by Vic Tyler
When a couple of the other maids eagerly nudge her to say more, a look of uneasy doubt flashes across Missy’s face, but she continues, “All of them were missing teeth. They were all found in or around the body except one of the canines. Like the killer’s collecting trophies.”
My feet fly out the kitchen and down the halls, and I nearly crash into people left and right as I sharply turn corners and round the bends.
Phoenix?
Hacker?
Vigilante?
Missing canines?
And all of them just happen to be the men that used to visit me?
Having sprinted at full speed from all the way downstairs, I collide hard into the attic door and grit my teeth as pain shoots through my shoulder.
When I turn the doorknob, it’s already unlocked.
Jumping the steps two or three at a time, I almost trip over my own feet in my frenzy to get to the top. I cross the attic space in no time and burst into Jura’s room, my chest heaving as I gasp in breaths.
As always, the room is dark except for the fluorescent blue–ish white glow bathing the space and the pale, gaunt man in front of the wall of monitors.
Jura’s dark eyes are blanketed by the white sheen of the computer lights as he glances at me. His eyebrows knit together in the tiniest frown, which is the only sign of his concern and alarm.
“Did you do it?” The words explode out of my mouth.
He stares blankly at me, and I can’t tell if he knows what I’m talking about or not.
Wait, rewind. Of course, he doesn’t know.
“The CP,” I try to explain through my heavy breathing and swallowed heaves. “The murders. All those men.”
Even though his expression doesn’t change, Jura watches me with stoic wariness, trying to gauge my reaction.
Once I catch my breath, I straighten my posture. “Did West tell you to?”
His fingers twitch on his mouse before he places his hands on his knees. “No.”
“Then, why?”
He taps his jeans and doesn’t respond, continuing to watch me with cautious curiosity.
I swallow hard through my dry throat. “Damien too?”
Sliding his chair back to the mini fridge by the wall, Jura opens it and grabs a soda, handing it over carefully with only the tips of his fingers. He’s weird about touch like that.
Snatching it from his hand, I tear it open, gulping it down and wincing as the carbonation burns my esophagus.
“Yes.”
My head is whirring with confusion. “Why, Jura?”
I’m relieved, vindicated, touched, torn, bewildered, and vaguely upset.
I didn’t ask either of them to do this for me. Maybe I’m just irritated they didn’t tell me about it. Why am I being left out while they’re going around and playing anti–heroic saviors?
Jura turns back to his wall of monitors. Some of them are off, and the blank blackness weighs heavier on my eyes than the glaring light streaming out of the other monitors.
But the one Jura draws my attention to has a checkered board with familiar black and white pieces.
“If you win, I’ll explain everything.” His lips twitch smugly.
The can clinks and crackles as my hand clenches into a fist.
I haven’t won against Jura yet, and I’m sure he’s banking on that. But if I don’t play, he’ll never tell me anyway.
“Fine,” I growl.
Tossing the empty can into the trash, I roll into the chair I always sit in when I come here to hang out with Jura.
After a few seconds, a deafening raspy scream fills our ears and rattles my skull, accompanied by a mad guitar riff and pounding drums.
Wordlessly, we fall into our usual routine of playing games and listening to music.
I think Jura’s just excited to have someone else in this mansion to play games with, even though it’s hard to tell with his blank expression. He tried teaching me to play StarCraft, but I just can’t get into the hang of it, so we usually play chess, Pokémon, or Mario Kart.
I grit my teeth when I realize I’m going to lose.
Again.
Dammit, I’m not going to get any of my answers.
Wracking my head, I try to visualize all the moves I can make.
The shrieking singer and heavy electric guitar suddenly zips into silence, jolting my concentration.
Jura’s gaze cuts to surveillance footage in the top–left corner screen.
The miniscule security footage shows a familiar figure walking up the attic stairs. My focus and irritation are rapidly replaced by increasing dread with each step that Ubo takes into the attic.
Even though I’ve lived here for about a year and a half, I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get to know Ubo.
