She Dies at the End (November Snow Book 1)

by A. M. Manay

  November tried to marshal her gifts and focus her mind on them, struggling to push away the fog of drugs and hunger and make out what the two traitors were saying to each other.

  “I thought you would run,” Willow commented. “I thought for sure someone would have to hunt you down.”

  “What would be the point?” he replied matter-of-factly. “I must say, I’m surprised, too. You. You were another agent. Reliable Willow. I cannot believe it,” Ben said, incredulous. He gave a bark of bitter laughter. “You couldn’t help me out after I got caught?”

  “Stuff it. I would put you in the trunk if it weren’t currently occupied,” Willow replied flatly. “Your incompetence had no bearing on my mission. I have been under cover for over a century, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize that for an idiot newborn vampire who couldn’t manage to do anything without giving himself away.”

  “Fair enough,” he allowed, not seeming to care enough about his fate to actually be angry about it. “Why don’t you just kill me and deliver this letter yourself? Save him the trouble,” he asked almost hopefully. Evidently he wasn’t looking forward to an encounter with Luka.

  “Because those aren’t my orders,” she replied impatiently. “Are you seriously going to talk the whole way? Do I have to pull your tongue out?”

  “Sorry. I’ve just been talking to walls for months, that’s all,” he responded quietly. “Do you mind if I ask one question?” He construed her lack of a reply as acquiescence. “Why? I mean, haven’t you worked for them for, like, hundreds of years?”

  Willow heaved a sigh. “They betrayed me first, when they made peace with the animals that killed my kin. They are not worthy of anyone’s loyalty.” November had a strange feeling that she was leaving something out.

  “Fair enough,” he said again. “I assume November is in the trunk? You smell like her.” Willow just nodded. “Is she okay?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the concern out of his voice.

  “She’ll live,” Willow replied, adding, “Look, if you know what’s good for you, you will forget any feelings you have for her. She’s Luka’s now. If he lets you live, and that’s highly unlikely, you had better keep your little crush to yourself.” Ben said nothing. He just looked out the window. Willow turned on some music.

  They switched cars one more time, to an SUV that had apparently been left for Willow in a planned location, as there was no murder involved in this swap. Since the vehicle had no trunk, the prisoner was instead tossed unceremoniously onto the floor in the back. The windows were heavily tinted, and the sun had long since set. There was no way anyone would see her.

  “Oh, jeez, Willow? Is all that really necessary?” Ben asked, breaking his silence of several hours when he saw the sorry state November was in. “Those ties are cutting into her, and it looks like you beat the crap out of her. How much of a fight did she put up?”

  “Most of those bruises are from yesterday when some deranged fairy tried to drown her, and I’m not taking any chances after how many times this has been botched in the last six months,” the fairy answered in a hard voice.

  Ben looked at November with sad eyes. She met them with her own eyes full of fear. He looked awful, even more gaunt and worn than she remembered. She wondered if he was grateful that she’d asked for his life to be spared or if he wished that he’d gotten his execution over with. Of course, November hadn’t know that Ilyn would so warp her request by sending the prisoner to an almost certain death.

  She could tell he was considering doing something unwise as he shifted his focus from her to the driver, and she could see the moment when he admitted to himself that he didn’t have a prayer of taking the much older fairy in a fight, certainly not without getting November killed in the ensuing high-speed crash. She tried to smile her understanding through the duck tape before turning her gaze out the window to the moon high in the sky. At least it was something prettier to look at than the inside of a trunk. She wondered if she would ever see the sun again.

  November had no idea how many hours this journey was taking, though she thought it had been early afternoon when they left the hotel and it was now well past sunset. She couldn’t be certain she hadn’t missed a whole day somewhere. As disoriented as she was from the drugs, the visions, the thirst, and the imprisonment, she knew very little for certain. She knew that the road had gotten rougher; the additional bruises forming all over her body told her that much. She assumed they must be in the middle of nowhere, for she heard no other cars going by. Her numb limbs and the screaming pain in her shoulders told her that she’d been bound for a long time. She knew she was frightened and hungry and alone.

