Prison of Horrors (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 6)

by Sonya Bateman

  “It’s true,” Quentin put in carefully, the wide-eyed wariness back on his face. “I’m not sure what either of you is talking about, but whatever Ms. Davenport did, it wiped her out. She couldn’t even move for a while.” He glanced at me and cleared his throat. “Uh. If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. DeathSpeaker. Are you from the moon?”

  I surprised myself by laughing. That took some of the tension out of the room, and even Pastor Lennox cracked a smile. “First of all, it’s Mr. Black. But call me Gideon,” I said. “And second, no, I’m not from the moon. Even though I’m sure I look like an alien right now.” I hesitated, searching for a delicate way to explain it. “What I am is … well … ”

  “He’s one of the Fair Folk,” Pastor Lennox said.

  “Er. Yeah, that,” I said, throwing a startled stare at him. “How did you know?”

  He smiled a little. “My ancestors were Irish,” he said. “And my grandmother told me stories. When I was young, she was still putting out bowls of milk.”

  “You’re a fairy?” the constable blurted.

  I had to throttle a purely Fae impulse to strike him dead for that. Pastor Lennox must’ve seen it on my face, because he spoke quickly. “I wouldn’t call him that, Quentin. They really don’t like it.”

  Quentin looked at me and blanched. “Oh. I’m sorry, sir,” he stammered. “I … I’ll call you anything you want.”

  “Gideon,” I repeated, making myself smile and look friendly. “That works for me.”

  “Well. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think we have a fair chance of beating Malphas now,” Winifred said brightly. “Once I get that nasty hex off, you’ll be a force to reckon with. Won’t you, dear?”

  “Yeah, I will.” I hoped that sounded confident, because I had my doubts. Namely, I doubted it would count for much even if I had my full power restored. I had to somehow be stronger than myself, better than myself.

  Because the person I’d ultimately have to reckon with was me.

  CHAPTER 24

  It took longer to get back the way we’d come. Going down the cliff path was trickier than going up, and only one of the torches we brought was still burning at a low gutter, which made moving through the tunnel slower.

  At least the cell block was still empty, except for the bodies I’d dropped. The rest of them had just left the deputies there. Apparently, soulless human copies weren’t all that sentimental about their dead.

  “Okay,” I said once everyone was out in the open. “There’s no one in this place, right?”

  Winifred glanced down the corridor. “There wasn’t when I checked,” she said. “Now? I can’t say.”

  “Let’s hope there still isn’t.” There was something I had to do before we left the prison, no matter how much it hurt. I had to know. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “Take the guns off these guys—”

  “They might not work,” Winifred said. “Because they’re copies.”

  Quentin half-nodded along, frowning. “Yes. They never tried to shoot you.”

  “I know, but they were supposed to keep me alive,” I said. “Malphas’s orders.”

  The pastor made a small sound of distress. “The guns work.”

  I was pretty sure we all understood how he knew that.

  “Oh, Victor. I’m so sorry.” Winifred moved toward him as if to comfort him, but changed her mind and stopped. Probably a good idea. Pastor Lennox wasn’t too receptive of her in general. Her brow furrowed, and after a moment she said, “Yes, that would make sense. The copied weapons must work here, but not on our side of the gate. And vice versa. It would be the same for magical weapons, like wands.”

  That gave me an idea, an almost hopeful one. “And pendants?”

  “Yes, I would assume so. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have this weapon. Well, not on me now, but I’m getting it back.” If Malphas was an exact copy of me, he’d have a moonstone pendant — and not just any moonstone. The master stone. But if Winifred was right about this … his version wouldn’t work.

  Maybe I did have an advantage over him.

  I decided to hold the thought for later. “Anyway,” I said. “Take their guns, and we’ll head to the torture room. Grab anything from there you can carry and use as a weapon, because we might have to fight our way out of here. And when I get back — ”

  “Gideon, you can’t.”

