That done, she turned to inspect the room. It was a combination of rustic and lacy: a heavy, rough-carved four-post bed with a delicate lace coverlet; a doily on a primitive dresser that would have done a log cabin proud. There was a rocking chair in one corner, with a large rag doll propped up in it. The bathroom, though, was thoroughly modern, with a luxurious jetted tub and a marble basin. Branwyn backed away; the bathroom felt like a baited trap.
The bedroom had no television, no clock radio, and no phone. It did have a pair of floor-length windows with frothy white curtains. Beyond the windows was a small balcony. When Branwyn slid her hand along the window frame, she found the latch and opened the French doors inward. A cool, damp breeze lifted tendrils of her hair.
She regarded the balcony warily, then stepped outside. It was made of wooden planks and smoothed split-rail timbers, and no larger than a closet. Similar balconies ran along the length of the house at this level, with a larger deck below and a single expansive balcony on the floor above. The lodge really was more like a hotel than a home, and she wondered how many of Hunter’s guests left again. It wasn’t a productive line of thought and she was only lured into it because she was much more tired than she’d realized. The wind freshened against her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine, and she shook herself out of the thoughts.
Back inside the room, she latched the French doors closed and sat stiffly on the bed. After stretching out legs that ached from all the climbing she’d done that day, she looked around again. Then, methodically, she worked her way through the contents of her backpack and her collection of charms. She had snacks. A wallet. A cellphone without a signal. Her hammer. An assortment of odds and ends that didn’t seem useful here: paracord, matches, a bungee cord, a handful of tiny LED flashlights. A tiny stuffed frog, crayons, and a coloring book, because she was the eldest of seven and children could break out at any time. A dozen thin metal rods, some hairpins, and a pocketknife. A multitool. Duct tape, twist ties, baggies. She was set for being stranded in an urban environment with a lot of time on her hands. What she wasn’t prepared for was the chance of fleeing supernatural predators through a dark, wet forest.
Her charms were a bit better. With Zachariah’s poison ward, she wasn’t worried about being drugged. She could feel the direction of the nearest weak spot in the curtain between Earth and the Backworld—back into the forest—and if she made it there, she could open it. Of course, that only meant she was in a new place, not that she was safe.
She’d sacrificed her ability to call for help in exchange for providing the Queen of Stone with BranwynTV. Somehow she didn’t think the Queen of Stone would provide the same benefits. And what could she do if BranwynTV was unexpectedly cancelled? A letter-writing campaign, Branwyn felt, probably wouldn’t help.
Oh well. She’d have to use her wits if Hunter turned out to be the treacherous scumbag the presence of his nasty pack suggested he was. She needed the Machine no matter what and she wasn’t going to back out or back down just because her gut clenched up every time Hunter touched her or his pack opened their mouths. Her gut did not understand what was important.
A sound caught her attention, so quiet that it rang in the silence. A gasp, or maybe a sob. Branwyn went to the French door again and looked out. The balcony next door was lit by its room, and the door was half open; the sound had come from within. Branwyn frowned, went back inside, tucked some things into her pockets, then returned to her balcony. It was about seven feet from the other balcony, well beyond her ability to safely jump. But there was a thin ledge connecting the two, no more than six inches wide. The drop from the ledge to the deck below was at least fifteen feet.
She leaned out and inspected the ledge, then the slanting roof the balconies jutted out from. Then, with a single practiced blow, she drove one of the metal rods from her backpack into the roof just above head level, an arm’s reach out. She squinted, activating the Sight just long enough to stroke the rod, compressing its Geometry line, rolling it between her fingers until it shone, then twisting it around the line of the roof until the two merged. When she dropped the Sight again, the rod seemed darker.
Pleased, she turned her attention to the paracord. It was basic survival equipment: a woven nylon cord with a removable core of yarn. The yarn was useful anywhere string was, but the paracord itself originated with parachutes, and was immensely handy. It was an old friend. This time, she fashioned it into a simple harness and line. Then, tying herself to the rod she’d embedded in the roof, she swung herself over the balcony rail and onto the ledge. After a moment to catch her balance and feel the ledge under her feet, she quickly paced across to the other side.
