Then, in true gross fashion, it rushed down the side of the wall in a way no person ever wants to see a giant spider move and hopped onto the ground. I cringed even as I backed further into the door. God, I hated spiders.
Inch by inch, the thing began to rise, growing to nearly eight feet before the black cloak shimmered off like a veil and we were staring at a remarkably beautiful woman made entirely of translucent black. Her iris-less gaze fixed on me before turning to the trio by the door. Her full lips never moved, but when she spoke, her voice was breathy and almost melodious.
“You cannot have this child,” she said calmly. “She belongs to Nyx.”
“Your stupid night goddess has no power here!” the korrigan screeched. “We captured her first. Hunter’s rules.”
Didn’t I get a say? I wanted to vote myself off the island and go home.
The shadow lady seemed to expand. Her gown rippled and flowed like water running off rocks to circle the room. I scuffled away from the door just as a tendril lashed past me, painting the walls. The darkness seemed to shrink the space, making it air tight and hard to breathe.
The korrigans had no trouble though. They bared their sharp little teeth and hissed. Their pointed fingers clinked as they swiped at the coiling shadows dancing around them like a cyclone. The force swept through the room, slamming into me like a physical slap. I threw up my arms as it struck my face like a cold, winter storm. The serrated bits of ice pricked my eyes, drawing tears.
“Attack!” I heard the korrigan squeak, but I couldn’t see just how they planned to do that. I tried peering through the gap between my forearms, but everything was black and swirling. I took that as a sign that they might not be able to see me either.
With stealth I knew I didn’t possess, I kept one arm across my eyes and followed the ice-encased wall with my free hand. Since there was no longer anything in the room, furniture wise, I was confident I wouldn’t trip. To my left, I could hear the shrieks and wails as the creatures battled. Every so often, I’d catch the glint of something metal before it was lost in an ocean of black.
At the curve in the wall, I paused, careful now. I had no idea how close those things were to the door still. I couldn’t risk bumping into them. They sounded out of the way, but that didn’t mean anything. Only, I couldn’t move. My feet were fused into the ground. I gasped, inhaled an ice storm and pitched forward onto my face. I barely had the sense to throw up my hands, avoiding a broken nose. Concrete ripped through my palms and cushioned my kneecaps. Pain splintered up my legs, legs I couldn’t even move anymore. I tried twisting and clawing my way free, but whatever had me was sucking me in fast. It was already around my hips.
I knew there were times when I wished the ground would split open and swallow me whole, but that wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t like the whole literal swallowing.
“Hey! Hey, help!” Between the two evils, I picked shadows and spiky.
The storm calmed. The black waves vanished. But it was too late. The ground gave a final bubble and I dropped into absolute darkness.
Chapter 24
Time always seems iffy when you’re plummeting into the great unknown. There was a lot of black and rushing air before I landed none too gently onto my backside. There should have been pain, there was a jolting sensation, but most of my fall was cushioned by the soft, red clay that could have doubled as play dough. It clumped to my shoes as I pushed to my feet and surveyed my surroundings. I was in a sort of tunnel with jagged walls and only a dull light filtering in from somewhere up ahead. There was a smell in the air, something thick and sour, like rotted meat that had been fried with bits of charred hairs. It was foul and made my stomach roil in protest. The taste of paste filled the back of my throat as my palms dampened and a chill crept down the length of my spine. I was alone in the darkness.
I started towards the light, bracing one hand on the wall as I scuffled my way forward. Hot waves washed against me the further I went. The moist humidity soaked into my clothes and dampened my skin, making it feel itchy and clammy. The stench of it was vulgar, like a thousand unwashed mouths all breathing at once. I wanted to gag, to throw up, but I held my breath instead and focused on finding a way out.
My foot caught on something. A ditch maybe. I couldn’t be sure, but I stumbled and tore even more skin off my palms on the wall trying to brace myself. I winced, but pushed the stinging away as I righted myself, only to be grabbed from behind.
