This time, I don’t even have to spit on him to get him to slam my cell door. If he hears one of the bolts knocked from the door’s lower hinge when he does it, he doesn’t stick around to sniff out the source.
His boots move more quickly than usual as he climbs the stairs away from my cell. I listen to them get farther and farther away until I can’t hear them anymore at all before I examine what I brought back from the courtyard.
It’s a piece of bread like the kind we get at breakfast—a little stale now, like it’s been sitting out all day. It’s smeared with something sticky. When I pull my fingers away and sniff them, my nose is hit with the fruity scent of the jam that comes with it.
There’s no lamp or overhead light in my cell, and barely any still coming in from the outside. I have to stand on my cot to examine the piece of bread further, and even then, I can barely make anything out as I hold it up to the last rays of the day’s sunlight.
Barely—but it’s enough.
I make out numbers—five of them, shakily painted on the bread with the jam but clear enough to read.
13789.
3
Rory
I take the door off its hinges in the dark.
When Drew and I were younger, blackouts in the city were more frequent than they are now. They happened often enough, and for long enough, that we made a game of them. When the lights went out, the city smog would be so thick, not even the stars would light the sky. My mother would bring me over to Drew’s house, and while the adults sat and talked in hushed tones over iced tea, Drew and I would go out to play in the yard.
The curfews were just as strict then as they are now, but residential yards were safe to play in after curfew…more or less. That was the game we played—Night Watch. I’d play the part of the disobedient citizen, lost in a night so dark that I couldn’t even see the tip of my nose in front of my face, and Drew would be the Watch, prowling around me, making only enough sound that I could track him—just barely—as I tried to avoid being caught.
I was never a good tracker, though, and Drew was a great prowler. He would always let me come close to evading him—but he would never let me win. Instead, he’d find a way to make some small noise in a place where he wasn’t, and when I backed away from that place, he’d be there, just behind me, reading to pounce.
We’d come inside snickering and giggling and out of breath, and our mothers wouldn’t realize until morning that we’d both gone to bed with grass and dirt and twigs tangled up in our hair.
Those were better days, I think. Back when our mothers were still alive and we were just two carefree kids rolling around in the dirt.
As I rattle the door back and forth on its remaining hinge, I’m not as quiet as Drew always managed to be. But little by little as I loosen the rest of the bolts, I’m left a little less in the dark.
Not because there are any more stars in the sky now, or because of some providence of moonlight—and not because I’ve gotten any better at seeing at night. But as I jiggle my cell door in place, I feel heat rising in my palms, just like it did when I was in Dr. Belmont’s office earlier.
The markings on my hands begin to glow—not red hot, but a soothing, glowy white. As they glow—it sounds insane—but it’s almost like they’re helping the door along a little. Sending a little extra oompf vibrating up through the metal. Easing the other bolts out of the hinges, one by one.
By the light of my hands, I catch the door’s hinges before they hit the floor. The cell door is heavy, but not so heavy that it’s impossible to move up out of its frame. The deadbolts slide uselessly out of the lock.
I prop the cell door up against the interior wall of my cell and tiptoe out, a glowing palm outstretched to light my way.
I’ve always wondered why Drew’s mother took me in after my mother’s death. There was never much food to go around—not for anyone—and with Drew’s father gone, it wasn’t like she needed another mouth to feed.
I always assumed it was out of the good of her heart. A last favor to my mother—taking in her best friend’s only daughter.
Now, I’m not so sure.
I know the way up to the courtyard. I’ve walked it enough times by now that I imagine I could do it blindfolded—but I’m still grateful that whatever the fuck is going on with my hands, they allow me to see the stairs when I reach them.
I know my way to the gate, too. And—if I’m right about the piece of bread I found before my guard took me back to my cell—I know the code to it, too.
13789.
Not only that—but the guard who should be watching that door is otherwise occupied tonight. If what I overheard earlier between the pink-haired prisoner and her own guard is true, he’s otherwise occupied tonight—and when I raise my hand to light my path to the gate, I see no sign of him.
A locked door that I know the code to and a guard that isn’t even there. That’s all that’s standing between me and freedom now.
Freedom. That’s all I’ve wanted ever since Officer Xander North arrested me in the workshop that my mother died in.
That’s all I’ve wanted since I was brought to this place.
I can’t pretend that it’s all nonsense and bullshit anymore. No matter how much I want to, I know that it’s not fake. All of this—from the floating objects in Dr. Belmont’s office earlier to the circumstances leading up to my arrest for unregulated use of magic—they’re all as real as the soft, glowing warmth of the markings on my palms as they light my way.
If I stay, I have the opportunity of discovering more. About my mother, her death and the stupid fucking book that she left me among her things that got me arrested in the first place. About the blacked out marking on Dr. Belmont’s palms. About what’s been happening to me—what’s happening to me still. Dr. Belmont has offered me answers, and to my surprise, they’re more complicated than a simple she’s batshit crazy, lock this bitch up and throw away the key.