  I glared at Winifred. “Didn’t know witches could read minds.”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Please, don’t go down there.”

  “Goddamn it, I have to!”

  All three of them stared at me. Finally, Winifred said, “All right. I understand. Just … make it quick.”

  “Yeah.” I could barely get the word out. “We both know there’s not much I can do.”

  Except to say goodbye.

  The stench hit me like a wall, just before I reached the entrance to the other cell block.

  I’d left the others in the torture room with the door closed. They were supposed to kill anyone who came in who wasn’t me. I figured the pastor might not have it in him, but the constable could probably manage, and Winifred wouldn’t hesitate. They’d be safe enough, as long as the other me didn’t come looking for them.

  Now I had to go in there and face that smell. Years of moving corpses had lessened the impact, and normally the sickly-sweet odor of death didn’t bother me so much. But this time was different.

  This time was personal.

  Quentin had kept the prison keys, and I’d taken them to come here. I walked in and found an arrangement nearly identical to the block at the other end — torch-lit cave, three rows of cages. More of these were occupied, though.

  And none of the occupants were alive.

  I tried to focus on a single cell at a time, hoping to put off the inevitable a little longer. Two women and one man I didn’t know. Jimmy, Seth, Nicole. Another unfamiliar woman. A boy who couldn’t have even hit puberty yet — the sight of him scalded my throat with bile. So did the old man next to him.

  She was in the last cage.

  I told myself I’d keep it together. I actually walked all the way to the cell door before I stumbled and fell against the bars with a garbled cry.

  I never truly understood the phrase all hope is lost until that moment. It felt like everything in me had just … turned off.

  Temporarily numb, I pulled myself up, unlocked the door and went in. It looked like she hadn’t suffered. There was no blood, no bruising, no horribly broken part of her. She was just dead. Cold, stiff, gone.

  But when there was magic involved, suffering didn’t always show on the outside.

  I sat on the floor. Lifted her body and held her against me, smoothed the hair from her face. Her open, glassy eyes stared at nothing. “Calla,” I whispered.

  With no conscious effort, I reached for her soul.

  Gideon.

  The single whispered word shattered my numb shell. I closed my burning eyes, and the sound that pried itself from my throat contained the edges of a scream.

  This was her. The real Frost.

  I’m so sorry.

  “No.” Trying to speak was like gargling hot tar, but I couldn’t leave her without saying something. Anything. “No, don’t. It’s not your fault.”

  There was a hollow sob in my head. He wanted you. I didn’t know…

  “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  I wasn’t okay, and I doubted I’d ever be okay again. But I could give her this. I could let her rest in peace.

  Gideon, he’s a demon.

  “I know.”

  “Oh, you know something? Do tell.”

  The sound of Frost’s voice outside my head nearly tore me apart. Grief mixed with fury as I looked up and found the fake Frost standing just outside the cell, with a gun trained on me. “I see you made some new friends out there,” she said thickly. “You were always good at that. Making friends.”

  My jaw clenched so hard,
I was sure I’d shatter my teeth. If I wasn’t physically holding her body, I would’ve killed her on the spot. “You bitch,” I hissed. “Did you—”

  “They’re fine.”

  She sounded strange. I finally realized she was crying, and it looked like she’d been at it a while. Her hands shook hard enough to rattle the gun.

  “I’m sorry, Gideon,” she rasped. “But I have to kill you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  It was an empty threat. Had to be.

  But it didn’t feel empty.

  “Your boss told you to keep me alive,” I said. “I was there. Remember? You can’t tell me he changed his mind already.”

  She sobbed. It was the same sound I’d heard in my head a minute ago, from the real Frost, and I hated her for it. For being alive when my Frost was dead. “I know what he said. This time he wants me to step things up, to make it … personal.” She let out a shaking breath, and her hands steadied. “That’s why I have to kill you. Because you’ll break this time. And I can’t.”

  Jesus, she really meant it. She also happened to be the only one, besides Malphas, who actually could. I had no doubt that gun was loaded with cold iron bullets.

