Silence: Part Two of Echoes & Silence

by Am Hudson

  I could feel the air moving through my lungs as if I were human—expanding them and making them ache. As much as I wanted to reserve my power for the fight with Safia, it was becoming clear that I may need to use it to escape these cells. I underestimated Drake’s guards, and that was my first mistake. I knew the girls would be okay, provided those swords weren’t venom-tipped, but I still felt bad that those who were caught would suffer a worse punishment now because of me—for at least as long as it took me to find Drake and demand he set them free.

  The arched ceiling of the old stone tunnel showed its ancient curve as we came closer to the exit. I could smell the guards up ahead, and quietly calculated our odds. Three of us, no, four, including the vampire that was running up behind us, against ten of them. The numbers had grown, and I had a feeling they would only continue to grow until every one of those girls had been caught.

  “I’m on it,” Mariam said, brushing past us like a breeze. She darted up the wall and disappeared, and as Jessica took off at a run behind her, all Melissa and I heard to follow were a few very high-pitched screams. We charged into the dim light at the end of the tunnel and, taking the scene in quickly, did exactly what the other girls before us had done. Melissa went right while I went left, and the guard drew his sword to block my attack high up, but I came in low, hooking my fingers around his manhood and tearing it from his body. The shriek of his voice matched the horror in his eyes, and even though I felt bad for him, I couldn’t help but smile and wonder why I hadn’t thought of that to begin with. What a great way to stop a vampire that you can’t kill.

  I threw the fabric-covered appendage to the floor and wiped my hand on my jeans.

  Jessica and Mariam high-fived, spots of blood spitting from their hands as they clapped, but Melissa dragged me by the arm up the stairs, denying me my victory slap.

  “No time for celebrations, my Queen,” she said. “Our window of opportunity is small.”

  As we neared the top of the steps, both of us slowed, watching the shadows of large figures dancing on the stone steps all the way down to where we stood, heavy footfalls setting our hairs on end.

  “Guards,” Melissa said. “Three of them.”

  “I’ll use my Light to shock them,” I said, readying my hands.

  As they rounded the corner and our eyes met, the first man stopped dead with a look of sheer surprise.

  “Queen Amara?” he said, his brow pinching in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was kidnapped,” I said quickly, sinking with relief that he recognised me. “Can you help us, please? We—” But my words ended short when his heart came out between his ribs, surrounded by a fist, and two beaming grins showed over the shoulders of the other two men.

  “We got ’em, your Majesty,” one of the girls said proudly.

  “Problem solved.” Christie dumped a fat, beefy heart onto the ground, flicking the remains off her hands.

  I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “Is the path clear up ahead?” Melissa asked without missing a beat.

  “All clear,” Taylor said, pushing her victim onto his face, his body jolting until it stopped a few steps down. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “There were some girls in chains back there,” I said, stepping over the heap of guards blocking my path. “You need to go down and help them.”

  “Already done,” Jessica said, coming up the stairs behind us.

  “Then let’s get you to the tower,” Melissa said, taking my arm and then looking up at the other girls. “Clear the way.”

  ***

  As I reached the tower—the only one I never entered during my stay here, because of the eerie, dark feeling I got from it—I could still hear the screams of the guards echoing in my thoughts. Those girls might not have been strong after years of suffering, might not have even had weapons, but they were clearly a lot older than many vampires I knew, and had some mad-ass skills. Of course, a bout of desperation and a burning desire for revenge helped tip the odds in their favour, and I hoped, as I pushed the door open at the base of the tower, that they all made it out safely.

  I shut the heavy wooden slab behind me, cupping my hand around the edge to slow the swing as it latched into place, blocking out what little light had entered with me. The other three towers in the castle had been modernised and were now home to large square rooms with white walls and high windows. But this tower looked to be in its original state—stone and cold and dark, and clearly holding only one room—all the way at the top.

