I realized I was thinking like I was already lost, and I embraced it. It wasn’t the same as giving up; I didn’t expect the Covenant to kill me fast, and the longer they kept me alive, the better my chances became. But if my family thought I was out of reach, they might give up on me, and we might be able to minimize the damage.
There was no way they were going to do that. But it was a nice thought.
There was a soft click from one wall, like a lock was being turned. Nice as it would have been to stare defiantly at the door as it opened, I wasn’t in the mood to have my retinas seared after sitting in the dark for this long; I turned my face to the side. It was a bad choice. The actual door was in the wall I was facing now, and as it swung open, a blast of industrial white light streamed into the room, framing the outline of Margaret Healy.
“I see you’re awake,” she said pleasantly. That was more frightening than any threats she could have made. “That’s good. We’ve got quite a lot to talk about, you and I.”
“You could have invited me to coffee,” I said, squinting as I waited for my eyes to stop watering. “I don’t know how you do things in Europe, but here in America, we usually start our family reunions with something a little less high-impact than assault and kidnapping.”
“You hit me first,” Margaret shot back. Her pleasant tone didn’t waver. “Besides which, you’re not much of one to talk, since the first thing you ever did was lie to me. Where did you leave that girl who was with you? Sandy, I believe you said her name was?”
There was no way I was going to remind her that Sarah was the one who hit her, not me. “She has nothing to do with this,” I said. “She’s just someone I met at a dance class. Leave her alone.”
“That’s the thing about traitors and liars. You can’t believe a word they say. She lied for you. She tried to cover for you. Now why would she do that if she had nothing to do with this?” Margaret flipped a switch next to the door. The overheads came on, filling the room with more light. This didn’t hurt as much. My eyes were adjusting. “Your name isn’t even Valerie, is it?”
“Does it matter?”
Margaret smiled. “Oh, it matters. It matters a great deal. We’ll need to know what name to bury you under, when we’re finally done with you. If you’re worried for your life, don’t be. You’ll be with us for quite some time.”
“I gathered.” I forced myself to relax, trying to look unconcerned. “What makes you think I’m going to talk?”
“I have a better question for you: what makes you think you’ve got a choice?” Margaret lunged across the small distance between us, grabbing my hair before I had a chance to move. She yanked my head back, making it pound even harder. “No one knows you’re here. No one’s coming to save you. You’re going to get what you have coming to you, finally, and you’re going to tell us where to find every other stinking rat in your hole.”
The pain in my head helped me focus on what mattered: she was right. I was her captive, and I was pretty sure the Covenant wouldn’t slap her wrists for using excessive force on me. All the advantages were hers. I put on my best tolerant reality television smile, trying to look like I wasn’t even a little bit concerned about my situation. “Oh, Christ, you’re a metaphor villain, aren’t you? You’re the ratcatcher, I’m the rat, you’re here to exterminate the vermin, is that it? Wow. Do they have a cliché course that they make you guys go through before they release you into the field? Or maybe you’re naturally talented. I mean, that happens, right?”
Margaret’s eyes widened in confused indignation before she let go of my hair and shoved my head hard to the side. My neck audibly cracked. I somehow managed not to squawk. “You may think you’re funny now, heretic, but you won’t be laughing for long.”
“You may as well kill me,” I said, aiming for boredom rather than bravado. I wasn’t sure that I was managing either. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“Aren’t you?” Margaret smiled. “You’ve already told me plenty.”
My stomach sank. “Oh?” I asked.
“You’re a traitor from a bloodline of traitors, but no Healy has ever been a coward. You wouldn’t be telling me to kill you if you didn’t have something to hide.” Margaret’s smile grew, chilling me. “You’re not the last of your family. And you’re going to tell me where to find them all before I let you die for your sins.”
I was so busy watching her face that I didn’t see her tense her arm until her hand lashed out, her fist catching me square in my unprotected jaw. The lights went out—for me, at least—and for a little while, the world went away again. My last thought before I lost consciousness was that I really, really hated this girl.
* * *
The sound of the door opening again woke me. I cracked my eyes open just enough to see that the lights were on, and that the person standing in front of me wasn’t Margaret. It was a man, slim, dark, about my height. Dominic. The sight of him made me sit up a little straighter and open my eyes all the way, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. Thankfully, I managed to bite my lip before I could say his name.
It wasn’t him. This man was the right height; that was where the resemblance ended. His hair was dark red, not brown verging on black, and his eyes were a cool, implacable blue. His skin was pale, spattered with freckles . . . and he was smiling.
“Why do you people smile all the damn time?” I asked, and was instantly ashamed of how shaky my voice sounded. Head injuries and unknown periods of captivity without food or water will do that to a girl.
“Because, love, you’re our unicorn,” he said. His accent was Irish, and heavier than Margaret’s. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Wait, so first I’m a rat, and now I’m a unicorn? If you’re going to be metaphor villains, maybe you should have a meeting first. Come up with a nice theme and stick to it.”
