The Tower

by L. A. McGinnis

  “She’s immortal,” Freyr reminded him. “Just like us.”

  “I know. You’re looking at the same thing I’m looking at, right? Do you really think immortality will protect us this time?”

  “One can always hope,” Freyr muttered. “Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. And don’t you even tell me you’re thinking…”

  “We’re going in there and getting her out if we can. We can’t just leave her, not if she’s alive.”

  “After everything she did to you?” Freyr’s WTF expression would have been funny, if the situation wasn’t so serious. “She imprisoned you, Balder. For eons and eons. She’s a total bitch. You can’t be seriously thinking about…”

  “Are you coming or not?” But he was muttering, as he climbed out of the car, “I must be crazy to do this.”

  It wasn’t until Freyr was crouching beside him behind a row of spindly bushes that he realized they didn’t have a plan, or any idea of the layout of the house.

  “This is a stupid idea,” Freyr muttered, checking his ammo. “She’s probably in Paris. Or Egypt or someplace fancy schmancy.”

  “She’s in there,” Balder insisted. “Domenic likes his toys, he’ll keep her close. Even with Ava… Especially with Ava, he’ll want to show her off. Demonstrate to Ava what he can do, how powerful he is. It would excite him.”

  “I’m not disagreeing, although I don’t even want to know how you’re in his head, man. Even if we do get her out, what then?”

  “We take her back.”

  “Oh, that’s going to work out really well. Give her a room? A seat at the table? Shit, Balder, you of all people should hate her for what she’s done. She tortured you, for fuck’s sake. She’s a lunatic. Remember what she did to Morgane? To Ava? Shit, I don’t even have enough paper to list everything that bitch has done to us.”

  “Sides don’t matter anymore, Freyr.” Balder’s gaze remained focused on the mansion in front of them, sizing up the entrances, the exits, the windows, the doors. “Not the way you’re thinking. It’s just the Orobus against the rest of us. Nothing else matters. Just him on one side, and everyone else on the other. Once he’s gone, we can all go back to battling it out between us, but for now? We’re all on the same side, as far as I’m concerned. If we don’t start thinking like that, we’ll all die. And I for one, want more time.”

  He stared Freyr down. “You found Lilly. I want that. I want it so bad I can taste it, and to do that, I need more time, damn it.”

  As if making a decision, Freyr squared his shoulders. “Fine. If we’ve lost Ava, then we need to take something back. Although Hel makes a pretty shitty consolation prize.”

  She’d grown to fear the sound of footsteps. The soft, quiet ones were usually the worst. They meant the man wanted things that should remain in the dark. The loud, echoing steps were not so bad, usually. They meant the man wanted whatever the Orobus had forced him to want, information maybe, new bodies from the Otherworld, more Grim. Things she didn’t mind so much delivering. But as the soft, quiet steps drew closer, she shuddered, because those meant she had to do things she much preferred not to do. Curling in around herself even tighter, Hel wished she could just whither up and disappear altogether.

  Two sets of feet. Two men. She pulled herself in so tight, she felt her ribcage press against her thighs, sharp and hard, as if there was nothing to her at all.

  “Holy gods, look at her.”

  Hel clamped her eyes together tightly. If she did not look, then perhaps nothing would happen, and she could pretend she was below, in the place she’d hated beyond anything but now wished that she had never, ever left.

  “Hel. Open your eyes.”

  No. She would not open her eyes. She would keep them closed, and then she’d be safe. Except, that voice seemed vaguely familiar, in a half-remembered way. “Open your damned eyes. We need your help to get you out of here.”

  It was curiosity, more than anything, which made her open one eye. Take in the pair of golden gods that knelt outside the bars of her cage, looking at her like a beast on display, which she had to admit, she had become. Curiosity that made her ask—not the hundred things she should have asked—but the only thing that came to the tip of her tongue, “Why ever are you down in the dungeons, Balder?”