Easy. Not much worse than the balance beam in her childhood gymnastics classes. And she’d had just enough cord. It was lovely when things worked out.
She climbed onto the other balcony, then peeked in the French doors. AT sat on a black and white coverlet on a bed just as rustic as Branwyn’s, her knees pulled to her chest as she stared warily outside.
Branwyn grinned at her. “Knock, knock. I was just wondering, can I borrow a cup of sugar?”
AT visibly relaxed, releasing her knees to rub her face. “How did you get here?”
“Oh, I walked. We’re right next door.”
“I know, but—” AT began, then stopped and shrugged. “Father said you were special.”
“Hey, it’s just paracord, you can buy it off the internet.” She paused, then added, “May I come in?”
“All right.” AT watched her as she entered the room and looked around.
It wasn’t much like any teenager’s room she’d seen. The basics were very similar to the room she'd been assigned, except the frills were more subdued, there was no rocking chair, and AT had a TV and game console. Except for a single frame containing nothing but black pigment, the walls were bare. The dresser had a few personal items on it and there was a shelf of books that looked like they’d never been opened. Branwyn didn’t look at either too closely.
AT pointed a remote at the TV and turned it on, raising the volume. Then she beckoned Branwyn closer, scooting over on the bed to make room for them both to sit.
“We have a mutual friend,” Branwyn ventured as she perched on the edge of the bed.
“Is Marley all right?” AT rested her chin on her knees, her eyelashes veiling her expression. “And the kids?”
“Oh yes. All fine.” Branwyn studied the girl, then added, “From what I hear, it’s only thanks to you, though. You saved all of them.”
AT brightened, lifting her head. “Yeah? That’s something. That’s worth it.” Then she sighed and dropped her head again. “I wish I could have done more.”
Branwyn watched her for a moment. “Are you going to come back and visit sometime? I know Marley would be really happy to see you. Corbin, too.”
AT turned her head to the TV, but her gaze was far away. “Probably not. Will you give them my love?” There was an odd strain in her voice.
“Nope,” Branwyn said cheerfully. AT’s head turned toward her, her big hazel eyes full of surprised hurt. “You’re going to have to do it yourself.” She winked and said, “I make it a policy to not enable people wimping out.”
“I’m not wimping out,” AT protested, then added sullenly, “You don’t understand.”
Branwyn raised her eyebrows in a silent invitation for explanation, and after a moment, AT said, “I got away once. It’s not going to happen again.”
“Have you tried?”
“He let me go the first time,” AT said bitterly. “He won’t do it again. Not when I screwed everything up so badly.”
When Marley had related the full story of her fight to save the twins from heavenly injustice, she’d mentioned that AT, when faced with the living nightmare spawned by the children’s fear and unearthly power, had fought it to a near standstill, then called on her father’s power for assistance. Severin had appeared in her father’s stead, finished the fight, then carried the badly wounded AT off
to her father.
“Why does he care so much?” Branwyn finally asked. “I thought they didn’t like their children.”
“I wasn’t some accident. Some one-night stand. He wanted me. He bred me.” AT’s voice was flat. “To be his chief monster.”
Branwyn regarded her. “Please, take it personally when I say that it seems like he failed there. You seem like a pretty decent kid.”
AT’s face froze and she buried it against her knees so that her words were muffled. “My father seems like a nice man, too.”
“Only to anybody who doesn’t listen to their gut. I’ve met a double handful of supernatural types by now, and, AT, nobody scares me quite like your dad.” Branwyn hated admitting to fear, but there were times and places where it could be productive. “I can’t see how a girl who sacrifices herself to save people she barely knows is going to end up as a monster.”