But if I stay, I risk every answer that I gain being filtered through the Regime. They’ll tell me whatever they want me to know—or whatever they want me to believe—as it’s convenient to them. As they need to tell it to me. As they believe it will help them convince me to further their agenda—whatever that agenda is.
I don’t know much about the mysterious government that lords their power over everyone in the city and beyond it.
But I know whatever they’re up to, it’s no fucking good.
As I raise my hand to the keypad at the gate, my palm lights up the numbers. The keys I need have been used so frequently that the correct numbers have been almost completely worn off of their respective buttons.
And thanks to whoever left me the piece of bread with the code on it, I know what order to push them in.
The bread. I hesitate just before keying in the code that will lead me to freedom. Someone left me that piece of bread with the code on it—and they sure as hell didn’t have to. In fact, they put themselves at great risk leaving me anything at all.
A greater risk than I’ve been taking handing the white-haired girl my stolen bread from breakfast, for that matter.
I know it has to be her. The white-haired girl—the only one who’s ever close enough to see the code being keyed in at the gate every morning. Her guard always does it, and she’s always in the keypad’s line of sight. I didn’t give her my bread or my apple because I expected anything in return—I gave it to her because I don’t eat food from Regime dogs, and if I didn’t, I worried that she wouldn’t have anything to eat at all.
But she gave me the code just the same. Might have been beaten for it. Might get beaten for it still if I escape.
I can’t leave her, I realize. I can’t leave the pink-haired girl either.
Freedom has a cost. I can’t escape this place knowing that there are other people I’m leaving behind who might pay the price.
“Mreow.” I hear the faint mew of a cat up above me. When I raise my eyes, I see the black cat from earlier sitting on top of the p
rison wall, looking down at me with a pretty fucking judgmental gaze for an animal that eats rats.
“Oh, go choke on some tuna,” I hiss back at it. “You don’t really expect me to leave them here, do you?”
The cat only licks its paw and looks away, cleaning itself as if it’s planning on waiting for me until I get back.
I’ve watched the guards take the other two prisoners back to their cells over the three days that I’ve been here, so I have some inkling about where I can find them. I go down the stairs to the pink-haired girl’s cell first, but before I even reach the bottom of the steps, I can tell that this is even riskier than I originally thought it would be.
The door to the pink-haired girl’s cell is ajar. I can hear soft cooing and tiny giggles coming from within. When I peek around the corner to the inside of her cell, it’s not the pink-haired girl that I see first—it’s her guard, towering over her, his face buried in her neck.
The pink-haired girl has her arms wrapped around him in a way that makes me think of Drew—then of Officer North—then makes me blush. When our eyes meet, hers widen in surprise for a moment.
They’re the color of amber, and with just a glance, I can tell that she wants no part of whatever it is that I’m up to. They motion for me to get out of there, and since I can’t thank her properly for distracting her guard from his post, I mouth the words instead.
Thank you, I say soundlessly. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Fuck off, she mouths back.
Then the guard’s lips are on hers and there’s nothing more to be said.
As I head back up the stairs, I have to admit that part of me is envious of her—not because she’s making out with the man that’s supposed to be keeping her prisoner, but that she was able to flirt so casually to get what she wanted. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to flirt like that with anyone in my entire life—let alone succeed.
Except with Officer North, a little voice in the back of my head reminds me—but the next thing he did was arrest me, which doesn’t really feel like it counts.
What about Drew, then? the voice adds. But Drew doesn’t count either, as far as I’m concerned. He probably only kissed me because he felt sorry for me—and even if he did mean it, I disappeared off the face of the earth less than a day later.
Maybe he’s worried about me.
Or maybe he’s realized that I’m trouble—that whatever’s happening to me makes me such a liability that I’m not worth worrying about at all anymore.
I find the white-haired girl’s cell with ease, but the door is locked solid and there’s not even a window that I can speak to her through. Not even a food slot.
As a test, I place my hand against the metal and think unlocking thoughts—but big surprise, it doesn’t do anything.
Instead, my only option is to hiss against the metal and hope that there aren’t any other guards prowling around tonight.
“Hey,” I say against the door’s cold metal. “Are you there? It’s me—uh—shit…”
I wait a beat, not really knowing what to say. Not even knowing if she hears me.
Then, I hear a soft little voice whisper back to me, “Rory Bright. You got my message?”
“I did—which, thanks for that.”
“Then you shouldn’t be here.”
I look down at the piece of jammy bread currently making the pocket of my dress sticky, then back up to the door.
“Well, I am anyway. How the fuck do you know my name?”
“Never mind that. Do you want to know mine?”
“Might make escaping together easier, I guess.”
“It’s Cassandra,” she tells me. “But we won’t be escaping together.” There’s a long, mournful pause. “There’s no point. But it’s alright.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? I get that these are dire straits, Cassandra, but, uh…”
“Not everyone is like you, Rory Bright. Don’t worry—we’ll cross paths again before this is over. But for now…” Her voice is laced with both frustration and resignation. She sounds tired and annoyed all at once. “You have to go. Quickly. Before my guard returns.”
