The thoughts of three guards rushed into my mind. My adrenaline throttled and power surged through me, boiling beneath my skin. Reaching in the deep pockets of my black tiered dress, I wrapped my fingers around the matchbox. I stood still, my breathing fast and shallow as I scanned the area for a place to hide.
It was too late. They were marching toward me. Cool breath prickled the flesh on the back of my neck, and I spun around. The speed of my movement surprised not only me but also the Cruor who had crept up behind me.
His eyebrows pulled together, first in confusion, then the lines deepening into fury. Another Cruor approached from the other direction. Placing the distance of each elemental was becoming easier.
I lit a match, and the first Cruor laughed.
A match? he thought. How pathetic. “What’s that for?”
“This?” My heart was thumping in my stomach, but now was not the time to show fear. “This is for you.”
I tossed the match and reached out with my hand to hold the flame in the air. No depletion of energy, but the Cruor had me outnumbered.
“What . . . ” His eyes widened.
The match distracted him, but the other Cruor rushed toward me. I stepped aside and spread my hands apart. The fire grew, creating a web between them, catching them both on fire. They screamed, but the crackle of fire soon overtook their cries. Smoke burned my nostrils, and, with surprising speed, their bodies reduced to ashes.
I’d killed two men.
I’d killed them, and I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel anything. No gut reaction, no moment of guilt. I was responsible for these deaths, and all I could do was stand there, frozen for a moment, hoping I wasn’t such an empty shell of a person that my actions meant nothing.
The third Cruor wasn’t dressed like the others. His hair was slicked back and he wore a plain black suit with a black dress shirt underneath. He clapped his hands slowly as he circled the scene.
“Quite a show,” he said. Clap. Clap. Clap. “I especially love the costume. This dark look works well for you. Have you considered Broadway?”
I pushed into his thoughts. Nothing. My breaths burst in and out.
“Yes, that’s a neat trick, too.” His face was an unreadable mask—blank, empty, callous. He took another step closer and crossed his arms. “Now that I know your gifts, they will be of no use to you.”
I recognized him then. He’d sent the Cruor after me at Club Flesh; he’d been the one Ivory had asked to stage my attack. Marcus. I hadn’t seen him up close before, but I was certain. And, clearly, he recognized me as well. My new hairstyle and dark make-up had been enough to disguise me in a crowd, but perhaps it’d been too much to expect it would help me here.
“What are you?” I asked. Being able to prevent me from using my powers went beyond the abilities of the Cruor.
Marcus tilted his head back and scoffed. “Your question—it offends me. Let us skip the formalities, shall we?”
In an instant, he was standing a hair’s breadth away. He glared over my shoulder. “Seems you’ve killed my brothers.” His gaze lowered, burning into my eyes. I went to strike another match, but he knocked my arm away and gritted his teeth. “Enough games.”
He grabbed my arm just as Thalia strode around the corner. I couldn’t read her at all now.
Her heels clicked along the slate floor as she approached. “Oh, how wonderful, Marcus. Goody me. You’ve found her.”
Marcus turned his glare to her. “She found us.” He ended his sentence with a sound of disgust and thrust me toward Thalia. “Just take her.”
He turned and headed down the hall, a ring of keys jangling at his side.
“Confiscate her matches,” he called behind him as he disappeared into the shadows.
Thalia grabbed hold of my elbow, and I yanked fruitlessly against her grasp.
“I see you’ve met our disabler,” she said. Her hair smelled like lemons and soil. My stomach lurched. She tightened her grip, laughing, and reached in my pocket to retrieve the box of matches. “Guess you don’t need these.”
As she pushed me forward, I leaned back, refusing to walk the direction she urged. Another Cruor approached. Something pricked my neck.
Everything blurred.
No.
I fought to hold onto consciousness, but my muscles weakened. I sank to the floor, Thalia’s elbows hooked under my armpits.
Her voice was there, somewhere, woolen and dreamlike.