AT sighed again and lifted her face. “I hope you’re right. But sometimes it feels like there’s nothing else I can do. If I let myself be what he wants me to be…” She trailed off. When she spoke again, there was a liquid throb underlying her whisper. “It’s just so tempting.”
A prickle of alarm ran down Branwyn’s spine and her words tumbled out. “Sure it is, here. Surrounded by all these assholes, stuck in this godawful forest. And I’m guessing you don’t train a baby monster with cupcakes and athletic meets.” AT shook her head weakly, and Branwyn added, “Hell, do you even go to school?”
“N-Not since—not for a couple of years.”
Branwyn scowled. “That’s bullshit. Anyhow, how ‘tempting’ was it when you were in LA?”
“Not very,” AT admitted. “As long as I didn’t—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, though. All I know how to do is fight, so that’s what I end up doing and that’s what he wants. I wanted to throw myself at the twins’ nightmare, just lose myself in rending it. The only reason I held on was because I knew that after it killed me, it would go back for everybody else. And I couldn’t beat it on my own. Father says that with him as my master, I’ll be unstoppable, but if I insist on acting like a lost little girl, I’ll be alone and incompetent, just like I was then.”
Branwyn stared at AT in consternation. This wasn’t something that could be unraveled with a light chat after introductions. The kid needed therapy, or at the very least not to be under the roof of a supernatural creature who regarded her as property, as a material to shape as he chose.
AT apparently misinterpreted Branwyn’s expression, because she forced a cheerful expression on her face. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine. All kids have problems with their parents, right? So why are you here after one of his treasures?”
Branwyn let her change the subject, even though she wasn’t done with it. She needed a few minutes to let the situation simmer in the back of her head before she made a decision. “My friend Penny is very ill. Tarn will heal her if I help him out.”
Real pleasure chased away the artificial cheerfulness on AT’s face. “Penny survived too? I hadn’t realized that. That’s wonderful!”
“‘Survived’ is the only way to put it,” Branwyn said darkly. “That bastard burned through most of her soul, and she won’t wake up.”
AT frowned. “What can a faerie do about that?”
“Oh, he says he’s got some way of adopting humans and lending them his essence. Basically, he’d make her a changeling.” Branwyn shrugged. “It seems a lot better than letting her die. What’s a soul, anyhow, eh? Especially a badly damaged one?”
A look of horror transformed AT’s face. “A soul is everything.” Hastily, she took control of her expression and sat up straight, dropping her knees for the first time in the conversation. “I mean… that’s what it seems like to me. Nephilim don’t have them, you see.”
“And look at you,” Branwyn pointed out. “You’re just fine. Debating ethics and morality and everything.”
AT shook her head. “That’s not what souls are about.” She bit her lip, eyeing Branwyn as if wondering if she was capable of understanding. “Souls are immortal.”
Impatiently, Branwyn said, “Yes, that’s what practically all religion says. And you nephilim are immortal in your own way. Frankly, I’d rather be alive than dead.”
Shrinking back, AT said, “But nothing can hurt a soul unless the owner consents. Nothing. When I die, that’s it. I’m gone.”
Branwyn’s lips tightened. “When my stepfather died, he was gone, too. Frankly, I’m not convinced souls really exist. If Corbin hadn’t given me magic spells, I’d think you all were crazy.”
AT caught at Branwyn’s hand. “Sometimes souls do go away, but it’s not—not the same as oblivion. Not for them. And I’m not crazy. My mother died and my father... Souls can be caught, you see. Claimed. If they consent while alive. And they continue to exist; they can feel and remember and even communicate.”
Branwyn took a deep breath, trying to calm the blood pounding in her head. “So… if a soul doesn’t, uh, consent to being destroyed in exchange for physical immortality, or being caught, what happens to it?”
Still holding Branwyn’s hand, AT glanced up at the ceiling. “Somebody told me there’s a tear in the sky they vanish through.”
Dryly, Branwyn said, “Wow, that sounds dramatic. What’s on the other side?”
