“What’s it?”
She turned to face him. “We can’t die, because this is too good for me to give up.”
“I’m hurt,” he said, grinning, and she was certain that wasn’t what he thought at all. “We weren’t good enough before?” He arched a brow.
“I suppose we were, but now that I’ve had you, I can’t give this up. Us. I won’t. If we get out of here, we’re going to elope. Run away, and then elope.”
“Do I get a choice in this plan?”
“What, is an elopement not enough pageantry for you?”
He grinned, but there was a sadness in his eyes. Becka had the overwhelming feeling that he was humoring her, being resigned to his fate. All the more reason to plant a seed of hope for the future.
“I require no pageantry, but I doubt your mother would approve of us wedding.”
Becka winked at him. “So then it’s on. That’s why it’s called an elopement.”
He shook his head. “You’ll be disowned. Or kicked out of your house.”
“As if I’d mind? I bet Maura would be grateful not to have to keep searching for someone willing to marry me and my Null gift. She might even consider it a boon.”
“You’re a prize, Becka,” Quinn replied, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently, although that was one odd proposal. But if we live through this, yes, I’ll elope with you.”
His lips claimed hers, and for a blissful moment, all other thoughts were banished.
Eventually, Quinn pulled away. “Then, I hate to say it, but we should get dressed. They’ll be back at some point, and we need to be ready.”
A thought itched at her mind, hanging just out of reach, like a puzzle piece the cat had run off with.
Chapter 27
When the bolt on the door clicked open, Becka shot straight up in bed. She’d been dozing off and on for hours, agonizing over the potential scenarios Mimir might throw at her. At least her headache had abated despite having none of her favorite hot sauce on hand.
As the door to their cell swung open, Quinn’s hand gripped her hip reassuringly as he sat up behind her. Becka reached down and touched his knee, but then stood up as Mimir entered the room with a flourish, four of her goons entering behind her.
Quinn came to stand beside her, his hand at the small of her back, wearing only the jeans he’d dozed in. His touch grounded her. She’d expected her anxiety to balloon as Mimir’s plan moved into action, but her nerves remained level. Perhaps she’d spent so many hours worrying that her anxiety was all burned out?
“Aw, I can see you’ve used your time wisely.” Mimir’s gaze flitted back and forth between them. “How very adorable. I do so fondly remember young love,” she said, her voice wistful.
Becka planted her hands on her hips, holding her chin high. “How many centuries ago was that?”
Mimir’s eyes widened in shock, but quickly transformed to a predatory glare. “I’m sure I won’t tell. You’re unusually spunky tonight. Ready for your grand debut?”
“Here I’d thought you’d forgotten about me, it’d gotten so late.”
“Late? Oh trust me, it’s early.” Mimir moved to the door, gesturing for her to come along. “I had to whip up the troops. You know how it is.”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Enough dawdling, come along.”
But Becka couldn’t make her feet move. Quinn took the initiative and stepped in front of her.
Mimir frowned. “Must we?”
Quinn shrugged.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Mimir replied. “Boys, truss him up.”
Becka could have gone willingly, but she remembered Quinn’s direction to delay things as long as possible. Hours had passed since they’d gone missing. How much longer would the enforcers need to find them? Were they even looking in the right place?
Mimir’s men moved forward warily, the two humans pulling out the breath-stealing batons they’d used on Quinn the last time. Becka remembered how they’d left Quinn near unconscious the last time. Would the five minutes he might delay Mimir’s plans be worth it if it rendered him unable to help later?
“Quinn, no,” Becka said, doubting her decision almost immediately.
He cast his gaze back at her over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.
“There’s no point,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes at her, but then relented. He turned back to Mimir. “I won’t fight.”
Mimir’s smug smile almost taunted Becka to change her mind. “She really has you wrapped around her little finger. Well then, be a good boy. Turn around and let my men tie you up.”