“Take her.”
I BLINKED MY EYES OPEN. No iron bars. A steel door. A caged light flickered overhead. Mildew spores branched across the bottom of the walls like varicose veins. I heard a distant coughing—a Strigoi being held prisoner. Not Charles. I tried to rub my forehead, but my hands wouldn’t move. Someone had roped me to a chair.
The doorknob rattled, then stilled.
An unfamiliar voice echoed through the door. “Turning her would be of use.”
“You don’t know her.” This time, the voice was Thalia’s.
“I’ll send Marcus.”
The door opened. As Thalia entered, her black robes brushed the floor. Her hair was tamer than usual, her expression colder and her violet eyes brighter.
“I would just as soon have you killed,” she said, “but I suppose it will still happen. Only more painfully.”
This was all she said before leaving.
MY CLAIRAUDIENCE came and went in waves. Marcus was disabling me, though perhaps sometimes he was too far away to do so effectively.
When I had a new surge, I sent my clairaudience out to the Maltorim’s main room. Thoughts echoed inside my head—Thalia and Callista I recognized, but no one else. They had with them a human girl, one who would not make it through the night. I pushed my fear for her aside. I couldn’t help, only listen.
“If any of you object, you are free to leave,” Callista said. Her words were a lie. No one was free to go anywhere if they didn’t agree with her, and they knew as much.
“You have my utter and complete loyalty,” Thalia replied.
“Give it a rest, Thalia. I knew of Charles long before you came to me.”
“Oh?” Thalia sounded hurt to the ears of a quiet Cruor whose mind I had tapped into. “How is that?”
“You know my source.”
“Ivory?”
“She contacted me a month back and told me of his nature. Along with the location of the Liettes.”
Thalia didn’t believe her but dared not accuse the Queen of lying. “She’s gone now,” she said instead, barely-suppressed anger coloring her voice. “I’m here. And I am the one who told you of the girl. Ivory was keeping her from you.”
“It’s of no consequence,” Callista retorted. “We have but one goal. Ultimately, we protect ourselves and therefore the human race as a whole.”
I couldn’t believe Ivory had involved the Maltorim. I was only thankful she hadn’t told them where Charles lived, but that was likely only because she didn’t want them to find me.
As Callista spoke, conflicting thoughts echoed from those around her. Most were completely loyal while others knew her for the hypocrite she was. Save the humans—but kill them when she wanted to feed on their blood? Over the years, Callista had done her part to ensure a Maltorim comprised entirely of Cruor. Her loyalties lay with protecting her own kind, and she believed the longer they waited, the faster the dual-breeds would grow in number.
“We have the upper hand now,” Callista continued, “and we must extinguish the remaining dual-breeds at once if we want to send a message of zero tolerance. They will only replenish in number, and I don’t think I need to tell you all the dangers that would pose.”
Almost everyone in the room agreed with her final sentiment.
I allowed more thoughts to filter in. One member carefully watched everyone’s actions, and I included her thoughts in my focus. She thought differently—mostly in patterns and pictures—but her mind seemed blank of emotion or reaction. She
was mentally filing every spoken word and every Cruor’s move.
Callista’s very own stenographer.
I closed my eyes, and the stenographer’s vision played on the insides of my eyelids.
“I hate to be contrary, my Queen,” a young male Cruor said, “but the Universe—”
“Oh, please. Surely you jest?”
“It’s only that—”
“It’s nothing! The Universe is nothing—they have failed time and again. This is our chance.”
No one dared interrupt.
“The Universe has no answers. I have the answers. Cloning has brought forth new opportunities, and we are decades further in our advancements than even the top scientists in the world. We will come forth with our cures for disease, and the humans will welcome us with open arms. No longer will we need to live in the shadows. Humans will sacrifice their blood to us in thanks.”