The instinctive urge to scream was smothered by the sweaty palm that squished into my mouth. Long, blunt fingers cut into my cheek and I knew there would be bruises. A band of steel anchored around my middle and I was pinned to a broad chest that seemed to radiate heat like an oven. I hissed against the hand and tried to arch away from the burn eating through my clothes to singe my spine.
“Don’t struggle!” The voice was deep, male and smelled like the bottom of a public toilet. My entire body convulsed as I retched and twisted my head away.
“Hurry!” a female voice snarled from the background.
With an insulting lack of effort, I was hoisted up as though I was nothing more than a doll and hauled away.
No!
I flailed, kicking my legs and thrashing my entire body. I clawed at the hand over my mouth. I tried to scream only to have it swallowed by revolting flesh.
The arm across my stomach compressed, crushing my ribs until my screams were nothing but squeaks of pain. I doubled over, suffocating as I fought to breathe between the ache in my gut and the hand trapping my cries. Tears stung my eyes, eyes that couldn’t see a damn thing through the vast blackness anyway.
“I told you not to struggle,” my captor reminded me with all the calm of a total psychopath.
“Don’t hurt her,” the woman hissed. “Khrane wants her alive.”
The hold on me eased, not enough for me to actually do anything except slump limply in my captor’s arms and wheeze wisps of air in through my nostrils.
“Knock her out! Quickly!” a third voice growled from somewhere in the shadows.
Fueled by fear and grit, I thrashed harder, putting all my strength into every jerk, into every vicious kick and elbow. I caught my attacker a few times in the face, but it didn’t seem to faze him. I called for Isaiah, screamed his name over and over in my head until my temples throbbed.
My captor spat out something that wasn’t English before tightening his grip on my face. My head was snapped back against his shoulder with a violent jerk and held there as he sucked in a breath. The hand over my mouth fell away. I stole my own lungful of air, opened my mouth, prepared to scream when the festering stench of a million rotting corpses stewing under an angry summer sun punched me straight in the face and I dropped from consciousness.
Fat little cherubs watched as I pried my eyelids open and squinted up at them. They leered their creepy little smiles down at me from tufts of white cotton.
I frowned and blinked a few times, adjusting my vision to the flickering image hovering over me. Was I dead?
No. The swaying shadows came from the roaring hearth at the foot of the massive bed. The cherubs, with their tiny wings and round, pink bottoms were nothing more than a mural on the ceiling and I was in a room that was most definitely not mine.
Silk sheets rustled as I pushed upright. They fell in a crimson puddle in my lap as I observed my surroundings.
It was lavish with rich mahogany and leather furniture. Thick, red drapes fell over wide terrace doors and hung from the walls behind the bed, a bed that could easily sleep twenty grown men comfortably. I literally had to crawl across the great expanse to reach the edge and climb off.
Worn Afghan carpets kept the chill from touching my bare feet as I padded to the door, only vaguely curious why someone would take my shoes and socks. If they were hoping it would keep me from making a run for it, they clearly didn’t know me very well.
The door flew open before I could even reach it and I jumped. A short, portly woman in a red skirt and white blouse w
addled in carrying a bundle of red fabric in her scaly and bumpy arms. A round, green face littered with warts peeked out from beneath a riot of brown curls that were tucked beneath a white scarf. Protruding, toad-like eyes flickered like the lenses on a camera as they stopped on me just standing there like an idiot, gawking. A long, flat mouth opened.
“You’re awake,” she … it chirped in an unusually high, squeaky voice which would have been perfect for a talking mouse. “The Master was getting concerned. You’ve been sleeping for a while.”
I took a couple of safe steps back as she scurried deeper into the room, leaving the door wide open behind her, uncaring that I could easily bolt past her.
“Who are you?” I asked, patting my pockets for my rawel, but it too was missing. “Where am I?”