  She saw herself all too clearly in their eyes. What she must look like, reflected in the pity, the horror, the utter shock. “I know, I know. It’s a long way from Prada and Jimmy Choo. I expect you’ve come to gloat?” Gods, could that ragged whisper of a voice be hers?

  Not that she’d blame them one bit. It’s what she’d do in their shoes. Gloat, and so much worse. Skim her fingers over all that beautiful, unblemished, golden skin, searching for a way in, a way to hurt, to wound…to damage. She felt a twinge of shame, remembering what she’d done to Balder. By the Fates, the things she’d done to that immortal…

  “We’ve come to free you.” Balder leaned in until he was practically touching the bars. She watched carefully through matted hair. Waited to see what they’d ask of her. Because there always was a price.

  “Tell us how to unlock this cage. And we’ll take you out of this shithole.”

  Freyr stepped around Balder. “Unless you prefer to stay, which is fine by me. I surely don’t want to drag you home with us.” He glanced uneasily down the empty hall. “I shit you not, man, I think she wants to stay.”

  Balder stayed right where he was. “No, she doesn’t. She just doesn’t believe we’re really here to get her out. She thinks it’s all a trick.”

  “She can’t seriously think we’d sneak all the way down here, disable the guards, and endanger our own lives to get her out and that…”

  “It’s all a trick?” The hardened look on Balder’s face told him yes, that’s exactly what she thought. “Of course, that’s what she thinks right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what she’d do. Deceit is hardwired into her.” Balder shrugged. “So, she doesn’t see any possible alternative except… This is a trick.” His face tightened, though, seeing her on the floor, knowing their window was getting tighter the longer they delayed. “You need to make a decision, Hel, and quickly. Stay or go? It’s pretty damn simple, and I won’t get caught smuggling you out because you decide to balk at the last minute. You either go willingly or you stay.” His eyes were soft, she thought, soft and pitying and full of things that she’d never, ever seen before.

  Balder made her feel weak. She’d never felt weak, not during the torture, or the other things they’d done to her down here. But Balder’s kind eyes, overflowing with understanding, simply did her in. Hope coursed through her, driving out the helplessness which had hobbled her these past weeks. In its place rose a clarity of purpose. Pushing back her blood-stiffened hair with fingers tipped by broken nails, she climbed to her feet and held their gaze unwaveringly.

  “I want out of here. No matter the price.”

  “Great,” Freyr muttered, reaching for the bars.

  “Wait.” She held out a shaking hand. “You can’t touch them, they’re electrified. Even your immortality won’t protect you fully, they’ll knock you out, as well as send a warning to the guards in the front room. There’s a way to unlock them, but you need the key, the guard with the black shirt…” They all had black shirts. “Look for the thin, tall one, with the dirty hair. Find him, he has the right key. It looks like a remote start, black, with a red light on the end. That’s what you need.”

  Freyr spun around and took off, his steps so stealthy, he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. “Do you really think you can get me out?”

  There was a calmness to her now, every word she spoke, every direction she gave one step toward freedom. A step away from the monster that was David Domenic. At the mere thought of him, a bone-deep shudder sent her to her knees. She climbed up again.

  Out. She was getting out of here.

  “We can. Didn’t count on the bars being electrified. Makes sense, though. Are you go
ing to be able to walk?” Balder measured her up. “I can carry you, if it’ll be a problem.” She’d be damned if she’d leave this fucking place thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “I will be walking out of here, thank you very much.”

  Balder nodded. “Of course, you will.”

  Freyr appeared out of nowhere, the key in his hand, its little red light of freedom blinking away on the end of it. “Wave it next to the box by the door, both lights should go green, and then the door will unlock.” She heard the faint click of the lock as it unlatched. It sounded like the gates of the Underworld itself had slid open. Taking a shaky step forward, she fell into a set of heavily muscled arms.

  “I’m going to help you, Hel,” Balder offered quietly. “No shame in a little help. Let’s all get out of here in one piece.” She hesitated for only a moment before he swung her up into his arms, her fingers digging in. And allowed herself be carried to freedom by two gods she would have killed on sight months ago.