The man clucked his tongue, looking amused. “Oh, you’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you? I hoped you would. You look enough like the family standard that I assumed some other bits might breed true.” He leaned closer and murmured, with evident satisfaction, “You may have thought you were hiding, but you never stood a chance. You look too much like your ancestors.”
“And yet you people lost track of us for two generations. That sounds like a pretty good chance to me.”
“It was always borrowed time.” He leaned in and grasped my chin, turning my head so that he could study my profile. “You’ve got the Price blood in you, too. Oh, won’t those stuffed shirts be horrified to realize that their little disappearing scion really did marry the American Healy girl? You get to disappoint both sides of your heritage before you die, love. There’s people who’d love the chance to horrify their families like that.”
He was standing close to watch me squirm. My left leg was free. And I’m a trained salsa dancer.
My leg swept upward at a speed that would have seemed superhuman to anyone who’d never watched competition ballroom dance, catching the man from the Covenant squarely between the legs. The squishing feeling of his scrotum compressing against my knee was more satisfying than it probably should have been, but I didn’t worry about it much. When someone chains me up and tries bargain bin intimidation tactics on me, I figure I’m allowed to take a little pleasure in their pain.
“Ack,” said the man from the Covenant, his eyes going wide and glassy. His mouth dropped open as his hand fell away from my chin, letting me pull my head out of his grasp.
“Is that so?” I asked, dropping my leg slightly before ramming it back up into his balls.
His answer this time was much less coherent, and substantially higher in pitch.
“Huh. Think that’s something I can discuss with my long-lost family?” I dropped my leg, preparing for a third hit. You know what they say—third time’s the charm.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a male voice.
I froze, leg still held straight out between the Irishman’s legs, and looked toward the door. The olde
r of the two men from the Covenant was standing there, regarding me contemplatively. There was something that looked almost like sympathy in his eyes.
“It’s just that Peter doesn’t care for having pretty girls smash his testicles, and while two hits you might be able to write off as having been scared and disoriented, three sort of implies premeditation.” The man—Robert, by process of elimination—had a Welsh accent, and was wearing wire-rimmed glasses, hiding the color of his eyes. His hair was a nondescript shade of sandy blond, slowly fading into gray. I could easily have lost sight of him in a crowd. That just made him more unnerving. Covenant representatives should be easy to spot, and easier to avoid.
I let my foot drop to the floor.
“Thank you.” Robert walked over to Peter, putting his hands on the other man’s shoulders and pulling him backward. Peter went willingly, dropping his hands to cup his crotch as he moved.
“Ack,” he said.
“I think that’s the right response, mate, but you shouldn’t have been harassing the lady. You know she’s Maggie’s kin, and Maggie requested quite properly and deferentially that I not allow you to mess about with her. She understands chain of command.” Robert led Peter to the wall, where he let him go. Peter promptly leaned against it, folding forward as he continued to clutch his wounded genitals. “Sorry about all this, miss . . . ?”
It was a leading question, designed to give him my name. I had to admire that, even as I had to question the wisdom of a good cop/bad cop routine that put the bad cop in a position where he needed to take a nut-shot. “Nice try,” I said. “I appreciate you stopping me from making an enemy out of an enemy. But I’m not going to tell you my name.”
“Your last name is ‘Price,’ like your paternal grandfather; your first name starts with the letter ‘V,’ which rather limits the possibilities, since there aren’t that many names for women that start at that end of the alphabet.” I must have stiffened. Robert smiled a little. “We all have our training. You give yourself away every time you open your mouth, every time you move. I’ll sort you out from top to bottom while you still think you’re restricting yourself to noncommittal answers and sassing back. I’m sorry about that.”
“If you’re sorry, don’t do it,” I said. “Unlock these chains and let me the hell out of here.”
“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do that. The Covenant has a need for your services, Miss Price, and your family took an oath many generations ago to answer when they were called upon. You may not uphold your oath willingly, but you will uphold it. Now please. This would be so much easier if you worked with us, rather than against us.”
“I’m going to kill her,” said Peter. He still sounded strained, but at least he was managing words now, and sentences. I probably hadn’t done any permanent damage. He turned a glare on me. “I’m going to kill you.”
“I heard you the first time,” I said dismissively, and looked back to Robert. “You’re not going to win. You can intimidate me as much as you want, but you’re not going to win.”
“I’m sorry,” said Robert. “We already have.”
He supported Peter with one arm as he led the other man out of the room, and closed the door behind them. Once again, the sound of the lock engaging came from the wrong wall, like they had some sort of speaker set up just to disorient me. I waited for the click, and then forced myself to mentally replay the first verse and chorus of Lady Gaga’s “Lovegame”—roughly thirty seconds of music. When that was done, I allowed myself to glance up, and smile.
The lights were still on.