  She thought of Pine, there one moment and then gone in a flash of light. She tried not to cry. She thought of Ilyn, who showed his attachment to her yet denied it to them both. The thought that she might never see him again, or worse yet, that she would see him as an enemy, made her want to break things in grief and anger. She prayed that he was safe, that all her friends were safe. Her well-justified anger had melted away in the heat of danger, and all she felt was longing and forgiveness and sympathy. She imagined that he was with her, singing one of the songs he’d used to comfort her at the new year. She could almost smell the pipe-smoke in his clothes.

  They stopped for gas. It was a two-pump, cash-only, pay-inside kind of place. A couple of other cars were parked there. Kids were hanging out, sitting on their trunks, drinking soda and smoking. Willow turned to her and said, “If you try anything, I will kill everyone here.” She then turned to Ben. “If you try anything, I will hurt her and make you watch.”

  After she slammed her door and entered the tiny store, Ben turned once again to November. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, over and over. “I’m so sorry. I’ll find a way to stop him. I’ll find a way to help you. I will. I’m so sorry.” He looked so desperate and sad. The cocky frat boy had turned old and haunted. Even if she hadn’t been gagged, November had no idea what she would say. It was hard for her to believe that there was anything Ben could possibly do to save her, given his track record. And yet, it was a comfort to hear a sympathetic word in such a desperate moment. Later, she would feel a pang of guilt for having doubted him. Ben was the kind of person it was easy to underestimate.

  Willow returned and started pumping the gas, ending Ben’s monologue. They got on the road again. Bad asphalt turned to gravel and then to rutted dirt. November was bouncing around something awful, finally prompting Ben to insist that Willow move her to a seat and belt her in. “Willow, she’s going to get a concussion if this goes on much longer, and if she vomits with that gag on, she could choke.”

  After a moment of thought, the fairy pulled over, unbound her captive’s wrists, tore off the gag, strapped her into a seat, and rebound one arm to an armrest, all without saying a word.

  “Thanks,” November murmured as the vehicle resumed its race down what had to be the worst road in the continental U.S. She leaned her forehead against the cool window glass and tried not to throw up. Ben looked around for something to use as a make-shift sick bag, coming up with only his hat, which he placed in her lap with a shrug. She gave him a shadow of a smile before she commenced dry heaving. She was momentarily grateful for the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Thankfully, after a while the road smoothed out a bit and her nausea passed. Exhausted and numb, November gazed out the window into pitch blackness. They hadn’t passed another car in hours.

  Suddenly, they were driving on smooth asphalt instead of dirt. It seemed so quiet, and November wondered why the road had suddenly resumed before realizing that it probably meant that they were getting close to their destination. With a screech of its breaks, the S.U.V came to a stop. Willow emerged, clipped November’s wrist free, and pulled her out of the car, dragging her still-bound feet in the dirt. “Look,” the fairy said. “We’re almost home.”

  November followed her kidnapper’s pointing finger. Her heart sank as she took in the fortress at the end of the road. A flat-t
opped mountain rose above the rest of the canyon-cracked desert. The cliff was almost vertical, its rocky face illumined by moving searchlights meant to reveal anyone foolish enough to try the climb. No windows glowed to break up the monotony of the wall; even the scrub brush had been burned away to minimize handholds and hiding places.

  She could see a large, fortified gate at the base of the installation, which appeared to have been carved from the rock. It appeared that there was not a single place to force an entry other than the main entrance or perhaps the roof. She identify what looked like a water tank and radar or satellite dishes on top of the structure along with towers dotting the circumference of the roof, prepared to locate and rain fire down on any force approaching from above or below. She supposed the Gatling guns must have been modified to take silver and wooden bullets, then wondered how she could manage such calm speculation while this view snuffed out all the hope remaining in her heart. She could make out small objects flying around the installation like so many bees around a hive. She gasped when she realized that they were people: fairies and vampires on aerial patrol with what appeared to be rocket launchers at the ready.