“But the witches—”
Callista whipped around. In one movement, she broke a leg off a chair and dove across the room, plunging the wood into the young Cruor’s heart. To me, her movements were all a blur, pausing at the final result: her body hovering over his as his veins turned visibly black, his body crumbling to dust, a broken chair toppling behind her. Callista’s eyes held a murderous glint, and her mouth twisted in a cruel smile. But all that quickly melted away, a resolute calm reclaiming her features.
She stood, the stake in her hand hanging limply at her side. Blood dripped in small splatters to the floor, turning to ash like a flicked cigarette. “Does anyone else object?”
Everyone looked away except the stenographer.
“As for these witches—do not doubt me. We will find them and they will join us,” Callista said. “Starting with Sophia. We will guide her into fully realizing her gifts and using them to protect our kind.” She gave each Cruor in the room a long stare. None of them made eye contact, though most were devoted to the cause. “She will come around.”
I shook my head. In the human world, genocide wasn’t acceptable. In the world I knew, people at least felt bad for hurting others or feared repercussions.
But not here.
SOMEONE LAUGHED outside my cell door, and I shuddered. Marcus. I’d spent the last few hours sinking into the recesses of my mind. Already dead. With him near, the elemental thoughts quieted, no longer accessible. Damn disabler. There had to be some way around his gift-thwarting ability.
He unlocked the chamber and strolled in. “I sensed something about you that night at Club Flesh,” he said casually. “Not quite human . . . and yet, not quite one of us.”
I flinched one shoulder in a defensive shrug.
“Now I know what it is. Your soul doesn’t belong to you. You’ve merely inherited it. How easy then to sacrifice it for something more.” He paused a moment, then added in awe, “A forever girl. Yes, the Queen has told us all about you. I’m always telling her what a shame it is we don’t keep more Strigoi with us, if for nothing other than reading auras on our behalf. We would have invited you here sooner, had we known.”
When I didn’t respond, he pulled from his pocket the matchbox Thalia had taken from me earlier. “You like fire?”
I pressed my lips together.
“That’s okay. I don’t mind doing the talking.” He flipped my box of matches in his hand. “Did you know, in some parts of the world, they used to burn witches?”
He looked at me, as if expecting a response. Or maybe my silence was all he expected.
“Yep, burned them.” He drew his eyebrows together, glanced up, and tapped his index finger against his cheek. The gesture looked rehearsed, as though all this was a game to him. My stomach churned.
“Canada. That’s it,” he said, nodding. “They definitely burned witches in Canada.”
“Idiot,” I rasped.
Suddenly, he was crouched at my side, lifting a cup of water to my mouth and helping me take a sip. “There she is.” He patted my cheek a couple times before standing up again. “Denmark.”
I swallowed. Why was he telling me all this?
“I was there,” he said, his interest returning to the matches in hand. “In Denmark, I mean. I was there when they burned the witches. Have you ever smelled the burning flesh of a human?” He laughed. “They thought they were burning witches, anyway. Thought they were burning the Strigoi and Cruor and all other elemental beings. But here we are. It was only the innocent who died. This is why we need our wars. This is why Callista needs you. You wouldn’t want any more innocents to die, would you?”
“Innocents are dying.” Did he really not get this? “Your Maltorim is the one killing them.”
He set the box of matches on the floor. I didn’t need to read his mind to know he was mocking me.
“See you soon, Sophia,” he sang as he left the room.
MARCUS RETURNED what might have been days later. The ropes were digging valleys into my chest, arms, wrists, shins, and ankles. I gritted my teeth against the dull, never-ending ache around the edges of the rope where my skin had swelled. My dried tears stiffened on my face, and snot ran down to my lips. I hated how pathetic I must have looked.
He pulled a table and chair into the room and sat with a plate of food. He cut a piece of steak and bit it off the fork.
“You like steak?” he asked, chewing.
I didn’t reply.
He spit out the steak and jumped to his feet, toppling the table over. The plate shattered by my feet, startling me. “Do. You. Like. Steak?”
My heart rate ratcheted up, and I couldn’t stop shaking.