AT finally released Branwyn’s hand and shrugged. “Nobody’s ever come back and the celestials can’t get through. There’s a lot of theories, but souls are key. They’re that important, Branwyn,” the girl finished earnestly.
Branwyn stared at AT for a long moment before abruptly relaxing as a manic cheer chased off her tension. “Well, Penny’s soul has been mostly destroyed. Where does that leave her?”
“I think any soul is better than none. But I’ve never had one to give up. Was your friend particularly spiritual?”
“Not until she met an angel.” She patted AT’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll definitely keep it in mind. Meanwhile, do you have anything in this charming chamber that you’d like to take away with you?”
AT blinked, as so many people blinked at Branwyn’s sudden topic shifts. “What?”
As gently as she could, Branwyn said, “Do you want to stay here?”
Her breath catching, AT said, “I wish I could—I don’t want to be here, no. But after what happened, I don’t think anybody’s going to help me get away again.” She searched Branwyn’s face anxiously.
“Wrong!” said Branwyn brightly. “I have an escape plan for you. It may be a little tricky, but if everything goes well, this time tomorrow you’ll be in California again. What’s wrong?”
Halfway through Branwyn’s explanation, AT’s gaze darted to the door, and she touched Branwyn’s foot. Then Branwyn heard the thudding footsteps outside, too. They stopped nearby.
Branwyn held her breath. For a long moment, silence gobbled up her thoughts. Then the same aura that had been painful in the lodge living room flared again. This time it radiated an obscene smugness that made Branwyn feel like she’d been dropped in filth.
A heartbeat later, somebody—something—howled. It sounded for all the world like a wolf, and AT raised her head, her eyes widening and her throat moving silently.
After the howl faded, Hunter caroled, “She’s gone and run off, boys. Out the window, it looks like. Time for the hunt!”
Her heart in her throat, Branwyn met AT’s eyes. Before she had time to do anything else, AT’s door was flung open.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” exclaimed Hunter in exaggerated surprise. “Here you are, missy.” He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk.”
Branwyn stood up slowly, her stomach roiling with fear she barely understood. “Here I am. I didn’t run off, as you see.”
He grinned. “You still left your room. That’s the big no-no. And if you won’t obey the rules, why should I?” He tilted his head to one side and there was a burst of static from the television. “Conspiring to steal my most precious possess
ion, too. You just don’t know how to stay out of trouble, do you?” He lunged and had Branwyn by the arm before she could get out of the way. “That’s all right. I know just how to keep you under control.”
“Get your hands off me,” Branwyn snapped, and kicked him as she thrust her free hand at his throat and activated the charm to grow her claws.
It should have worked to get her free, at least for a moment.
Instead, something snapped and Branwyn screamed as a red haze of pain swept over her. Somehow, with one hand and barely any leverage, he’d broken her arm. He shook her by that arm and the red pain became white flashes against blackness. Distantly, through a miasma of agony and nausea, she felt his mouth press up against her ear. He licked her, then whispered, “I knew you’d end up here.”
“Father!” cried AT, standing up. “Oh God, Branwyn, why—” Branwyn forced herself to open her eyes. She was on her knees beside Hunter, still held by her broken arm.
Hunter glanced at her. “One way or another, you’ll serve me, my daughter. If not as part of my pack, then as bait for the prey.” His smile was wolfish.
Horror chased shock off of AT’s face. Then something else chased the horror away. She stared at her father, lowering her head but not her eyes, which brightened with yellow highlights.
“Oh, don’t get my hopes up,” growled her father. “It’s damned depressing each time you let your weakness win.” He hauled Branwyn up to her feet and she did her best not to scream again. But something must have escaped, because AT flinched and the light fled her eyes. “You’re right, by the way. Nobody is going to help you escape again. And anybody who tries is going to end up…” He looked down at Branwyn, “Well, not like her. I have something special for her. But the dogs need feeding, eh?”
“Tarn,” croaked Branwyn.
Infinity Key (Senyaza Series Book 2) Page 22