  It was obvious that the road they travelled was the only land route into the base, surrounded as it was by a barren, formidable landscape creased with cliffs and canyons. She wondered briefly whether it was beautiful by day and decided that it probably was. A few hundred yards down the road, about hallway between them and the fortress, stood a heavily-armed and guarded checkpoint securing a drawbridge over what looked to be a wide chasm. Willow held her up by her arm, letting her take in the view before she began speaking. “I want you to see this so that you know that there is no escape in your future. Even if anyone survives to come for you, which I highly doubt, they will never be able to get into the fort, and there would be no way to get you out. It will be impossible for you to escape on your own. I’m not doing this because I want to see you suffer, November. I like you, honestly. I simply want you to accept your fate, because it will be much easier for you if you do. If you do as you’re told and accept that Luka is your master now, he will treat you well. He will cherish you as a treasure. If you fight him, he will not coddle you like Ilyn and William did. He will do whatever is necessary to break your will.”

  November kept her eyes on the landscape as helpless tears began to flow. Willow’s voice softened slightly. “Soon you will be one of us, and in time, you will understand that our cause is just. You will be proud to be part of our victory, the new world we’re going to build. You will be a hero to generations of our people, a beloved queen. Time will pass, and all of this will be a fading memory. You will learn to be happy again.”

  Finally, November spoke. “I would rather you just killed me.”

  “I know,” the spy replied. “But you are far too valuable for that.” The fairy shook her head. “They don’t deserve your loyalty, seer. They have failed you, again and again, just as they failed me. If they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here, would you?” Willow carried November back to the car.

  “One more time,” she said, pulling November’s arms behind her back again and placing tape once more over her mouth. “Forgive me,” she said, pulling out a black hood and placing it over November’s head. After an initial shudder of fear in the darkness of the hood, November was almost grateful to have the privacy to weep without being seen.

  They stopped at the checkpoint by the bridge. November could hear voices as Willow convinced the guards of her identity and the value of her two pieces of cargo. She could hear the gears grinding as the bridge was lowered. They drove on for a few minutes. Finally, Willow stopped and turned off the vehicle. Strong hands lifted November out of the car. Someone placed her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and carried her a long way, first through the frigid night air and then into some kind of structure. Too terrified and exhausted to concentrate, she was unable to use her gift to peek through the bag on her head. Between the gag and the hood, she began struggling to breathe, which only added to her panic.

  Finally, after being carried down long corridors and up and down spiral staircases, she heard a door swing open, and she was deposited on a cold stone floor. Hands gently removed the black hood and swiftly ripped off the gag, drawing a loud gasp of pain. November looked up and gazed with fear into the mismatched eyes of Luka Lazzari, erstwhile Lord of Arizona.

  Chapter 14

  “Ah,” he breathed, gently grasping her chin to look in her eyes. “It is you, after all this time. I knew it. I am so glad Ilyn didn’t turn you. It would have been such a shame to have to attempt a redraining and transfusion. It can go so badly wrong.”

  She looked at him mutely, fear and pain and confusion swirling around her face. He laughed and pulled out a familiar knife of gleaming silver, inlaid with blood-darkened wood. An instinctive panic filled her at the sight of it, a blind, animal urge to flee, though flight was impossible. “Shhh,” he said, cutting the plastic ties constraining her limbs.

  It was an oddly familiar gesture. For a moment, when she looked at her hands, they looked like someone else’s. The fingernails were missing. The moment passed, and her hands were once again her own. “No fairy wounds for you today. You’re safe at home, now. Well done recovering my knife, by the way, Willow,” he said, “and for delivering her in good condition. She was in a lot worse shape the last time I found her, I must say. Though I do think the binding might have been overkill. Her wrists are badly bruised. And the gag – look at her poor skin. She’s just a human girl, after all, in body anyway.”

