The Society Series Box Set 2

by Mason Sabre

  “The basement is at the bottom of these stairs,” the Human said, her voice quivering. Hands clutched in front of her, she shivered and looked up at him with pathetic eyes.

  He ground his jaw. ”Leave,” he said.

  “But I …”

  "Leave." Without much force, he pushed her back the way they had come. This was her chance to leave or die, she could choose. He thought for a second she was going to pick the latter, but then she gathered herself up and scrambled out of his way, still limping on one shoe.

  When she was out of sight and also out of hearing range, he turned back to the steps but paused. The sound of chains against concrete scratched and clinked, and he just listened for a moment. Just the gargoyle, it had to be. There was no scent of fresh Humans, although his arms were still slick with their blood, it was possible that could mask it. He didn’t think so, though.

  He got three steps down and stopped. Joey was at the bottom. He’d not seen him since he’d tried to hold on outside the house. Part of him had feared he wouldn’t see him again. The sight was almost a relief, but it twisted Stephen’s heart too. He looked the same as he always did, but the image of him at the house made Stephen want to choke.

  “I’m coming for you,” he said in his mind, hoping that somehow, in some way, Joey could hear him.

  Joey made no attempt to move, no signals. He just watched Stephen as he made his way down the steps. It made Stephen lose his better senses because when he stepped off the bottom step and rounded the corner, the gargoyle stared right at him.

  “I’m not here to hurt you.” She had shackles on her wrists and her ankles. They were long enough that she could cover a good distance around the door, but not too much that she could go anywhere. There was a plate of untouched food on the ground, but there were marks in the earth, claw marks where she had tried to reach it. “You want this?” he asked. Whoever had fed her, had placed it just out of her reach.

  “You can’t get in the room,” she said.

  “You can open the door.”

  Her gaze kept going to the plate, she was visibly salivating for it. “Open the door for me.” He tapped the edge of the plate with the tip of his shoe and nudged it a little, but not enough toward her. Let me in and eat, was the message.

  The gargoyle laughed. “For what? You playing heroics?”

  “I don’t play anything.”

  “You’ll not get him out of there, you know?”

  Stephen smiled at her. “You’ve two choices here. You can open the door for me and let me in, or … I take off your hand and use it to get the door open myself.” He gave a shrug. “I don’t mind which way you want to do it, but you’ve got about five seconds to decide.”

  She was close to her plate now. She had moved inches to it. She had a slight tremble to her as she dared balance between what she wanted and what her job was. Somewhere above them, shouts and yells rang out, crashes and bangs. It was like someone had suddenly dropped a noise bomb on the place.

  The screen on the wall flicked from Norton’s repeating advert and came to life with Stephen, the dark cloth and his words.

  “You’re taking them all?”

  "Yes." As a goodwill gesture, he pushed the plate all the way to her, and she lunged for it. The utensils fell away as she scooped up a handful of what looked like mashed potato and licked it from her fingers. "Take me with you," she said, sitting back on her haunches.

  Stephen arched a brow.

  “If I open the door for you, take me with you.”

  “You work for Norton.”

  She lifted her arm, the chain rattled, and where the cuff was, her skin was tinged red and raw. "This is not work. At least get me out. You don't have to take me anywhere. Just get me out of here."

  “You need a group.” Gargoyles ran in groups. They thrived on them … needed them. It was a rare gargoyle who could make it alone.

  “That’s my problem.” She held the plate to her mouth and tipped it, lapping up the gravy. “I help you, you help me.”

  “First, you open the door.”

  She had to trust him because God knew, he wasn't giving her that trust freely. She could see it too because she didn't argue. "Okay." She slid her hand into the mechanism on the wall, and a second later, the door opened like it had done when he had been there with Xander.

  Sounds, shouts, echoes all reverberated on the walls and made them shake enough bits of plaster and dust fell loose.

  “Cut my chains,” the gargoyle said, putting her hands out. “Please.”