Quinn turned to face Becka, holding his arms loose at his sides. Two of Mimir’s men stood at the ready with their weapons while the other two zip-tied Quinn’s arms together in front of him. Quinn looked none too happy, but Becka figured Quinn without the use of his arms was still preferable to unconscious.
“Do you promise not to hurt him if I do as you ask?” Becka asked.
“If you jump through my hoops, Becka, I promise I won’t harm him,” Mimir said.
She’s lying.
The realization was like a chime going off inside Becka’s head. She looked to Quinn, who’d watched her reaction. His brows rose with recognition, and then confusion.
Was that how his gift worked? Becka didn’t have the opportunity to ask him, because the human guards grabbed Quinn by the shoulders roughly and turned him around.
“Take him to the stage,” Mimir directed, and then turned to Becka. “I trust you’ll follow me at a respectful distance? My guards will assist if you need any direction along the way.”
Becka watched Quinn stumble out the door followed by Mimir. The human goons walked to the door, waiting for her to follow. Becka couldn’t make her feet move, but whatever Mimir had lined up, she couldn’t drag her heels forever.
“You want me to carry you?” offered one guard, crossing his arms.
“No,” Becka replied, feeling like she was pouting.
“Let’s get a move on,” the other guard said. “Champagne’s not gonna last all night.”
“Champagne?” she asked, finally stirred into motion. She walked up to the door, the hulky men parting enough for her to pass, and then stepped through the doorway.
The lights in the hallway were dim, much like they’d been in the room. These walls weren’t whitewashed, but were instead painted in dark gray tones. She couldn’t see Quinn or Mimir ahead of them.
“Where did they go?”
“Go left. You’ll know when you get there,” said goon one.
“Heh, good one,” replied good two.
Becka wrinkled her nose, but headed left down the hall, the two men following behind her. The urge to flee kept springing into her mind, but where would she go when Mimir had those closest to her? She passed portraits of ancient fae in the hall, a couple of which she recognized as progenitors, and a few she didn’t know at all.
Curious. As something of a historian, Becka had thought she was familiar with all the portraits of that era.
Just how old is Mimir?
She reached the end of the hall, which opened up to her right, revealing a room Becka recognized from her last trip. However, this time she had a better angle on the room which was filled with fae attendees in masquerade outfits and masks all gathered around a central stage, murmuring with rapt delight. Her eyes sought out the window frames she’d noticed the last time, quickly confirming that they were more art than substance, being hung in front of plain brick walls.
So we’re underground. Or at least in a building without windows.
When the crowd noticed her arrival, all conversation stilled. The mass parted before Becka, opening up a direct path for her to the stage. After Becka took in the scene that was set, her body propelled her forward of its own volition, eager to intervene.
Were all these fae Shadow-Dwellers? Would she have recognized any of them without their masks on?
>
There was an altar on the stage with a large jewel-encrusted chalice prominently displayed. Mimir stood to the side, resplendent in a black silk pantsuit and her signature blood-red heels. Becka almost didn’t notice the matching, jewel-encrusted dagger Mimir nonchalantly held in her hand.
The altar was flanked by two St. Andrew’s crosses: Lydia hung on one and Hanna on the other. They’d blindfolded both, but Lydia hung limp against the shackles holding her against the frame. Hanna was tense, actively fighting against the ropes that held her in place. Two attendants stood by each of the crosses, no doubt awaiting Mimir’s bidding.
Between the crosses, they’d hung Quinn up by the wrists on a wicked hook suspended by a chain from the ceiling, his hands still zip-tied together. They forced his mouth open by a gag that cut into his cheeks from being tied too tightly.
He only had eyes for Becka, and somehow Quinn’s calm reached her despite the distance between them. Surely, if he could keep his cool despite being hung up like a lamb for the slaughter, Becka could as well.
The moment her foot touched the first step up to the platform, a chorus of applause rose all around Becka, filling the immense space. Mimir’s expression shone with triumph.
