by Lani Lenore
“Where is Celia?”
A voice. Behind him, he could hear a dog growling, and he sensed that the animal was not far away. The voice came from several paces down the road, but Adam did not take his eyes off the hooded man to glance at the one who addressed him. The man it belonged to was familiar by now.
“Tell me where she is right now, Adam. Don’t be a fool,” Baltus instructed. His tone was firm, but Adam wouldn’t be ordered.
“I left her back at the house when I fled. I knew she’d just hold me back. Don’t you have her?” He tried to sound uninterested, but his voice was wavering. Proof of his nerves.
“We both know that isn’t true. You wouldn’t leave her behind.”
The hooded man did not move, waiting for instruction, while Baltus tried to twist his thoughts around. But Adam was more headstrong than that.
“What do you want with me? Know you’ll have to tie me down to keep me back at that house!”
“We don’t exactly have further need of you, I’m afraid,” Baltus said, and the words stung Adam’s ears. Was he truly expendable? What about the Sacrament? “If you choose to be difficult, this could end right now. If you cooperate, and you and Celia come back to the house, then we’ll let you live. And you’ll be together. No one will try to keep you apart. This is reasonable, Adam. What do you say?”
The promise was tempting, and Adam felt the muscles around his shoulders begin to loosen. Was his resolve failing? Was he willing to make this deal? In that moment, Adam considered who he was, as he had done so many times since waking up in this house. Did he know now what sort of man he was, better than he had before? Yes, he believed he did. He was a man who was determined and protective; he was not easily fooled. He was proud, and because he was Hugh LaCroix, he was master over everything around him. He had control over this situation, and he would not be brought down.
“We’re not going back there,” he said firmly.
Baltus was silent for a moment as the sun peaked over the clouds, shooting rays of bright light through the trees. The glare was in Adam’s eyes, but he kept his focus forward. It was then that he heard the hound behind him stirring, pacing in front of Baltus, and Adam sent a curious eye behind him.
“So be it,” Baltus said finally with a sigh, holding the chain that the dog was attached to. They were not far away. “Take him.”
The words had barely passed from his mouth before the hooded man rushed forward, a long blade shooting from his sleeve. Adam was taken off guard, but he focused on his opponent just in time to see his movements. Had Celia told him about the blade? He couldn’t remember, but he had enough faith in his own arm to know that he could counter it. The hooded man struck down at him, and Adam cast it aside with the iron rod.
He knew by now that he had never been trained, yet he knew how to fight this fight, remembered moves that he had never performed. His opponent slashed at him with fierce speed and strength, and Adam met the attacks and pushed them away. He gained nothing by it, for no opening presented itself to strike the hooded man, but Adam merely preserved his own life for another moment with each deflected blow. It was with that understanding that he began to worry.
How long will I last before I miss and he gets the better of me?
Perhaps it was that notion of doubt that had done it, or maybe the hooded man’s superior strength, but shortly after that thought, Adam felt a blow that weakened his wrist and sent the poker flying from his hand. He watched it disappear into the dark trees—his only weapon—and he waited for the blade to pierce him. But the hooded man did not attack. Instead, he began to circle Adam like a vulture, and Adam wondered why. Did his inferior brain not realize that he was vulnerable now? Or perhaps it did, and the monster wished to enjoy the fear in the eyes of his prey for a moment longer.
Adam knew he was out of options, but he began to search himself nonetheless, for anything on his person that might aid him. He reached into his pocket, and there he felt the weight of the only possession that he had: the golden pocket watch. He had cared for this item—had insisted on having it with him—but he had to take the chance that this insignificant little object would save his life. Perhaps it would distract the man long enough so that he could run. If not, he would die here.
This is it; the moment of truth.
When his enemy dove in again, Adam threw the watch into his face—and, miraculously, he saw the man recoil. Despite being inhuman, the clone was caught off guard. Adam didn’t waste time. He had freed himself from the watch, which was a meaningless symbol after all, and turned to run. He could see Baltus then, noting that he had released the dog from the chain, but Adam could not stop. He headed for the side of the road, hoping that the rocks there would help him gain ground from the dog as well as the hooded man.
He had barely reached the edge when he felt a terrible pain burning into his chest. He felt that his insides had become twisted, and he looked down to see the tip of the blade that had emerged below his ribcage. The pain was tremendous, it weakened his legs, and before he could come to the full truth that he had been killed, he was falling.
Celia had been listening, craning her neck from her hiding place to see Adam above, but she had not been able. She heard the scuffle on the road, the clanging of metal, and then Adam had emerged in her sight. She felt hope fill her as she watched him head for the rocks—to come back to her—but then she saw something that made fear rise into her throat.
When she first saw it, she did not realize what had happened. It took focusing on the hooded man above before she understood that she was witnessing exactly what she had seen before. As with Maynard, Adam had been stabbed by the hooded man’s blade. In the next moment, her lover was plummeting off the road and onto the rocks below, rolling across them with sickening cracks until he came to a rest near the ground. It was only then that Celia realized the meaning of her fear.