  The Humans were coming. It would be less than a minute before they got to them, not that Stephen figured there were many left, but these Humans were probably the authorities, the police of some kind, called in to make sure he was stopped, permanently. He could only wish and hope that Eden had got out with Xander and the kids, wish that Reyna was what she said, and she’d stuck to her word.

  “I can show you how to get out.”

  The door was open, but that wasn’t to say it wouldn’t lock down the moment he cut her free. He wasn’t a fool. Grabbing hold of the chains, he met her gaze. “You cross me and I—”

  “I won’t.”

  Feet in the cells. People shouting. Stephen grabbed both sides of the chain and yanked. It wasn’t silver, wasn’t made of anything that could hinder him. It broke with ease and fell away like he’d just yanked apart wool. When the ankle chain came off, the gargoyle pushed him into the room and closed the door behind them, locking them in place. “Thank you,” she said, and then she ran into the room and in the direction of the computers.

  There was nothing there, though. Stephen frowned. “Hey …”

  But she was gone. With the thrust of her hand against the wall, against an invisible panel, the wall moved to let her out. He would have called after her, but she'd done her side of the bargain, got him in there, and shown him how to get out. He wished her luck because she'd need it, then he faced the room, faced the very thing that tore at his soul. He faced Joey.

  Joey was on the wall the same way he had been before. Arms out to the sides, nails through his hands. Holding him there. It was worse like this. Worse than seeing him as an observer. His legs were marked this time. Someone had whipped him with something. Lacerations went across his skin, festering already and blood ran down his legs in dried lines. They'd at least cleaned the waste from underneath him.

  The sight only made the anger swell in Stephen's chest as he went over to the machine. He had seen enough to see how to work it, and he pushed the lever to lower the boy.

  Joey, the other version of him, stood next to Stephen, watching. The frame that held Joey up rattled with age and uneasy movements. Stephen caught it before it thundered to the ground. He removed the boy's blindfold first. The face was the same … the same innocence. Only this Joey had his eyes closed, and his skin was pale, gaunt even. "I need to pull the nails out," Stephen said almost apologetically to him … to both parts of him because it would hurt. It would hurt during, it would hurt after, and it would sure as hell hurt for a long time yet.

  Joey nodded, as Stephen grabbed the first one. He’d been nailed for a while to the frame. The skin around the head had healed, and as Stephen pulled it from his palm, flesh tore away, and blood ran down from the new wounds … he ground his teeth and pushed it from his head. He couldn’t look at these things and analyse them and then know what he had to do. With a breath, he got the other nail and pulled that out too. The boy slumped, but Stephen caught him, and he cut away the rope at his waist, slicing that with a claw.

  Joey was so light, so thin. Stephen had held Anya and Amelia, and in the other version of the world, they had been tiny, dainty, but this … Joey was real and whole and broken. He let out a wounded growl as he unfastened Joey's legs, and one of his ankles was so broken that his foot swung to the side … just a bone hanging in a sack.

  He’d kill Lee for this. He’d kill him fucking slowly.

  “I’m so sorry.” The oxygen mask was propped on the ca
nister of oxygen, but when Stephen picked it up, he paused.

  Humans hammered on the other side of the door, but they were almost white noise to him. This place had been designed to keep people out, and it was doing it.

  Joey had an empty ball in his hand, small, clear, and meant for him.

  The ball was a choice; Stephen understood that. It was why he paused, why he ignored the Humans trying to get in. “I don’t have to wake you if you don’t want me to.” He lifted his eyes to Joey’s and knelt with his body cradled in his big arms. “I can tell your father something happened.”

  To live like this, with the injuries if he woke him up. The pain, the deformities. They had done so much to the boy’s small body it was a wonder he was still alive.

  Joey lifted his hand with the ball in it and rolled it a little around his palm.

  “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  For the first time since Stephen had seen him, the boy’s face broke with emotion and his eyes reddened.