  I stood in the square centre and looked up through the rickety wooden stairs wrapping the walls like some freaky puzzle ball or upside-down maze, fading to darkness higher up. But no matter how high this tower was, or how dark the stairwell, it couldn’t shroud the strong energy of the witch. She was up there, I could feel her. And I could feel Jase, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t feel my baby.

  With a deep breath to steady my vengeful heart, I sidestepped to the rotting stairs and started the climb.

  The strong smell of wet brick and rotting wood reminded me of the ancient cathedrals my dad used to take me to when I was little, but as each one of my steps pounded the wood slats under my feet, sending fine sprinkles of dust down to the depths below, it really reminded me more of the Roundhouse—an old first settlers’ prison in a place back home called Fremantle. It kind of made me feel safer, somehow, to make that association, and it gave me a bit of extra pep in my step as I neared the top, one hand brushing over the splintery rail to guide me in the darkness.

  Light filtered in from under the door up there, splashing down on the stairs and showing the aged blue paint. I slowed my steps as I came to the landing and made sure to lay my feet only over the support beams beneath the slats so they wouldn’t squeak.

  Inside, I could feel another being—vampire. Old vampire. But I couldn’t hear anything through the ancient chamber door, its iron hinges as stand-offish as its heavy knocker. I knew I could blast it open, but if my baby was on the other side, there’d be no telling where exactly she’d be, or if she might get hurt. So, I brought my hand up to the iron knocker and gave a solid, decisive rap three times.

  The energy from within changed—switched from that casual feel to the tightness of suspicion and alert.

  When the heavy iron latch lifted and the door groaned as it rolled open, I was actually surprised to see Safia’s now very haggard old face, and all the rumours of her paper-thin skin and flesh rotting from the inside out came to mind.

  “You aged!” I said.

  “You escaped?” she replied.

  “You’re surprised?”

  “Not at all.” She stood back and opened the door fully, offering me entry. “I was on my way to retrieve you, but, since you’re here—” Her body cleared a path for me then, and through a room of herbs and small bottles on heavy shelves, my vision tunnelled to a giant blond man with a tiny baby in his arms, “—we can begin,” she finished.

  Chapter Twelve

  Taking the last step, I was immediately enveloped by the grassy smell of pungent herbs and steam, my imagination meeting its match as my eyes explored the room: a giant wooden ring hung down from the stone ceiling, the candles flickering in the breeze from the glassless window, and on almost every wall dried plants hung down like prisoners, curtaining heavy shelves, over-stacked with old books, jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes. There were two old wooden tables—one by a bookshelf on the back wall, covered in scrolls and stone mixing bowls, and the other by a roaring fire, doubling as a bed to the body of a seemingly unconscious man.

  Playing it cool, I directed my gaze to the baby, quickly scanning her body and the man’s hands for any signs of turmoil. She seemed fine, as far as I could tell—still clothed in her blue jump-suit, her white Peter Rabbit blanket keeping her warm. “Give her to me,” I demanded in my most authoritative voice, holding my hands out.

  “You have nothing to fear from Hans,” Safia said, closing the door
with a thud that echoed out in the stairwell. “He is as gentle as he is giant. He will not harm her without my command to do so.”

  My heart quickened, the breath sticking in my throat, raw with the stink of too many plants in one space. I forced myself to stay calm, showing no fear or anxiety, turning my attention then to the body on the tabletop. “Is that Jason?”

  “Come.” She hobbled up the small stone step, leading me closer. “See for yourself.”

  In the seconds it took my eyes to pass around the cluttered square room, I quickly sized it up and then blocked everything out again, focusing instead on the dark-haired boy, laying with his arms and legs spread wide, tied to the table with ropes.

  Safia moved to the other table, where Hans sat on a stool, my sleeping daughter in his arms, and continued with the work she was clearly doing before I interrupted.

  “Go on,” she prompted, motioning with a head gesture and a long arm to Jason. “Touch him if you like; he’s not going to bite.”