  21

  Gabriella wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing when Balder opened the backseat and unloaded…something. A sweep of black hair, then a long, thin arm fell free, so frail, it appeared skeletal. A body? Why bring back a body? And then the head turned, ever so slightly, and she was sprinting through the snow, her shoes slipping on the ice as she tried to find her footing.

  Balder’s eyes were harder than she’d ever seen them. “We’re going to need your skills now, Gabbie, what supplies did you bring from the Tower?”

  Gabriella ran her hands over the woman as they jogged to the house. Abrasions, cuts, some so deep she could see bone, bruising, old, new, overlapping… Contusions, so much damage, and then there was the condition of her body underneath all the damage—completely malnourished…skin and bones—dust and air and nothing more. As if all that held her together was will and hope. She’d seen this before, so long ago she’d thought she’d wiped it from her memory. “Who did this, Balder?”

  “That’s not important right now.” He glanced away, but his expression was so…empty, she supposed. She’d seen killing calm before but never expected it from Balder. Mir, maybe. Tyr? Definitely. But never Balder. “Can you save her?”

  “Set her on the kitchen table, the light’s best in there. Drape it with a sheet, I’ve got them set out for Celine, but use one of them, they’re clean. I’ll be there in a second.” She raced to the makeshift infirmary Mir and she had set up, which had seemed perfectly adequate just hours ago, and now seemed most definitely…inadequate. Sutures, Betadine, antibiotics, steroids. She gathered, counted, and raced back to the kitchen where Balder and Mir were lowering the woman onto the white-draped table. Under the light, the woman looked like an obscene pieta, torn and bloody, carved from gray marble. Gabriella lined up the supplies and rubbed her shaking hands on her thighs. Once. Twice. Pushing down the rage. The nausea.

  “Everyone out, except for Mir.”

  The dull thudding of exiting footsteps perfectly matched the thumping in her head. As if she was underwater, and inside of her, her heart pulsed like a drum, ceaseless, muffled, and dull. “I’m going to strip her. Take a look at what we’ve got.”

  Mir just stared.

  “Various facial contusions, one deep one on the left cheek, I’ll estimate ten to twelve stitches.” Gabriella gently peeled the sticky clothing off, running her hands gently over every bone, every muscle, feeling for breaks, bulges, inconsistencies. The woman didn’t so much as flinch. “Right arm’s been broken, several places, weeks ago, by the looks of it. Didn’t heal right.” She spared a sharp glance at Mir. “Anything you can do about that?”

  He nodded briefly, looking like he was in shock.

  “Good.”

  It took twenty minutes to catalogue the injuries. Half an hour to wash her, long enough for Mir to finally jump into action and begin healing, his blue magic dancing across the woman’s body, fusing wounds together, while Gabriella carefully stitched the smaller cuts. All the while, the woman remained unconscious, her face a waxy gray, her lips practically blue. Gabriella couldn’t decide if she was really out or just so drained that she didn’t have the energy to respond to pain.

  “That’s all I can safely take care of right now. That arm will have to wait…” Her words tapered off as Mir sent another wave of blue across her arm, the limb straightening, the bruising fading slightly.

  “What about her internal injuries? I only wish I had an ultrasound right now.” She chewed her lip. “I want to wash her hair. At least get her clean enough to slip on a nightgown. Get her into a bed. And food. She needs something. Broth, maybe. If she’ll even tolerate that. Water, too, she needs to hydrate.” Gabriella stepped outside, surveyed the pale, waiting faces. Nodding to Balder, who was the closest, she began listing instructions. “I’ll need someone to carry her to a room, she’ll have to sleep. And Morgane? Could you feed her? Try to heat up some broth. And then, if we… What? What’s the matter?” The words tapered off as she scanned their faces. Wrong. Something was very, very wrong here.

  “Look, I know space is tight, but…”

  Morgane’s voice came out taut and reedy as she pointed a shaking finger in the direction of the room the woman lay in. “Do you know even who that is?” Whirling to face Balder, she screamed her next words so forcefully he pulled back. “Why? Why would you bring her here? How could you do that? She’ll kill us all.”