“NO!” she screamed despite herself, forgetting all her other concerns, for they had been trumped. The fear of being caught was not greater than watching Adam die. But there was nothing she could do. She was helpless as his body fell onto the rocks below the road, but gave no regard to her hiding place as she rushed toward him.
“Adam! No…” Tears burst from her eyes as she knelt down beside him. She could hear him struggling to breathe, his body resting at a downward angle. Celia tried to lift his head, but realized it was no use. He was breathing, but not moving—paralyzed—and only his eyes were aware of her, staring into hers.
She leaned over him, stroking his face, not minding that her knee was resting on a sharp rock that cut into her skin. Her tears fell down onto his cheek as she stared into his eyes, watching his pupils expand.
“You said we would leave here together,” she told him, desperate for words, but he did not respond.
His chest fell and then he was still, his dark eyes blank. A trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and up toward his eye, and the color was deep and black. Celia realized that he was covered in the black blood from his own body, and that she was wearing it as well as she leaned against him.
She cried openly as the sun peered down over her, the orange light warm and comforting, yet it could do nothing for her heart. She brushed hair back from Adam’s forehead as she continued to linger over him, refusing to believe that he had died before her eyes, foolishly thinking he might rise up again.
Please, just look at me again.
“Wake up!” she begged, but still he did not move.
“That’s quite enough, though I suppose I should be grateful for your grief. We might have never found you.”
Celia whipped her head around at the sound of the voice, her tears clouding her vision as she looked at the man standing nearby. Irving was leading a hound on a chain, which bayed when it saw her. Though he was a few paces away past the carriage, she couldn’t run. She could not leave Adam there.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Irving assured her. “I just need you to come back with me. That’s all I a
sk.”
Celia watched him come closer, her breath heated and quick, and she realized that she was digging her nails into Adam’s dead skin, as if that would stop Irving from taking her away from him.
“This is your fault,” she growled, but she could not draw strength from the anger in her own voice.
“Don’t worry, my dear. He was nothing but trouble. We don’t need him anymore.” Irving tilted his head to peer at her. “You went to bed with him, didn’t you? Let him fuck you?”
A malicious grin spread over his face as Celia stared back at him in confusion, her face growing hot. What did their intimacy have to do with anything, and why did Irving care to know about it? Though the man she loved was lying dead before her, she was able to feel shocked and embarrassed by this remark. She hadn’t thought to hide her feeling, and Irving saw the truth on her face. He knew the answer, and he took a moment to relish her discomfort.
“Of course you did,” he confirmed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Letter to the Brethren:
Humblest greetings in the name of the Hallowed. Amen.
It is with the greatest reverence that I, Irving LaCroix, write to you concerning that which has vexed us all. I speak of course of the Sacraments and the ways in which we have sought to fulfill them. It has been ages since we have begun, all in our own ways, to come by the truth and do our part to bring the Sacraments to a close. This is why I am pleased to bring you good news. We LaCroixs, the least of you, have done it.
I have informed you of our previous progress and achievements, and am pleased to say that we have been fully successful. We have created male and female, and they are perfect. Unfortunately, the male had to be done away with for stirring trouble, but the female remains. Most importantly, she is pregnant.
You are welcome to witness this miracle for yourselves. We would be pleased to have you grace our halls to be sure that our efforts meet shared approval. Please respond with the date you plan to arrive.
Blessed be the Hallowed!
Return Letter from the Brethren:
Brother Irving:
Make no mistake, we are pleased and amazed to hear these things. As you also said, we would be much obliged to witness these marvels for ourselves. As you know, it is a lengthy journey and cannot be made easily. We have consulted and due to the current state of the country, we cannot possibly make the trip in less than the nine months it will take for the child to be born. Do continue to write and keep us updated on progress, and when the time draws closer to the birth, we would be interested to witness it. Please gather your records and plans so that we may examine them and find them satisfactory. Then we will hold council and decide what should be done with the Most Holy Child.
In the name of the Hallowed, Amen.
Nine months. Though it had been days since receiving the letter, Irving could hardly contain his anger. The greatest achievement known to man had come to pass, and the Brethren could not even pry themselves off their fattened asses to come and see it. Irving knew why. It was because they did not truly believe that the LaCroixs had been successful. They would learn. When the Hallowed was born, LaCroix would be the highest name among the saints!
Irving had not seen the female vessel in days. This had been Baltus’s advice. She needed time to calm down, he had said, after what had happened to Adam—while she came to accept her true purpose. She’d been confined downstairs ever since they’d brought her back to the house, and though as a puppet, she did not need to eat or sleep, drink of defecate, she did not know it. Baltus looked after her, but never brought her out of the dungeon rooms. Though Irving wanted to see her to judge her for himself, he stayed away.