  “It’s okay. I promise. I will look after your father.”

  “So will I,” Joey whispered. The ball made no sound when it fell away and hit the ground. It didn’t bounce, didn’t echo, nothing.

  Stephen took a breath and nodded. “Close your eyes,” he said. “Close your eyes and remember whatever happens next, I’ve got you.”

  He lifted the mask to the boy’s face and hoped.

  The End

  Epilogue

  Stephen brushed Helena’s damp hair back from her face. She panted, gripped the edge of the bed and swore.

  “Less than a minute on that one,” Eden said. “The book said, soon, we should be able to see a head.”

  Propped up against pillows, Helena looked straight into Stephen’s eyes. “The next contraction,” she struggled out. “You look. See if you can see anything. If you can see them.”

  Stephen smiled a little and gripped her hand. “Okay.”

  Outside, the sounds of children playing filtered up through the open window of Helena's room. Stephen had offered to close it, but Helena said it calmed her. Made her feel like she was part of something big, and she was. They were all waiting, all hoping, all ready outside to celebrate the arrival of two extraordinary promises to the world.

  Nine Others had come that night to the facility, nine souls all ready to believe in the story of Stephen and the promises he could make to them. They’d got the kids out, god, they’d got them all. Reyna had kept her promise. Among her, Gray, Eden and Xander, they’d got those kids onto the bus and drove them far, far away from anything and anyone who could hurt them again.

  Joey was doing well too. He was in the room next to Helena’s, resting. He’d take some work, mentally and physically, but he’d get there. He had spirit and wonder, and every damn ingredient needed to survive. And they would, all of them. Nigel and Mel hadn’t just made a home from a house, they’d made a home from a town, from a place no one cared about … a place that was safe, and where they all could stay.

  Lee was Stephen’s biggest regret, though. The fucker had gone. He’d grabbed his shit and raced himself out of there. His time would come. Stephen would find him.

  Helena looked toward the window. “Is everything ready? For the babies?”

  Eden put her hands on her hips and arched both brows. “For the third time, yes. We just need the babies, they’re the only missing things.”

  "Okay … okay. I …" The contraction tore through her body, and she came forward into Stephen's arms.

  “Breathe, Helena, just breathe.” An agonised pant tore from Helena as she leant into Stephen and pressed her head into his shoulder.

  “Lean her back,” Eden said. “I can’t see.”

  Helena pushed herself up on a gasp, and Eden gently moved her legs and rested them, so the flats of her feet were on the edge.

  “Can you see? Can you see?” Helena breathed out.

  “Nothing yet.” She lowered Helena’s legs and then got a cloth, wet it with cold water and brought it back to give to Stephen. “Wipe her face. It’ll help to cool her down.”

  Eden had always wanted children, she’d imagined it in dreams for herself, but seeing this and hearing Helena, she wondered if she’d ever be capable of something like this. Why did any woman go through this?

  Exhausted, weepy, and two long hours later, Helena leant back on the bed. As the contractions came, longer, harder and closer together, Stephen wiped at Helena’s face, held water to her lips to sip, and hoped that it wouldn’t be much longer.

  She’d given up holding his hand because she’d basically crushed it within an inch of its life every time the pain peaked, but it was her choice to let go. He’d have let her break every bone in both hands if she needed it.

  He got her damp cloths and even asked Nigel to grab him little cubes of ice for her to suck on between it all. She panted furiously, stared at it with pain-glossed eyes, and all he could think about was how damn lucky he was to have this woman in his life.

  “What if they never come out,” Helena cried as she moved onto her side and then back again, not able to get comfortable against the mound of pillows they’d used to prop her up.

  “My mum said I took twenty-four hours to come.”

  “Twenty-four hours … I can’t …” She reared up, ground her jaw down and reached out both hands for Stephen and Eden at the same time. “Out …”

  “Helena …”

  “No. Get them out … get them … oh, God, oh, God … here it comes.”