“Welcome to your ascension, Lady Becka of House Rowan, first of your power,” Mimir greeted her in a voice that carried over the applause. The crowd quieted but a near-electric buzz of excitement remained in the air.
“Ascension?” Becka stammered, aware everyone’s eyes were on her. “That’s a funny way to say exsanguination and death.”
“Death?” Mimir absently tapped the dagger against her leg. “No, no, no. You won’t die.”
“But the blood?”
“We’ll be drinking your blood. But not all of it. That would be a waste. With proper care and feeding, or close enough, you’ll keep making more.”
She’d fully expected Mimir would want to drain her dry like the others. Is it worse to be held captive for your blood or dead? Ugh. She had to figure out a way to get close to Mimir and wipe her powers, but the guards were standing at the foot of the stage, easily in range.
“Yet you drink fae to death regularly.”
Mimir held up her hands, the shiny point of the dagger slicing through the air. “Yes, but you know, witnesses.”
“You’re not worried that I’ll tell anyone?”
“Of course not, because we won’t let you loose, you naive child.”
At least she was keeping Mimir talking and not slashing.
“Blood slave for life. Got it. What about them?” she asked, pointing to Lydia, Hanna, and Quinn.
“Blindfolds! They’ll never know where they were kept, or by whom.”
Becka looked at Quinn, who returned her gaze cool as a cucumber. “But Quinn?”
“Eh, we’ll see about him. He might prove useful.” Mimir shrugged like she hadn’t given Quinn a second thought, filling Becka with dread.
She couldn’t shake the impression that Mimir had a plan and just wasn’t going to say anything at this point. Becka looked at Quinn, and he gave her the slightest of nods. She would have preferred this new intuition to be more specific.
“All of your friends’ welfare depends on your compliance in our festivities, Becka. If you’re difficult, I’m perfectly happy to sacrifice all of them for the greater good. I even have an agent back at House Rowan ready to act on a moment’s notice. It’s in everyone’s best interest for you to, shall we say, embrace your destiny?”
“Fine. What’s this ascension, anyway?”
“Your coming has been foretold by the Ancients, Becka. Your singular gift has the ability to renew our people. Once I share your power with my people, a new age will dawn for the fae-touched, allowing us to rise not just to our former glory, but to new, unimagined heights.”
A tasteful round of applause rose from the assembly. Perplexed, Becka crossed her arms. She could tell Mimir believed what she said, but it made little sense.
“You know I’m just a Null, right? I obliterate the powers of others or the magic they’ve left behind. I destroy. I haven’t created crap.”
“Au contraire, my little blood popsicle. According to prophecy, you alone are the gateway to our future. Through your blood, a new race will be born.”
Becka rubbed her temples, the building stress and latent magic of the crowd triggering the beginnings of a headache. “I swear I’m not the important child of prophecy you believe me to be, Mimir. Can you be more specific than ‘you’re the chosen one’?”
Mimir arched a brow and pursed her lips as she considered Becka’s question. “Perhaps understanding will spur your compliance?” she mused to herself. “You see, Becka, this power of yours is something you don’t fully comprehend yet. If you did, you’d already be limitless.”
Mimir’s conviction was absolute. “Wait, what?”
“You have mastered only aspects of your ability, perhaps because the testers gave you a misleading impression as to the nature of your gift? But once I add your gift to my own, I can demonstrate the full potential of your power.”
Becka was certain Mimir believed every word. She thought back to her conversation with Quinn. Mimir definitely knew something she didn’t.
She thought back to her time with Quinn just hours ago and the emotional rush that had flowed through her when they were together. Now, somehow she seemed to sense something in others’ words. But that assumed she believed prophecy could exist, right? And Becka knew better. There had to be another reason for her suddenly enhanced intuition.
She had so many questions, but getting clarity from Mimir and her amorphous prophecies felt like wading through a swamp.
Mimir stepped forward and set her dagger on the altar next to the chalice. “Use this dagger to open a vein, fill the cup, and then go stand with your lover like a good girl.” She walked backwards, the click-click-clicking of her heels announcing her arrival to Hanna.