  Hans and Safia laughed among themselves.

  As I moved to Jason’s side, I scanned every inch of his body for damage. There was an almond-shaped rip in his jeans on his upper thigh, a rim of aged blood dried around it; his shoes were missing, his bare toes a good colour, and his dark blue shirt—the one he’d been wearing Christmas Night—was still as perfect as when he first put it on, straight out of his suitcase. Aside from the darker circles of sweat under his arms.

  My head whipped up to look at Safia. “What did you do to him?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently. “He looks to be in perfect health to me.”

  “He’s sweating,” I said, just barely containing a surge of panic. “Vampires sweat from emotional exertion. Not physical. What the hell did you do to him?”

  The witch picked up a vile of red liquid and swirled it around like wine in a glass, running it under her nose a few times to get a good sniff. “He has suffered,” she said casually, tossing the liquid back, making a sour face as it slipped down her throat. She swallowed a few times, her throat shaking, and then stood tall again, straightening the front of the ancient gold and black dress she was wearing. My eyes slowly took the gown in with admiration, picturing her standing in a time centuries before this—as a woman of great power. But as the gaze slowly travelled back up to her face, my eyes refused to believe that her wrinkled skin and sagging cheeks suddenly became supple and soft, the signs of ageing reversing right there like she’d been Photoshopped.

  I took a purposeful step back as I realised what she’d been drinking—that the vial of red was filled with the blood of my children.

  “I was forced to extract what I need from him by force,” she said, still trying to clear her throat. “And with the help of my old companion Hans, this poor boy was put through quite an ordeal, wouldn’t you say, Hans?”

  Hans gave a wicked, self-satisfied grin.

  Safia looked back at me, pinning up loose strands of her white hair to make it neat. “Hans has a preference for pretty boys,” she told me, smiling wickedly. “And his extraction methods are somewhat… cruel,” she added suggestively.

  My lungs emptied of air. “What, exactly, did you extract from him?”

  “His semen.” She patted his ankle as she walked over to stand beside him. “For in case you refuse to help me.”

  My knees went weak. I forced myself to stand tall, not to show any emotion for Jason at all. If she knew how much it hurt me to think of what he’d suffered, she would hurt him further. Except it wouldn’t work. Because I knew what she wanted. And Jason could suffer a thousand days like this one but it would still not make me give Safia my baby.

  “Help you what?” I asked, just to be clear.

  “You have all fought me for centuries—tried to stop my daughter being reincarnated in her exact form.” She picked up a metal poker from the table beside Jason, its tip stained red with blood. “And I wish to fight no longer.”

  “Then give me my baby, and Jason, and let us go.”

  “You may take the boy.” She angled the poker to look down it, touching the tip with her finger, and it was only then that I noticed the red and black stain around Jason’s nose—the pieces coming together suddenly as I realised what she’d used that for, and how it was she rendered him so unconscious. “But you will first do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Move the soul of Eve from your daughter, and replace it with the soul of Anandene.”

  I laughed. “Um, how about no.”

  “I thought you might say that.” She laid the poker down again and walked around the table to me. “I mean you no harm, Amara. I, like any mother, simply want to see my daughter again. She is all I have left of my children.” Her hand landed softly over her stomach then. “My second born, Callon, is long dead now—and his birth rendered my womb useless. I can bear no more children.”

  “So you want mine?”

  “I wanted my daughter, an exact copy of her—a witch, but in an immortal form—only possible through birth,” she explained. “But, I will settle for another baby, bearing her soul.”

  “I’m not just going to give you my baby.”

  “Think of it as a means to an end,” she reasoned. “You will be free; I will kindly undo the curse on your womb—you can have more children.” Her hand gently gripped my upper arm and she looked into me with kind but desperate black eyes. “Let me have my daughter back—my daughter whom I promised I would resurrect as an immortal, so that we can spend eternity together.”