  For two weeks Gabriella had a foundation under her feet. Maybe not a solid one, but it had been something. But now, looking around at the faces gathered in the room, it crumbled away, block by block. Gabriella tried her best to soothe. “It doesn’t matter, Morgane, what she’s been through…”

  But Morgane cut her off. “You should have let her die, Gabriella.”

  Loki stepped up behind his mate when she pointed a shaking finger into Mir’s face. “And you, Mir. You of all people should have let that bitch go straight back to where she came from.” Loki folded his big arms around her and pulled her against him, whispering into her hair.

  “Morgane, baby, she had to save her life, it’s what she does.” He met Gabriella’s eyes. “And Balder had damn good reasons for bringing her back here. I know you’re upset about your sister, But even Ava…”

  She whirled away. “None of you know anything. Not about what that bitch did to Ava for all the years she held her prisoner. And now you’ve brought that viper into our house. Our fucking house.” Her eyes drifted over to Mir and Gabriella. “And the two of you? Should have sent her back to the fucking Underworld where she belongs.”

  Gabriella’s brain clicked onto that. Where she belongs. Underworld. “Who exactly did we just save in there?”

  Balder met her eyes steadily, but the calm in them was shredding away.

  “Hel. I went to Domenic’s house and found her in the dungeons. Took one look at her and decided to bring her back here.” He sighed, and then she saw the toll of the past weeks on him. “There’s more to it, but yeah, I guess in a way, Morgane’s right.”

  It was so like him, to take it all upon himself, Gabriella thought.

  “So basically, I just saved the person who ruined most of your lives?”

  Odin’s laugh rustled against the back of her neck. “You haven’t saved her yet, healer.”

  “I haven’t lost her yet, either, Odin. Nor you. So, back off.” Watching Loki lead a sobbing, hysterical Morgane out of the room, Gabriella contemplated, just for a second, going back in that room. The person she used to be would not have hesitated. The person she used to be would have seen revenge as a way to even things out.

  But that wasn’t how she balanced the scales these days. It used to be a death for a death. Now she gave life whenever she could.

  One of these days, those scales were going to even out. So help her God.

  22

  Pain.

  Pain was the first thing Hel felt, radiating through her body, her head, her thoughts, if that was even possible.

  Ev
en her skin felt transparent, like it was close to splitting open and all of her would spill out, into one big, goopy puddle of sludge. She shifted slightly, testing, just to see if she could move and…

  Pain.

  “You need to take a little of this, if you can.”

  The voice wasn’t exactly melodic, but it was gentle. And female. And close. Hel opened one eye. Looking through a bruised slit, she saw bright, fuzzy light and a blurry, dark form, and then something warm and salty and not entirely unpleasant slipped down her throat. Before she could stop herself, her throat moved.

  “That’s it. Do it again.” She did. “That’s enough. Now go to sleep, Hel.” And with the sound of her own name ringing in her ears, the blessed darkness came and claimed her, and the pain slid away in a long, slow spiral.

  The second time she woke the voice came from the darkness itself. “Come on, a sip, just a sip.” She swallowed, the muscles in her throat contacting, hurting, the salty warmth trickling downwards. “That’s good. Another.” She did it again. And again. Somehow, the pain was further away. Not gone, but…less. This time, it wasn’t eating her from the inside out. Not gnawing at her, rat-like, bite by grating bite, until there was nothing left of her except bone and cartilage and the bits that even the vermin didn’t need to eat.

  But it didn’t matter. Not the pain. Not the darkness.

  She was nobody. She was nothing. She’d lost her empire, all of it. The day she’d decided to join the Orobus had been her undoing. He’d taken her armies. Her lovely, beautiful Grim. Even the new toys she’d helped him create, made from the bodies of her inglorious dead infused with a little of the blackness he held inside himself. She was no longer the Queen of the Underworld. She was no longer the queen of anything.

  From the feel of it, she might not even be immortal anymore.