  He took his attention off November for a moment to rise and kiss Willow on the forehead. “I am so proud of you, my darling.”

  The fairy smiled and embraced him before answering, “Perhaps I was overcautious, but given how difficult it has been to obtain her, I thought I’d best err on that side. And I would not underestimate her, my lord. I’ve seen her do some rather improbable things.”

  “Like killing a fairy with a rosary?” He laughed again. “That was splendid, I agree. Extremely inconvenient,” he added toward November in a mock scolding tone, wagging a finger in reproach, “But still, splendid.”

  He clucked his tongue at the welts on her wrists and began massaging her dead limbs. She flinched and tried to pull away from his touch, which was, again, impossible. She tried unsuccessfully to stifle a whimper of pain as the blood began to return to her arms and legs. “It’s alright, kitten, we’ll get you warm and fed and you’ll feel much better.”

  There was a thick, woolen blanket warming by the fire. He snatched it up, wrapped his prisoner in it, lifted her as though she was a small child, and placed her in a large, high-backed chair set at a long plank table. He took the matching chair at the head of the table, just to her right. “Broth first,” he commanded.

  November hesitated for a moment. Soon, her brain caught up, and she realized that if Luka Lazzari wanted to drug or poison her, tricking her into drinking soup would hardly be necessary. It took both her shaking hands to bring the steaming mug to her lips. After a few swallows, she began to feel a bit more in command of her faculties. She was still terrified and confused and ached all over, but at least she was on the way to no longer being frozen, starved, and dehydrated. She opened her mouth and managed to rasp out, “Thank you.”

  “Oh, see how polite she is, Willow? And most humans these days are so rude. Delightful.” When November finished the broth, Luka rang a bell. A human girl in entered. She wore a simple, warm-looking, long-sleeved dress with thick stockings but no shoes. She was obviously enthralled, and November could see numerous marks from vampire bites old and new. She set the plate before November, and looked to Luka for instruction. He dismissed her with a wave, at which she curtsied and hurried out of the room as fast as possible.

  November looked down at the plate to find half a roast chicken, heavily buttered mashed potatoes, and bright sautéed green beans. The smell alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes after her ordeal in the trunk. There was a nap
kin, but no silverware.

  She forced herself to look up at her captor. “May I please have a knife and fork?” she asked softly, forcing herself to look into his mismatched eyes.

  “Oh, I’m afraid not, kitten,” he replied with a condescending smile. “We find it best not to allow our humans cutlery. It cuts down on unfortunate incidents.”

  November looked down again at the plate, fully aware that this policy was likely less a safety measure and more likely a way to humiliate her by making her feel like a savage in front him. Still, she was hungry, and she would need all her strength in the days to come. She placed the napkin in her lap and deftly tore the chicken into dainty pieces. The chicken and beans were easy enough to eat with her hands. She decided to use the bread to scoop the potatoes. She tried to eat slowly and neatly, striving to give no sign of her desperate hunger nor the hot feeling of fear that grew in her chest the more Luka studied her. She said nothing until she had eaten everything on her plate and drained the milk in the tumbler that had accompanied it. After all, if she displeased him, there was no way of knowing when the next meal would come.

  And she fully intended to displease him.

  Luka’s gaze upon her was relentless, and she wondered what he was looking for. She forced herself to look around the room, to try to see what the room could tell her about the man. The chamber appeared to be a large study. The table at which she had dined was half-covered with books and maps and papers in various languages. A large desk occupied one corner of the room, complete with laptop and tablet, and one wall was lined with bookcases. The remainder of the roughly carved stone walls were covered in many places by tapestries and paintings. There was a sitting area by the fire furnished with two heavy armchairs of brown leather with seats so deep she knew her feet wouldn’t touch the ground. The ceiling had a dome of glass in the center with a retractable cover, and the moon shone brightly down into the chamber. She finally noticed that classical music was playing from a turntable in the corner. The room seemed strangely cozy for the lair of a villain like Luka.