  “Look.” I brushed her hand off my arm. “I get it. I do. But it changes nothing. That’s my baby, and I won’t leave here without her.”

  “If you insert the soul of my daughter into her body, she will no longer be your baby. You can go in peace, knowing she will be loved, and you and your subsequent children, perhaps a little boy—” she patted my belly, “—will be safe and happy.”

  “Safe and happy?” I raised one brow, flicking her hand away. “Even if I was insane enough to agree, you do realise that Walter is still out there. He will not stop until Anandene, and anyone that can become her, is dead.”

  When her mouth moved on one side into that crass smile, her eyes sweeping mischievously to the right, I suddenly didn’t feel so sure that Walter was a threat to her. “That idiot made the same mistake you did—leaving the manor.”

  “What have you done with him?”

  “I took care of him—like the problem he was.” She walked back to the table of scrolls and potions.

  “He was supposed to be mine!” I demanded, moving subtly closer to the window, making it look as though I was following her. “I had plans for his traitorous head.”

  “Mounted on display, I presume.” Safia drew a heavy book from the shelf, then spun around to face me. “You are most welcome to his head. Although, if you do not help me, you will not be around to enjoy the way it sinks on the pike as it decays.”

  “You’re wrong, you know. You won’t win.” I took one step closer, setting my jaw. “Centuries have gone by, with you standing at the head of this nightmare, playing the puppeteer, and it’s time I stopped you.”

  “You?” She laughed derisively. “And how could a mere Lilithian hope to stop a powerful, ancient sorceress?”

  “Probably a lot easier than you can convince a mother to give up her daughter.”

  Her eyes went cold. “Then I suppose it is time for a different approach.”

  My heels fixed to the ground steadily in preparation for whatever she might throw at me, but instead of attacking, like I expected, she laid the heavy book aside and carried a stone bowl over to Jason, dipping her fingers in to scoop out a clump of brown goo.

  “What is that?” I asked nervously, looking sideways at Hans, trying to spot a weak point in his grip on my daughter so I could prise her from his hands and leap out the window.

  “It’s the last coat of a powerful remedy that, when combined with the singular word of a spell, will link this boy
to another.”

  “Link him?” I took a step closer. “Link him to who?”

  “His brother,” she said, slipping her hand up his shirt and wiping the goo down his stomach.

  “Get off him!” I raced forward and shoved her away, quickly using my sleeve to mop up the goo.

  Safia laughed, shaking her hands off, the brown stuff flicking all around the room and sticking to the wall and the stone mantle over the fireplace. “It’s too late. I need but only one word to activate the spell, and every cut, every ache, every strike to his fresh will be mirrored upon his brother’s. They will both suffer.”

  My world slipped swiftly out from under my feet then. I felt incredibly unsteady knowing just how easy it would be for her to hurt David right now.

  “But you can stop it.” She grabbed the edge of the table and used it to move herself around to me again. “With one kind act for an old witch, you can end all of this madness. Give me my daughter back.” She clutched onto my shoulders, looking up into my eyes as if she were begging on her knees. “Give me back what I have longed for for so many centuries.”

  My eyes flicked to Jason. One word from her and he was linked to David. One word and she could hurt David no matter where he was. One word from me, and this could end. I could feel the love I had for Jason once filling me up, forcing a bubble of regret so thick down my throat that it was hard to breathe. But no matter what had been done to him, no matter what she might do to him if I snatched my daughter and escaped, I couldn’t, and would never let that alter my decision. I loved Jason once. And I couldn’t imagine living without David. but I would not live without my daughter.

  Safia’s eyes changed, shrinking with amusement, as she noticed my fixed attention on Jason. She glanced back at him, standing tall again. “Would you like to know whose name he called when Hans extracted his seed?”

  “It won’t work,” I said quietly, balling my fists.

  “Would you like to know who he cried for when he was molested repeatedly by another man?”