He had, perhaps, written to the Brethren prematurely. He had been so confident in their success that he’d written before he knew that the mother had been impregnated. Every day he longed for verification, twitching with anger at the thought that she might be barren while his fury smoldered for his disbelieving Brethren. Daily, he paced the house, unsure of what to do with himself until finally he could no longer bear it. He went up to Baltus’s rooms and was about to descend into the hidden chamber when the man himself emerged from beneath the tapestry depicting Adam and Eve. Irving had always loathed the image. He hated irony.
“Ah, Irving. What can I do for you?” Baltus asked, though keeping his body in front of the hidden door to halt Irving from going past him.
“I want to see her,” Irving insisted. “I have to see for myself.”
“I told you that she’s very sensitive,” the older man explained, adjusting his monocle. “She is afraid of you, and she hates you. If you go down there, it will disturb her and we don’t want that.”
Irving clenched his fists. “Then at least tell me she’s pregnant—that she truly is.”
“It’s too early to know,” Baltus said, repeating what he’d said so many times before. “But I have no doubt. I told you, I designed her to be particularly fertile.”
“I need more than that! I need a definite answer. The Brethren are mocking us as we speak! I have already informed them of our success and I must be right!”
“And we will be successful, and the Brethren will come. In the meantime, Irving, you should seriously consider whether you wish to bury your wife.”
With that, Baltus turned, locked the door of his chamber behind him, and left the room, leaving Irving to seethe after him.
In Hugh LaCroix’s room on the first floor, Luci was gradually coaxing dust off a bookshelf with a feather duster, humming quietly to herself as she worked. Though she may not have been capable of composing her own arrangements, she knew the tunes of all the songs that Anjessica had played on the music box. Her tune was often flat, but the notes were always correct as they played through her mind and it was enough to amuse her.
Neither Irving nor Baltus had suspected Luci in the death of Margot or of letting the two homunculi escape—or if they had, Luci had not been punished for it. She had been allowed to go about her daily business, but she knew the current state of things. She knew that the one they called Celia had been brought back to the house, but Adam had never returned. She wondered if she felt sadness, and wished that she could shed a tear, but of course she could not.
Luci continued with her chores as the days passed, giving no thought to the future, for she had not been made to see beyond the orders of her masters—and yet she did. Now, she had no reason to think her own thoughts. The thrill of important events had passed, and the one she had chosen to serve had not returned home. Her eyes focused only on the dust, her mind blank, and she continued with her tedious work until a shadow passed over her.
The duster halted immediately when she became aware of it, but no voice addressed her, and she turned her body toward it. Her eyes came to rest on the one standing there, and Luci felt something deep within the pit of herself—a disturbance, but a pleasure. After so long, her master had come home, and her fun had not quite ended.
“Master,” Luci addressed, a tiny smile rising up on her face, “what are your commands?”
Chapter Twenty-One
When Celia awoke, the first thing she felt was the pain in her neck. A close second, she realized that she was in a cage.
She was on the floor, wilted against it, her head throbbing and her body full of ache. She could see that the floor beneath her was stone, and there were curtains hanging around her, yellowed and stained with splashes of dark color. There was a terrible smell on the air. If she was still in the house—which was her guess because of the way she was confined—she had never seen this room before.
The last thing she remembered was being caught by Irving at the cliff, and after that, there was only a blank space that she could not account for. She tried to remember how she had gotten here, but her search only led her back to the horrible thing that had happened before that.
Oh… she thought, bringing back the events that had led to her capture. Adam…
He was dead. Dead. Though she had seen it,
she had a hard time getting the idea to take hold. She saw the image of his body broken and bloody beneath the cliff in her mind’s eye. She realized that she would never see him again—never touch him—and she felt a horrible sickness welling in her stomach. He had truly loved her—chosen her over himself. That was the worst thing. He had died because of her, trying to protect her.
She let her head fall back and a sorrowful wail escaped her lips.
“Ah, you’ve finally woken up.”
The sound of the voice turned her head, and she saw the image of the one sitting near the cage. She waited for her eyes to focus on him, wondering if she’d been drugged. As she waited to discover his face, something came to her. Celia recalled a vision—a memory. She had just woken up for the first time, and she could see the dark outline of a man who was made only a shadow by the light behind him. She did not know him, but he had leaned down over her and he’d said—
“It’s time to wake up, child. You’ve had enough sleep.”
She saw his face now, even though she had not seen it the first time that she had opened her eyes. She could see his smooth head and the monocle over his eye. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face to protect from the smell. She had heard his voice and recognized it. He could only be one person, and she knew that he was to blame for this as equally as his nephew.
At the sight of Baltus LaCroix, she attacked the door of the cage, trying to pry it open, but it would not budge. When she realized this, she threw herself against the back wall and pulled her knees to her chest, her breath rolling in and out of her lungs as she glared at him.
Acknowledging her distress, he gave her space, holding up his hands to prove that he had given up. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, simply content to observe her. There was a short smile on his face, and the corners of his eyes were ceased with lines of compassion toward her, but she did not want it. She looked away, determined to keep her tears of anger and sorrow to herself.