“And leave you here to suffer and rot? I don’t think so. If you stay here, you’re going to die in here.”
Cassandra laughs. It’s a soft sound, like windchimes on a cloudy day. “When I meet death, he will be kind, not cruel. But that day is not today.”
“How can I repay you? For the code, I mean?”
“You already have. And you will again.”
“I, uh—” Does she really have to be so cryptic?
“Thank you for the apple, Rory. Good luck.”
Shit, I swear quietly to myself as I climb the stairs again. I know that no good deed goes unpunished, but fuck me! All I’ve done is wasted time. It’s almost like they didn’t want to escape or something.
Fortunately, I don’t share the sentiment.
I’m getting the fuck out of here—and I’m not losing any more time about it.
As I move along the wall of the courtyard, sticking to the shadows, I feel a strange pull. My hands are glowing brighter than ever, but the night seems somehow…thicker than before. Like moving through the darkness is like cutting through a cold block of government butter. Like a dark fog has moved in that makes it harder than ever to see my path.
With the aid of my glowing freak-hands, I find my way to the gate. A sticky second glance at the piece of bread Cassandra left for me leaves me licking my fingers as I input the code for the gate—but the light on the keypad turns a happy green color when the numbers have all been punched in and with it comes freedom.
Three fucking days after being arrested and I’ve gone from breaking curfew to orchestrating my first jailbreak.
I hear a mew in the distance—the cat, maybe? If it is, it’s nowhere to be seen. With every passing second, the night seems to be getting darker and darker. Even the markings on my palms can’t glow bright enough now.
Briefly, I wish I had a flashlight. But with every step I take into the unknown, I’m more and more certain that it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.
And with every step to freedom, things don’t just get darker.
They get weirder, too.
I can hear voices in the darkness around me. Not clear ones—and I certainly can’t tell what they’re saying. Trying to pick out what they’re saying is like trying to eavesdrop on a conversation happening in the next room over. No matter how hard you press your ear to the wall, there’s a muffled quality to the sound that doesn’t go away.
They give me the heebie-jeebies, the creepy whispering voices all around me.
I feel like they want something from me. And at the same time, I feel like somehow…they’re keeping me safe.
And just like that, I’m back to thinking that I’m probably not magic. I’m probably just going mad.
As I walk, I realize that I still can’t see any stars in the sky. Not even the moon. Not even satellites.
But suddenly, in the distance, I can pick out two softly glowing lights. The headlights of a car, maybe, or maybe a pair of streetlights.
Whatever they are, I start moving toward them. The closer I get, the stronger they glow…and the harder my palms throb, though what that means, I still don’t really know.
The closer I get to the lights in the distance, the thinner the darkness becomes too. The whispers fade away, getting fainter and fainter with every step I take, and the dense black fog that’s wrapped itself around me unravels, bit by bit, until it pulls away completely.
But it doesn’t reveal streetlamps.
It doesn’t reveal headlights.
The glowing is coming from a person—a woman with her hands outstretched. As I draw closer, she lowers them to her sides and the man standing behind her moves forward. I see the flash of white teeth as he smiles down at me.
“Rory Bright.” He savors my name as he says it, like he’s rolling an expensive wine around on his tongue. “Three whole
days—I’m afraid you’ve made me lose a bet.”
“You should have listened to me,” the woman says. “I told you it would take a little time.”
“So you did,” Officer Xander North admits, moving toward me as my palms burn hot and bright. “Either way, congratulations, Rory. We’re all very impressed.”
As he wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me close to him, I’m speechless. Even as I open my mouth to say something, no words come out.
“You’ll be a fine candidate,” the woman agrees, smiling down at me with Dr. Belmont’s undeniably red lips. “Really, Rory. Bravo.”
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” I murmur against Xander’s chest.
When I look up at him with—I don’t even know. Shock? Hurt? Confusion? Hate?—instead of an explanation, he places his hand against my cheek.
“It’ll all make more sense soon, sweetheart,” he promises, and I feel something deep inside me writhe and purr as he lowers his lips to mine. “Until then…why don’t you give your Guardian a kiss?”
When our lips meet, I can feel every cell in my body vibrate at such a high frequency that I’m surprised I don’t turn to jelly on the spot. For a moment, time stands still and the markings on my hands glow so bright it’s impossible to tell that it’s still night.
4
Rory
Xander’s kiss tastes like black coffee on a cold night. It tastes like mint and leather and ash—everything I don’t want and everything that, in that moment at least, I totally fucking do.
“I didn’t give you permission to kiss me,” I snap at him, gasping for breath as I pull away.
He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, considers it for a moment, and shrugs. “Next time I’ll ask then, won’t I?” But before I can drag him through the mud any further, he leans in and I can feel his breath hot on my neck. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it, though.”
“I…I didn’t like it.”
Crimson Kisses: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (Marked Souls Book 1) Page 3