While most of the Twelve ignore me (like Richter), tolerate me (like Jura), entertain me (like Damien), or have a morbid fascination with me (like Dr. Isla), Ubo treats me the same as he does everyone else. Which is as a target for his sadistic taunts.
Even though he’s on his ‘best behavior’ with me, that’s not saying much. Unfortunately, I’m too easy a target, and he has enough fodder to mercilessly push my buttons.
When the door opens, goosebumps stud every inch of my skin.
Ubo cocks his head with his signature loopy smile spreading across his face. “If it isn’t Cinderella in The Spider’s web.”
His gaze rakes down my body, and my spine vibrates with a violent shiver. It’s not a lustful look. Well, unless you count bloodlust.
I flinch when his long, cold fingers pinch my cheek, fleshier from the abundance of meals I’ve been lucky to eat.
Smirking, Ubo tightens his pincer grip. “Is he wrapping you up for the slaughter?”
Jura’s lips curl in distaste. “What do you want?”
“Surveillance footage of the Cuerpo Calle shootout,” Ubo answers without taking his eyes off me.
Jura nods at me to leave. “We’ll finish later.”
“No, no, let her stay.” Ubo bares his teeth in a menacing smile.
Shooting him an annoyed look, Jura presses his lips together before turning back to his screens.
In a matter of seconds, he pulls out a flash drive from his computer and tosses it to Ubo, who snatches it nimbly mid–air.
“How dull,” he grumbles. “Aren’t you curious to see how she’d react?”
“Don’t be an idiot, and get out.”
Instead, Ubo leans down and shoves his face right in front of mine, his unblinking eyes studying me closely.
Unnerved, I lean back as far as I can go, and when I try to push back with my feet, his hand snakes out to grab the armrest, keeping my chair in place.
His head tilts to the side. “And what’s got Cinderella in such a tizzy?”
I wonder if his eyes are so watery and pale because the color’s dried out. I don’t know how he goes for so long without blinking.
“Upset because your loyal spineless Puppy won’t be coming back for another few months?”
My eyes widen. “What?”
Even though I know better than to engage with Ubo, I can’t help the shock running through me.
Damien said it’d be a few days. Not months.
“Oh, so he hasn’t told you yet?” Ubo chuckles. “The idiots down in Phoenix couldn’t handle things, and they got raided, so precious little Damien is stuck down there for a while longer.” A nasty smirk pulls his mouth gleefully. “Kitty and the others will be joining him soon.”
My shoulders slump as my chest deflates. Damien will be gone for a while longer then. This sucks. “So he won’t be back because of his assignment.”
“Yes, good at following rules, isn’t he? Such a loyal Dog.” A broken cackle grinds out of Ubo’s toothy grin. “Watches his family get killed and licks the feet of the man who killed them.” He smirks at Jura. “How much you want to bet he wanted his annoying parents dead?”
My head jerks back in surprise. “What are you talking about? West didn’t k
ill Damien’s family.”
“Is that what he told you?” Ubo cocks his head. “The Tyrant let that bomb go off when he could’ve disarmed it. He was an explosives expert, didn’t you know? Instead, he let all those deviants under his command die so he could run off and fuck that pretty little girl into oblivion.
“And as soon as West found out the traitorous bastard was alive, he put a hit on his right–hand man. Could’ve left him to live a normal life, and none of us would’ve been the wiser for it. But we all found out as soon as they died. It was no secret after that.
“Damien’s peaceful little childhood uprooted just like that and sold into the Blood Trials. And now he lets West fuck him in the ass and tell him to do exactly as he wants. What does that say about little Damien?”
“You’re lying.” My mouth dries. “West didn’t do that. He didn’t kill Damien’s family.”
“Not directly, no. Maybe it was Turan. By the looks of it, it could’ve even been Mach or Richter. Brutal deaths. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful,” Ubo says almost dreamily. “All that blood staining the walls. Too quick though. Much too quick. Maybe it wasn’t Mach then. Hmm… Who knows? We don’t get the details of each other’s marks.”