  I couldn’t die yet. Not before this was finished.

  “Frost, listen—”

  “No! You’re not talking. Do you think I don’t know you?” Fresh tears streaked down her face, and she took a half-step back. “Put her down, and get up.”

  Damn it. If she was actually Calla Frost in every way besides the missing soul, she did know me. She knew I could talk her out of this. With reluctance, I laid the body aside gently and stood. “You don’t have to do this,” I said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  But she didn’t do it.

  She stood there for a full minute, finger on the trigger. Shivering. Then she let out an anguished cry and lowered the gun — but she picked it right back up. “I know how she felt about you. Because I am her,” she said. “You were going to die, anyway. You’d die to save these people, and you don’t even know them! So just die, and shut up about it.”

  I was starting to understand, and my heart broke all over again. “Kill me, then,” I said, taking a step toward her. “Do it.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.” Her hands trembled once, stilled. The professional in her fighting for control. “Goddamn it, Gideon. Why did you make me do it?”

  “You know why.”

  This time her sob was bitter. “Yeah. You can’t let him win.” She shifted her grip on the gun, made it firmer. “Well, neither can I,” she said. “I don’t give a damn what he does to me anymore. He’s not getting what he wants, and I won’t let you — ” She broke off hard.

  When she didn’t finish, I said, “Won’t let me what?”

  Her shoulders squared. “I won’t let you spend the rest of your life possessed by a demon, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

  “Why do you care about that?”

  “Because she loved you!” Frost cried. “Don’t you get it? She loved you, and I’m her. That means I love you. And I … can’t.”

  I moved toward her again. “Calla.”

  “Don’t.” She looked frantically from me to the body, her own body. “That’s me,” she whispered. “I didn’t ask for this, but it happened. And now I’m dead. I’m standing here, and I feel everything. But I’m dead.” She lifted her tear-stained face to mine. “So are you. I’m so sorry, but I have to.”

  “Calla, I can beat him.”

  She flinched. “No you can’t.”

  “I can. They did it once, three hundred years ago, and I just talked to the person who figured it all out. I know how to beat him.” I glanced at the gun still pointed at me. “But I have to be alive to do it.”

  Something in her face changed slightly. “You talked to a dead person,” she said. “Here.”

  “Yes. She’s in the lighthouse.” I wouldn’t get into the burning-for-eternity thing, or the fact that she was my great-ad-nauseum grandmother. “She was a witch. And we happen to have a witch on our side, right now.”

  “Winifred.” Her lips barely moved. She shuddered again, swallowed once. “Are you sure you can beat him?”

  “Well, not entirely. But I’m mostly sure, yeah.”

  She glanced at the body again. After a long pause, she said, “That’s meant yes before with you. And you did kill a djinn. They’re basically demons.”

  “Sure.” I wasn’t going to disagree, if it meant she’d let me live long enough to finish this. Even though I hadn’t killed the djinn alone, and I thought Donatti and Ian might have a few objections to being called basically demons. “We’ve got this,” I said. “Probably.”

  She hitched a wet breath. “All right. Take this, then.” She pulled the moonstone from her pocket, handed it to me — and then turned the gun butt-first and held it out. “This, too,” she said. “And kill me.”

  I froze in the act of putting the pendant back on. “What?”

  “I want you to kill me.” Her eyes drooped closed for a moment. “I know how all this works,” she said. “Malphas told me. I’m his thrall. I don’t have a soul, so I have to do what he tells me. That’s why he needs your permission to possess you … because you have a soul. But he can possess me, any of us, at will. And I’d rather die.” A horrible, tortured smile appeared on her lips. “I’m sure you understand that.”

  I couldn’t breathe. The gun she still held toward me blurred and doubled, and my legs wanted to give out. Yeah, I understood. Completely.

  I understood that she really was Calla Frost, copy or not. Because this is what the real Frost would do with the choice between becoming an instrument of evil, or dying to stop it. She’d choose death. Just like me.