Immediately, he calmed. “Forget it. I used to like steak.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the room. Then he was kneeling in front of me again, shards of the broken plate cutting into his knees. “Life as a Cruor is not so bad.” He grinned. “Kind of fun.”
I tried to appear unaffected but likely failed to grand proportions. “These killings won’t help your cause.”
“Won’t it, though? Tell me: would you give up America?”
“I don’t see what—”
“Do you know nothing of history?” He was up, pacing again. “Your kind killed the Indians so you could have your country. Your freedom. We kill the dual-natured so we can have our lives. You are asking us to give up our very existence.” He stopped, snapping his glare toward me. “You think we haven’t tried another way? What do you suggest?”
He didn’t wait for me to respond—just resumed pacing. “Do you not realize that many of the humans killed over the years were killed because of the dual-breeds? Should we allow them to expose our kind—destroy the perfect balance and risk the lives of humans and Earth itself?”
“This has nothing to do with Earth,” I said.
These people were all brainwashed. Humans hadn’t been killed because of the dual-breeds. How could the Maltorim know so much about science, and still be blind to basic scientific truths? Had no one told them correlation doesn’t equal causation? Had they not been able to figure that out for themselves?
“You may not see now,” Marcus said, “but this is an absolute truth. It’s everywhere, all the time. Your ability to understand is irrelevant.”
“Steven Robiner,” I whispered. I was fairly certain this wasn’t what Mr. Robiner had in mind when he was discussing his philosophy.
“So you are familiar?”
“Hardly with your understanding.”
Marcus smirked. “Given your situation, we will have to agree to disagree.” He turned to stare at the wall.
Desperately, I pushed for access to his mind, but he’d completely disabled my ability.
“I was trying to . . . what’s the word? Relate?” He walked up beside me and caressed my cheek with the crook of his finger, his skin cold and abrasive. From someone else, the gesture might have been soothing, but from him it was repulsive. “Callista wants to turn you. This will be much easier if you agree.”
“No.”
“
I figured you’d say that. I might be able to help you, though.” He lit a match and grasped my wrist. “If you want to be turned, I can give you some anesthetics for this part.”
This couldn’t be happening.
“Since you’ll no longer age, it helps to remove fingerprints first.” Still holding the match between his forefinger and thumb, he fanned three of his fingers—no prints. “See? Smooth as silk. Humans cannot track us.”
Maybe I could distract him. “Oh?” My voice cracked. “I didn’t know that.”
He smiled. “Stumbled on the idea by accident. Two birds, one stone.”
“Why don’t you tell me more about it?”
“Sure.”
I breathed out a slow, heavy breath as the match burned down to his fingers. He tossed it to the ground. Sulfur rose from the concrete in a meandering stream of smoke.
He lit another. “I’ll tell you while we finish up here.”
His words sucked away my hope, and I gasped, the air in the room sharp at the bottom of my lungs. The fire seared my fingertips, and I screamed. I screamed and I heard myself screaming, but there was only blinding pain. I tried to summon my power, tried to focus my energy on reversing the fire, to use it against him. But I had nothing left.
{twenty-eight}
MY BURNT FINGERTIPS still seared with pain, but I had no tears left to cry. A chalky, sour film coated my lips and tongue, and vomit drenched the front of my shirt. Marcus had set the rope on fire earlier, letting it burn my flesh before dousing and retying me, but now I needed to summon my strength.
Maybe if I accepted their offer—if I joined them—I would be close enough to show them another way, show them they didn’t need these genocides.
How many of my thoughts were born from logic and how many from fear? Where did my beliefs lay? Was I just as bad as the Maltorim—just as bad as everything I’d ever hated?
Whatever you do, fight.
How I hated that sentiment right now. I didn’t feel like fighting, but I didn’t feel like dying, either.
With a deep breath to steel myself against the pain, I fought against the rope. I whimpered through my teeth as I wriggled one of my hands free.
When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set Page 81