He scratches his head. “Some insignificants offed the sister though. Stole away with both the runts and had their way with ‘em. I still remember when we found the brats. Abandoned property by the marina. Place was flooded, and my skin stunk of fish and rot for the next week,” Ubo complains.
“You found Damien and his sister?” I ask, unable to help myself.
Jura shoots me a look but doesn’t say anything, his jaw tightening.
“More like I was sent to clean them up,” Ubo’s eyes glint maliciously. “Thought it was a bore at the time, but boy, am I glad I went. West led us straight to the dead girl, didn’t even blink an eye when he saw her. Even I was shocked. Looked like she was just dirty, that’s how black and blue her face and body were —”
“Stop it, Ubo,” Jura grits warningly.
“And her little pussy and ass were cracked and bloody, practically shredded like those deviants fucked her with nailed bats.”
“Shut up,” Jura snaps.
Ubo laughs, his eyes still locked on mine, watching my every reaction. “I bet West had a turn at her. He always was strange around little girls. The littler, the better. Funny. She might’ve even been too young for Andrei Stepanov.”
His eyes light up when I flinch and pale.
Jura yanks my chair away from Ubo and stands in front of me.
“That’s enough.” His voice takes on a shockingly commanding tone.
“You’re lying,” I say, my voice small but firm. “West isn’t like that.”
Ubo chortles. “Maybe you’re just too old for him.”
My stomach churns, and bile threatens to pump up my throat.
“Lucky for the Costa girl, her neck snapped. Guess one of them got carried away choking her. Least painful way for her to go.” Ubo makes it sound like it was a shame.
Jura grinds his teeth so hard I can hear it.
“Little Damien was in the cell right across from her. Bastard got to hear everything they did to hear. All her cries for help and her screams, and he sat there, not doing a single thing.”
He chortles gleefully. “You should’ve seen him when we opened the door. Charged straight for West and got swatted down like a fly. At least he had guts back then, I’ll give him that. Now, he’s a spineless little drone, thinking that’s what it’ll take to kill good ol’ Westie.”
My body washes over with ice–cold shock. “Damien wants to kill West?”
“We all want to kill West, for one reason or another.” His fist squeezes until it pales. An excited glint flashes in his eyes. “It’s why we’re here.” He smirks. “Even little Spidey.”
“But the Assassinations,” I blurt out, looking frantically between the two of them. “They’re not real. They’re just a formality.”
Ubo bursts out laughing. “Of course they’re real, you stupid girl. These weak deviants never declare one since they’re too pussy about dying painfully.”
My head spins. “But I’ve never heard about one.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” He scoffs. “Why would we tell you? An outsider who has nothing to do with us?” he sneers. “You shouldn’t even know about the Assassinations. Don’t want to be giving civilians any ideas.”
“I wouldn’t kill West. I don’t want him to die,” I say, bewildered. “Do Assassinations really happen? You all try to kill each other?”
“Obviously.” Ubo sounds baffled I could think otherwise. “Why else do you think we put up with not killing each other on a regular basis? Spidey here went through more Assassinations than the rest of us combined since everyone thinks he’s a little bitch.” Jura tenses, his unease seeping out. “Somehow he’s survived.”
I turn to Jura, horrified. “When?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond.
Ubo’s more than happy to. “Last one was a few months ago, just before the Dog left.” He beams. “Getting better and better every year, ain’t ya, kid? Maybe I should give you a go, but killing you would be too easy and no fun.”
“What? How didn’t I know about this?” My head reels. “But no one died. No one left or disappeared.”
“Because I didn’t kill him.” Jura shrugs nonchalantly as his gaze slides to his monitors. “Didn’t want to get my favorite pair of jeans dirty.”
Ubo roars with laughter. “At least it’ll be good practice for when you try to kill West.”
“Don’t lump me in with the likes of you,” he says flatly with a scowl. “I don’t care about the Assassinations.”