  Stephen held onto her. “Breathe. Breathe … you’ve got this. Eden, check if you see anything.”

  “Keep breathing,” Eden said. “Holy shit, I see a head. A head. I see hair, thick dark hair … I see one.”

  For some reason, the hair comment made Stephen want to laugh, and he grinned. They were coming. They were fucking coming. “Come on, Helena. You can do this.”

  Helena blew out a breath, and then she collapsed against the pillows, panting.

  “On the next contraction, you need to push,” Eden said.

  “They’re really there?”

  “Yeah.” Eden smiled up from between Helena’s legs. “One of them is just here. Whichever it is, they’ve got dark hair.”

  “They’re twins. They both have dark hair.”

  Grabbing the tub of ice, Eden dumped some of it in the cloth Stephen had been using to cool her down. “Put this on her face.”

  He did. As he wiped her brow, fed her bits of ice and listened to the panted breaths that came from her as she rested, he felt small. Not small to her, but in the world. He’d fought, he’d killed. He’d known people who had died, who had fought for things and never made it. He’d known heroes and acts of valour, but nothing in the world compared to this moment. To a woman, his woman, fighting to push his children into the world.

  With a gasp, Helena arched herself up again.

  “Grab her foot,” Eden said to Stephen, and she knelt between Helena’s legs, grabbed one foot against the palm of her hand to give Helena something to push with. Stephen grabbed the other leg, hand the same. “Push, Helena. Push.”

  Fierceness pulsed from her, making her eyes bright, and she let out a battle cry as she bore down into the bed and against the two open hands.

  "Keep pushing. Push … it's coming."

  She let out her breath, her body collapsed. “Oh, God.”

  “We’re really close,” Eden said. “Gather yourself. The next contraction won’t be far off. Then you give it everything you’ve got, you hear me?”

  Helena nodded.

  “Almost there,” Stephen said, and he pressed his face into the side of Helena’s, feeling her strength, her fight … her sheer will to bring new life.

  She clenched against him. “Again.”

  Like before, Eden and Stephen supported her feet, giving her something substantial to push against.

  "A head," he said. "Helena, there's a head." The back of a little wet head emerged from Helena's body, and he gripped onto h
er hand as much as she did his.

  "Pant," Eden said. "Wait. Stop pushing, …" She lifted the head gently and pulled the umbilical cord from around the baby's neck. "Okay, go ahead start pushing again. Here it comes …" Stephen watched Eden guide a shoulder out, and then the other. "Oh, God." And with one last push, the baby slid into Eden's hands and out of his mother's body.

  “A boy,” Stephen said. “We’ve got a boy.”

  "I've got him," Eden said. "I've got him, and he's beautiful."

  As Helena reached out, Eden passed the boy to her. “Toke,” she said.

  “Tip him up,” Eden said. “Like the book said. You’ve got to get the fluid out. Blow on his face too.”

  Weeping, laughing, a mixture of all kinds of things, Helena lifted the small bundle to her chest, and Stephen rubbed his back.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “We’re not done yet,” Eden reminded them. “Ready for number two?”

  “No,” Helena said, but no sooner had she asked the question than the contractions burst into life again, riddling her body with pain.

  Almost ten minutes later, the small, wriggling bundle of Nakita slid into the world, and as Eden peered down at her, the baby opened her mouth and let the world know she’d arrived too.

  Mortal Wings

  Book Fourteen

  Chapter 1

  There were potatoes—honest to God, sack after sack of potatoes. "Dear God," Diana said to her husband, James. Every inch of ground where James dug … every patch of soil he turned over, spilt out more of the damn things. "Did they reproduce overnight?"

  There were masses. Like nothing she had ever seen before. It almost thrilled her. After struggling for so long, they'd hit gold … or spud as she wanted to point out.

  "I have no idea what you did, but maybe they did just multiply overnight." He hauled one sack into the kitchen. It would bust its seams if he wasn't careful. "I swear, I've another ten of these things outside."