* * *
Don’t get me wrong: I can get a lot done in total darkness. Blind fighting is a part of the standard training package where I come from, and there was a whole summer where I wasn’t allowed to eat any meal I couldn’t prepare blindfolded. (Lessons from that summer included “never let Verity make spaghetti with a blindfold on” and “never eat anything Antimony prepares with a blindfold on.” How she got the blessed cedar ash into the oatmeal is something the world may never know.) But at the end of the day, I prefer working in the light, and it’s hard to case a room that you can’t see.
Robert Bullard said that I was giving myself away with every word I said—or didn’t say. Fine. This room was doing the same thing, and I didn’t even need to ask it questions. All I needed was the luxury to look around.
For one thing, the walls were matte white, with no staining or discoloration of any sort. My chains weren’t bolted to anything that I could see; they passed through holes cut into the wood. That, combined with how little leverage I had, told me I was in a false room, probably constructed in the middle of something much larger. Each wall was about five feet long, giving my captors room to move, but not giving me much opportunity to get away.
I hadn’t been able to see much through the open door when Peter and Robert arrived, but what I’d been able to see gave me the impression of industrial gray. Either my false room was in a shipping container, or we were in some sort of unused factory or warehouse. I’d never actually been shipped anywhere—that was one exciting life opportunity I’d worked hard to avoid—but I was reasonably sure that I would have been able to feel the pull-and-roll of the tides moving the ship if we’d been at sea. So no matter which option turned out to be the right one, we were staying in one place.
For now. If there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that complacency is a killer. I had to assume that they’d be moving me at any moment, and putting me in a false room opened the potential for moving my surroundings with me. I needed to get these chains undone. But how? Most of the common cons wouldn’t work on these people; they were the ones who taught them to my family in the first place. If I faked a stomach ache, they’d force charcoal and Pepto-Bismol down my throat until I stopped. If I faked demonic possession, they’d just dump holy water over my head. And so on, and so on. Getting them to untie me was going to take something totally new and original, something they’d never seen before.
It was really a pity that I had absolutely no idea what that something was.
As for fixtures, there weren’t many; this wasn’t a place they were planning to keep me long-term, not if they wanted me to stay functional, and the setup argued for them wanting me to last. The chains were thick and solid—they must have brought those with them, because the chair I was sitting on was a piece of crap that looked like it was originally from Ikea. It was bolted to the floor. I leaned forward enough to study the bolts. They were generic hardware store issue, nothing special or unique. The Covenant was improvising. That was good for me. I can improvise with the best of them, and I’ve always gotten high marks for my freestyle.
The lights on the ceiling were more generic hardware. The false room had taken work, but they hadn’t been ready to put someone into it. Not yet. There was bound to be a weak spot somewhere, and I would find it . . . later.
My head hurt. I was chained to a wall. I was going to need to eat, and pee, before too much longer. But for the moment, there was nothing I could do, and so I closed my eyes, cleared my mind, and let myself slip slowly into the restorative arms of sleep. Never fight tired if you don’t have to, and never let a captive recover their strength if you have any other choice. I was following the rules. Margaret wasn’t. And when she came back to resume her little question-and-answer session, she was going to find out just how important some rules really are.
Twenty-one
“Blood is one thing, but that’s not all that goes into family. The family you choose is the family that really matters. They’re the ones who’ll keep you standing.”
—Evelyn Baker
An unknown location in the city of Manhattan (but it’s probably a shipping container or a warehouse)
THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS woke me from my doze. I cracked my eyes open just far enough to test the quality of the light. It hadn’t changed. There were no windows in my little room, so the passage of time wouldn’t affect things, but they also hadn’t turned off the lights, or tri
ed setting up an interrogation rig. That was good. I stayed comfortably limp, waiting to see who was approaching me, and what they wanted. I didn’t have to wait for very long.
“Are you asleep?” demanded Margaret. She sounded incredulous. Out of all the things she was expecting from me, this was apparently at the bottom of the list.
I raised my head, yawning. “I was,” I said. “Now I’m not. Maybe you should try it sometime. You might be less cranky.”
“I am not cranky,” said Margaret.
“You could’ve fooled me.” She was dangerous, employed by the Covenant of St. George, and I was totally at her mercy. I probably shouldn’t have been taking pleasure in tormenting her. At the same time, she sort of reminded me of my sister—a shorter, slimmer, more potentially murderous version of my sister—and I hadn’t been able to torment Antimony in person for way too long.
And as long as I kept thinking of things in those terms, I wouldn’t completely lose my shit. Maybe I was going to get away. Maybe I wasn’t. Either way, I could keep irritating the Covenant until they killed me. It was a small thing. It was the only thing I currently had.
Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Your continuing insolence won’t do you any good. You’re going to pay for your sins, and I will personally commend you, body and soul, into the arms of the Lord.”
“What sins are those, exactly?” I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sorry I hit you and stole your stuff, but you’re the one who picked the lock in the first place. I was just acting in self-defense.” I wasn’t the one who’d hit her. I didn’t feel like reminding her of that fact.
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