“You’re too much of a little bitch to be the Cardinal, but it doesn’t change the fact you’d slice West’s throat if you could.” Ubo bares his teeth menacingly. “Unless you’ve forgiven him for making you kill your own brother?”
Ubo ducks to the side, catching one of the knives in his hands, but another drives into his shoulder, and the other pins into the wall.
“Ow,” Ubo grunts like he stubbed a toe. He pulls the knife out, a gush of blood spewing out of the wound. The room is drenched with the metallic odor. “I should’ve known you’d play dirty.”
Jura’s on his feet, his posture in a low, defensive stance. “If you’re done, get out.” His voice is low and deceivingly calm.
“Well, I’ll have to, now,” the older man complains. “Unless I want to bleed out on your grimy floor.” He cackles as he flings the knife straight into a monitor, and a web of cracks splinters though it. The screen sparks and flickers before going black, Ubo’s blood the only color splattered on the surface. “And you won’t bury me like your brother, even if I ask nicely, will you?”
Jura doesn’t respond, simply watching Ubo as he strolls out. The injured man winks and waves like nothing’s the matter before he disappears out of sight.
Only when his figure appears in the surveillance footage and exits out the attic door does Jura sit back down.
He opens a bag of chips and takes one out, offering me some. His expression looks too normal for what happened, and when he glances at me, it’s obvious that I’m the only one wide–eyed and shocked.
“Eh.” He shrugs, turning back to the screens. “You know how Ubo gets off on pissing people off, so I let him have it so he can go jerk one out ASAP. It’s the fastest way to get him to leave, otherwise he’ll get even more annoying.”
My mouth is dry, and the scent of blood lingers on my tongue and in my nose. I feel nauseous.
How can Jura be eating right now?
My mind races, remembering the soda can and Gameboy in the clearing.
Jura’s brother didn’t just die in the Blood Trials? Jura killed him? Because of West?
I flinch when Jura’s hand touches my head, and he immediately pulls away. Understanding and sympathy glide through his expression.
To my surprise, he gives me a soft smile.
“We infiltrated a cargo ship, and things didn’t go as planned. Someone opened fire on us, and Yevo couldn’t get to cover. It took awhile just to take down the immediate threats around us, and our heli wouldn’t have gotten him to the hospital on time.
“Yevo would’ve died a slow painful death if he bled out. West handed me a gun and told me not to come back until he was dead.” Jura pops a chip into his mouth, looking nonchalant as usual. “I put it off for as long as I could, but seeing Yevo dying, seeing what I’d look like when I die…”
The soda can in his hand pops and fizzles open, and he takes a foamy sip as he stares at his monitor. “I’m sure I did the right thing. It was quick and painless, and I’ve come to peace with it. But Ubo’s just going to be a bigger pain in the ass than he already is if he tries to dig around for something else to provoke me with, so our secret, yeah?”
Without any words, I take Jura’s hand and place it back on my head, and he stares at me for a few seconds before patting me and pulling away.
He glances at the screen with the chessboard on it and clicks on it. “Checkmate.” I smile weakly, and he returns a more reassuring one. “Rematch?”
We play another round before he has to go back to work and I have to study.
Before I leave, Jura hands me a little brown package.
When I look at him quizzically, he simply says, “Happy birthday.”
He looks impassively at me. Startled, I look down at the nondescript paper–wrapped item.
“Oh.” I try to tamp down my surprise. “But it’s tomorrow.”
With a blank look, Jura says, “I’ll be out most of the day.” He shrugs. “It’s just something small from Kitty, Damien, and me.”
No one really celebrates birthdays here, and because I hadn’t celebrated mine in the past few years, it was nothing strange since I was already used to it.
But when I realized that no one else does, I tried to do something special for each of them.
Everyone is strangely evasive when I ask when their birthdays are, and I never got a straightforward answer. I only found out a few people’s when Kitty told me, all too delighted that I was going to go bother them and give them unwanted attention.