The creature placed the bundle down on the bed and I noticed she only had three short, fat fingers on each hand, each topped with square, yellow nails. She dusted them lightly on the white apron tied around her waist.
“I’m Isama, server of the high lord and you are in the Aumon region.”
Aumon. So I was back in Agartha.
She shuffled two steps to the left, away from the bed. “The Master wishes for you to dress and join him for supper.” She waved her hand towards the material on the bed. “I can assist you if you wish.”
I swear she was speaking English, but it hit the walls of my brain and bounced clean off as though she were babbling in some alien language. I had no idea what she was saying.
“I’m sorry … what?”
She blinked her reptilian eyes in three rapid successions. “Dress.” She took up the material and shook it open, unfolding a dress that was a little too much like a wedding dress for my piece of mind. “The Master wishes for you to dress.”
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “Look, I don’t know how I got here, but I would like to leave now.”
Her head bent to the side. Had her face not been so oddly shaped, her expression could have passed for one of mild confusion.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured at last. “It wasn’t a request. Master has given me permission to force you if you do not comply and … I would really rather not. So, could you please…?” She shook the dress at me again
Awesome.
The dress was miles of silk, lace and gauze. The top was tight with steel sheets stitched between the folds to squeeze my ribs and straighten my spine. Two pieces were mashed into my gut, stopping just beneath my breasts, which were thankfully not being tortured by the dress. A filmy scrap of fabric covered my chest … barely. It looped up over my shoulders and formed cute teacup shaped sleeves. The skirt was voluminous and heavy, with yards of fabric that kept tangling around my legs. There was even a short train and I prayed to God I wasn’t being married off because there was no hope of running in that thing. I could scarcely walk.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked Isama as she used her scaly fingers to curl and pin my hair around my head. “It’s kind of … elaborate for dinner.”
“The Master appreciates elegance,” the toad woman replied. “It would be a dishonor to disobey.”
“Can’t have that,” I muttered through my teeth. “I, personally, appreciate breathing.” I tugged on the strange corset I was squeezed into. “Does it have to be so tight?”
“The Master chose it.”
“Oh, well, if the Master chose it…”
My sarcasm went ignored as the last pin was set into place and I stared at the picture I made in the oval shaped mirror tucked away in the corner of the room. I looked ridiculous. I looked like one of those creepy dolls people collected with the frilly dresses and ringlets.
“Come. Master is waiting.”
Isama led the way with me wobbling after her in pinchy shoes two sizes too small for my feet. They too were something from the Victorian era with silver buckles and three inch heels. They even squared off over the toes.
I couldn’t believe this Master guy had this piece of crap just lying around waiting for some lost soul to stumble into his path so he could dress her up. God, what kind of weirdo was he? I had a morbid image of being made to play tea party with the Mad-Hatter’s evil twin brother, the one who wallpapered his house with the skins of his guests, and I shuddered.
Isaiah where are you? I moaned inwardly as we traveled down a narrow hallway papered in textured crimson swirls. Portraits of Victorian ladies were lined on either side, picnicking on slaughtered lamb, strolling in a park of carnivorous creatures tearing into the flesh of mortals, chatting in ballrooms of horror with slabs of human carcasses hanging from the ceiling like a butcher’s freezer. It was a museum of pain and torture and I was thoroughly disgusted by the time we reached the winding stairs.
Wrought iron railings coiled alongside steps draped in worn, red carpets. It ended in a yawning foyer checkered in yellow and black tiles and I briefly wondered if Tim Burton had been the designer of this funhouse.
“This way,” Isama chirped, motioning me to follow her left, through a doorway concealed by, surprise, surprise, red curtains. Red was clearly the color of choice in this place. In no way did this fact help ease my disquiet. If anything, it reminded me even more of death and blood.
I was taken to an enormous room with black rose wallpaper, marble floors and gold-trimmed everything. A long, rectangular table sat in the center with enough chairs to seat a small army. The fire in the hearth flickered off the onyx slab and reflected in the gold strips running along the sides. Candles in gold candleholders sat on the right end, casting a warm glow over the two table settings. I would have actually liked that room if it weren’t for the massacred heads mounted on the walls.
