closed. He could have been at a beach rather than the dirty floor of a demonic club. Sandi, on the other hand, was still balance on her toes, arms wrapped around her knees as she watched Echo intently.

  “If you’re waiting for a thank you, you’re not going to get one.” Echo said, pleased to hear her voice was back to normal.

  “A thank you, from you?” Jacob droned, “Not likely.” And all at once he gave her one of his charming, irrefutable smiles. “But we know you mean well.” Echo narrowed her eyes at him.

  “No, no she won’t thank us. Not yet.” Sandi said, but her eyes were unfocused again as if she were talking to herself.

  Standing and leaning heavily on the table, Echo sigh internally at the mess on the floor. Glass shards, the spit wine-… oh the wine. Echo clenched her teeth. She would have to clean that up later and made amends. Gala couldn’t kill her, but he would try if he found out she wasted almost a full bottle. “I need to get back to work.” Echo breathed.

  “After you’ve just been poisoned?” Jacob asked, but there was a humour in his eyes Echo didn’t like.

  “How do you know I was poisoned?” She demanded, “And how do you know I was the intended target?”

  Jacob must have sensed her suspicion because he stood too, pulling Sandi with him, all the while keeping his perfect, charming smile on. “You were poisoned because you told us.” He answered, pointing at the floor. All her powders, needles and herbs were still scattered on the floor and her little silver snuff box was now empty. “When I saw the snuff box just out of reach, I figured it’s what you needed. Interesting, that you have bezoar stones at your disposal. Used one before have we?” He asked and Echo gave him an unimpressed eye roll.

  Yes, once she’d found herself vomiting for weeks, while another time she’d hallucinated herself right off the veranda into the rose garden below. She quickly found a black market Wijch who, for a steep price, sold her pixie bezoar stones. As small as a pumpkin seed, there were extremely potent and flooded anything and everything from your system. She was glad she still had some left, through restocking was going to cost her.

  “As for if you were the target…” Jacob shrugged, all knowing, as if the answer was obvious.

  “Why would anyone want me dead?” Echo snapped, pissed at such an accusation. Being shot a few weeks ago didn’t count and poisoned wine she’d collected on the whim of a thousand-year-old demon? There was no planning in that. No, something else had happened. “Someone clearly fucked up when bottling the wine. Gala bought a dud.” Echo explained away, pleased to find her feet were steady underneath herself again. Moving away she quickly grabbed a brush, sweeping the glass shards to the side. “If you haven’t got anything else to do, you can leave. I have work to do.”

  Echo didn’t wait for either of them to reply, instead heading back down into the wine cellar. She didn’t pause this time, didn’t ponder as she sped over to Gala’s second bottle of Bordeaux and swiped it from the shelf. With a single-track focus, she rushed back into the kitchen, pleased to find it empty, before uncorking the new bottle. It was only when she stood once more at the sink, corkscrew in one hand and bottle in the other, did Echo pause. Daji-vu hit her like a lover’s care
ss. Had she not just been here, contemplating her life, how she’d survived and her worth in this House?

  Softly blowing out a breath, Echo straightened, pleased to find her legs were no longer shaky, nor her stomach in knots. She was fine. Just, perfectly fine.