  And I was about to lose her all over again.

  Gideon, wait.

  The voice in my head startled a gasp from me. I hadn’t even realized I was still in contact with her soul. Christ, I wouldn’t have to worry about being shot with cold iron or ripped apart by a demon. This was enough to kill me.

  I was going to lose her twice.

  You can fix me, the Frost in my head said. Put my soul in her body. You did it before, remember? You told me about it.

  Jesus, I had done it. Once. But that was in Arcadia, where my magic was a hell of a lot stronger than it was here, and it’d taken everything I had. Right now I couldn’t even use my spark for anything but healing and strength.

  Then again, I’d been anchoring a soul to a dead body. This one was alive. And if it was an exact copy … maybe I wouldn’t need the binding spells. The soul wanted to stay.

  And I didn’t need my spark to be the DeathSpeaker.

  “Gideon, please.” The living Frost gestured with the gun. “I’ll do it myself, if I have to. But I want you to do it.” She gave me that awful, miserable trying-to-be-a-smile again. “I deserve it after what I’ve done to you.”

  “No. There might be another way,” I said, hardly daring to believe it myself. “Remember when I told you about Levoran?”

  Her eyes widened. “The Unseelie guard. The one you brought back.”

  “Temporarily, yeah. But his body was dead. Yours isn’t.”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered — but she lowered the gun. “Do you really think it’ll work?”

  I wanted it to. Desperately. If it didn’t, or if something went wrong, I could always undo it. Maybe nothing would happen. Or it could work and she’d be fine. Or it might work, and she’d be wrong, screwed up. Some kind of FrankenFrost. But I’d never know unless I tried, and at this point I had nothing to lose. Except Calla.

  Again.

  Do it, she whispered in my head.

  “All right.” I swallowed and looked at the living Frost. “Do you trust me?”

  “You know I do.”

  I knelt carefully next to the body and held a hand out. When she took it, I held the body’s hand with the other. Her soul was already in my head, but I wanted to make sure everything went as smoothly as possible. No chanc
es.

  This was my only shot to keep her alive.

  I felt her soul passing through me, a ripple of pain and pressure. It poured down my arm, through my fingers, and drained gently into her living body as if she was a sponge. That hadn’t happened with Levoran. I had to push his soul back in and fight to keep it there.

  I really hoped that was a good sign.

  She gasped and let go of my hand. For a moment she stood there, her wide gaze riveted to nothing.

  Then she screamed and fell to her knees, her hands clamped over her ears.

  “Calla!” I stumbled over and put an arm around her. “Damn it, no. What’s wrong? Did I screw it up?”

  Her scream tapered to a gut-wrenching moan. Blood pattered from her nose onto the floor. “It’s not … ungh.”

  My stomach twisted, and I took her hand with my own shaking one. I’d have to do it, all of it. Rip her soul out. Kill her. “Okay,” I rasped. “It’s all right. I’ll put it back.”

  “No. Wait.” She heaved in a breath, then another. Squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. “I think I’ll be okay,” she half-whispered. “It’s just … I remember. Everything.” She rubbed some of the blood from her lip. “I remember Malphas, and setting you up, lying my ass off about everything. That moose bullshit? Complete fabrication. And I remember torturing you. I remember dying before all that. I remember being dead,” she said. “Oh, God, I tortured you.” She blinked a few times, and burst into retching sobs.

  “Hey, don’t. I’m fine.” I swallowed a sob of my own as I held her tightly. I still couldn’t believe it’d worked. Any minute now, I expected to be forced to watch her unravel, turn back into Killer Frost — or maybe just drop dead. But for now, she was right here. Alive.

  And I’d give anything to make sure she stayed that way.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she coughed out. “What I did to you …”

  I rubbed her trembling shoulders. “It’s okay. Honest,” I said. “Look, just … call it even for your sister, all right?”