They weren’t human—thank God—but they weren’t animals either. They were creatures with horns and fangs. Some had scales, others feathers and a few I recognized as fledglings.
My insides convulsed as I turned on my heel surveying the horror immortalized forever in that room. Vacant eyes gleamed under the firelight, polished marbles that seemingly saw everything and nothing all at once. Each head had a gold plaque bolted underneath it, but I didn’t dare get close enough to read the elegantly scrawled scripture.
“Princess.” The quiet voice swept through the room, wrenching me away from the horrific view. I spun to face the elegant figure stepping soundlessly into the room. “We meet at last. Welcome to my dominion.”
I was struck by how pale he was, almost ghost-like with his white hair, colorless eyes and gray suit. He held a cane in one, long, slim hand. But he wasn’t old. If anything, he was remarkably young, possibly no older than I was. Also, if he hadn’t kidnapped me, forced me into that hideous dress and had not mounted dead things on his wall, I would have even admitted he was actually really hot. But he had and no amount of hotness could erase that.
“Who are you?” I demanded at once. “And what do you want?”
He spread his arms as though expecting an embrace. “I am Khrane, Master of Aumon and leader of the Khorne Legacy.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re friends with Ashton, right?”
Khrane’s head tilted to the side. His expression could only pass for amused. “No. Your father and I are more like business associates.”
I didn’t allow myself the chance to be surprised by the fact that he knew who Ashton was to me.
I crossed my arms. “Well that makes sense. It’s perfectly acceptable to just kidnap the daughter of a business associate is it?”
The corner of his full mouth quirked. “Can you fault me, Princess?” He pinned me with those pale eyes as he ventured several confident steps closer. “You are such a rarity. Neither human nor sin, but a hybrid of both worlds.” He circled slowly around me. “Incredible.”
“Okay, look.” I snatched up the skirt of my dress and scuttled back four steps. “You need to stop. Ashton will come looking for me and this won’t end well for you. But if you let me go now, I promise not to say anything.”
He stopped and ran a pink tongue over his botto
m lip. The glint in his eyes was bright and a bit feverish as he took me in.
“What are your powers?”
I started. “Excuse me?”
“Your powers,” he repeated.
“I don’t have powers,” I lied.
Yeah right I was going to just tell this guy anything.
His eyes narrowed and he studied me for several very long minutes before he spoke again. His voice was low, cautious almost, like he was trying to decide something unusual.
“Oh you have powers, dear girl. There is no mistaking that. I can feel it pulsing deep inside you.”
“You’re wrong. I wouldn’t be here if I did. I would have fried those jerk wads who captured me.”
Clearly I wasn’t as powerful as everyone kept telling me. Stupid, useless powers. Never there when I needed them.
Khrane raised a pale eyebrow. “Oh I am never wrong. It is my job to detect the powers of those around me and you…” He bit his lip. “You have power. Lots of it. More than I have felt in anyone in a very long time.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. His certainty only made me doubt myself harder. I wanted to scream at him that if I had powers, why was I there? I felt like an alien inhabiting a body that wasn’t mine and I didn’t know the workings of it. I felt like an idiot, which sharpened my tone.
“What do you want?”
“Only to get to know you better.” Something glinted behind his eyes. “We are family after all.”
I flinched as though he’d struck me. “We are not family.”
“Oh, but we are.” He set his cane down and folded both hands over the silver lion’s head. “All sins are. After all, we share a lineage.”
“That’s why you kidnapped me? Because you wanted a family reunion?”
“Kidnapping is such a harsh word. I like to think of it more as a surprise.”
In … sane.
“And people wonder why I don’t like surprises,” I muttered. “I would like to go home. Please,” I added, hoping to appeal to his humanity.
Touching Fire (Touch Saga) Page 38