“No, no, no, please!” Hanna’s shrill litany burst out. Re-energized by Mimir’s proximity, she struggled and pulled against her bonds, but to no avail. The noise roused Lydia, who coughed and groaned, straining to move.
Mimir didn’t even seem to hear Hanna. Instead, she fiddled with her bracelet, pulling what looked like a charm off of it and sliding it onto the tip of her index finger. She ran her fingers over the exposed skin of Hanna’s arm, a trail of weeping red following in the wake of her touch.
Hanna screeched in pain. “Stop! Please! I don’t even know what you want,” she sobbed.
“When I’m done with Hanna, I’ll move on to Lydia,” Mimir continued. “When I’m done with her, I’ll move on to Quinn. The only question is: how much suffering can you, or they, endure?”
“You’re a monster!” Becka yelled at her. Quinn yelled something through the gag, drawing her attention. He vehemently shook his head, his furrowed brow and pleading eyes begging for her to hold her ground.
Mimir waved her accusation away. “They’ve called me worse. Do try to be more creative?” she taunted.
Next, Mimir motioned to the masked attendants next to Hanna to join her. The masked pair both grinned and pulled out long batons. One hit Hanna with theirs in the thigh, the other in the stomach, forcing her body into convulsions. Hanna’s bloodcurdling scream echoed through the cavernous space, met with cheers from the bloodthirsty onlookers.
In a contest of wills, Becka knew Mimir’s sadistic thirst would outstrip her stomach to witness the agony of her friends, every time.
All of this pageantry existed because Mimir wasn’t willing or able to rip the blood from her directly.
Mimir sauntered over to Lydia. “If you don’t like what’s happening, you can end it,” Mimir reminded her. “Just use the dagger.” She ran her hand down Lydia’s neck and chest, the small razor-like blade of her charm sending Lydia’s blood flowing freely.
The crowd yelled out sickening encouragement. Bleed her! Let the power flow! and We shall be transformed! among them.
Lydia groan
ed and struggled, but her movements were slow and lethargic, setting off alarm bells in Becka’s mind. Had they had injured Lydia when they captured her?
Becka cast her gaze around the large room, looking for a clock. How late was it? Had the enforcers discovered their location yet? Were they moments away? Hours?
Or was she on her own against this gathering of Shadow-Dwellers, with no hope of reprieve in sight?
Mimir signaled Lydia’s attendants, and they gleefully pulled out batons, driving them into Lydia’s sides a moment later. Her skin flushed a bright red, and she gasped in pain. Sympathetic pain gripped Becka’s chest, making it difficult for her to breathe, but she couldn’t look away from Lydia’s torture. Mimir painted lines of blood down Lydia’s legs between the attendants' jolts, happy to continue in the wake of Becka’s inaction.
How long was she supposed to wait for the enforcer cavalry to arrive? Despite Quinn’s earlier conviction that she should hold out no matter the cost, Becka knew she’d allow none of them to die through her inaction. It wasn’t something her soul could bear.
Once that realization dawned on her, Becka felt her will to resist Mimir shatter. The enforcers would arrive, or not, but Becka would not gamble they’d show up before anyone died. How much suffering would she allow to happen because of her inaction?
Becka felt the tears rolling down her cheeks as she walked to the altar. When she picked up the dagger, a hush fell over the crowd.
Chapter 28
“Gather, acolytes,” Mimir announced, coming to stand at the front of the stage. “Prepare for the sacred communion.”
Becka would have rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t lost on her that although Mimir had stopped cutting her friends, she hadn’t called her assistants off of Lydia and Hanna either.
A handful of masked fae came forward and stood at the edge of the stage. Becka didn’t recognize them, but these few also wore hooded robes which covered their hair, leaving just their body shape to identify them.
Shadow Underground: A Romantic Urban Fantasy Murder Mystery (The Shadow Series Book 3) Page 23
