For better or for worse.
82
Captured
Bryce awoke to a continuous throbbing in his temples that echoed into the very fillings of his teeth. This was worse than his hangover after the carnival. He tried to lift his hands to cradle the insistent pounding, maybe push it back in, but his hands were bound. He winced as he moved. Tiny, burning flecks of pain flashed across his chest, back and arms. It was like he had paper cuts all over his body. The scent of fresh blood wafted into his nostrils.
He looked around with pain-bleary eyes and saw the top of Nate’s slumped, brown head behind him. They were chained together in the center of a colonial church; probably the one Abby and Nate had told him about. The church had been partially reclaimed by the surrounding forest, the most striking evidence of which was a massive oak tree growing through one wall. Beams of sunlight stirred dust motes in the air.
He heard a soft groan from behind him, Nate was coming around. They were sitting back-to-back on an altar. They had been stripped to their underpants, and symbols had been drawn on them in blood, their own blood. The rest of the church was empty, though every now and again, he swore he could hear a few footsteps scraping over stone.
“Whu… wh… what’s going on?”
“You okay, Baxter?”
“I think so. But my head… everything hurts.”
“That’s good. I mean, they knock me out, it’s like whatever. No damage done. But you’ve actually got some brains in there. They hit you hard enough and you’ll have to take up football to get to college.”
“What?” Nate was baffled.
“I figure these old biddies never got a chance to see a couple young studs like us. I’m thinking there are going to be some nudie shots of us online tomorrow.”
“Bryce, what are you talking about? We’ve been kidnapped and they are going to eat us. You think I’m worried about showing my junk on Twitter?”
That’s right, Nate, Bryce thought. Get that adrenaline moving. Get that big brain working. Bryce needed him present if they were going to survive this. “Well, pardon me, Baxter. I didn’t know you swung that deep. But good on you, man.”
Bryce heard and felt the steady rattling of chains. “How freaking hard did they hit you?” Nate snapped. “We have to get out of here.”
“Save your strength. These chains are serious. All you’re going to do is cut your wrists up.”
Nate growled with frustration and slammed his chains against the ground. “Stupid! We are so damn stupid. They control the press, the cops, the banks, and a private army of weird sea creatures. How the hell did we think we could stop all of that with some old newspapers and fireworks?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m the pretty one.”
Nate laughed. It was coarse and tinged with bitterness, but it was something. “That you are, Coffin. That you are.”
Nate sighed, and leaned against him. Bryce could feel the top of Nate’s head brushing the back of his neck. Just as he was thinking about how very small Nate actually was, he felt the quiet shuddering and shaking of suppressed sobs. He might be able to cripple an upperclassman with his bare hands, but he was still just a little kid. Hell, they both were. Just because he had a driver’s license didn’t mean he was ready to face this kind of horror.
“I hated you for that, you know,” Nate whispered. “I hated you so much for that.”
“For what? Being pretty?”
“For making me invisible.” Nate drew a long, quivering breath. “It didn’t matter what I did for her or how much I wanted it to be different. When you were around… Abby didn’t see anyone else.”
Bryce gritted his teeth. “Really? You want to do this now?” He tried to turn his head but the chains held him fast. “I’m sorry she didn’t pick you, okay? But I didn’t steal her. Being her BFF and knowing her your whole life doesn’t give you any eminent domain. She’s not your property.”
“Bryce.” Nate’s voice was still on the shaky side.
“And you probably never even told her! She didn’t choose me, I’m just the only one who ever bothered asking her!”
“Bryce!”
“What?!”
“You’re right.”
“What?” Bryce’s sudden rage was subsumed by utter confusion.
“You’re right. I haven’t been fair to myself, Abby or you. I thought…I thought she wanted you for the same reason every other girl does. Because of how you look. I was wrong.”
Nate leaned back into Bryce. He sniffed.
“Now, pay attention because I’m only saying this once and because we’re going to die soon. But you’re not just the pretty one. You’re more than your money and your looks. You’re the real thing. And when it comes to boyfriends… I guess Abby could do a lot worse.”
Bryce felt a sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah… well, full disclosure. When it comes to best friends, there’s no way Abby could do better.”
Bryce leaned back into Nate with squared shoulders. They both drew strength and comfort from the shared contact as they took deep breaths. Bryce closed his eyes. He pictured Abby and smiled as he thought how pleased she would be to know how he and Nate were getting along.
The front doors of the church boomed open. A column of women came walking in, each of them with a manservant at their backs. When they looked at the two boys in chains, it was only with the mild interest of a well-fed snake regarding its next meal. He saw Charity Duckworth; Ophelia Thomas and her doughy mother; and Corrine Marks. Hester Thorndike was at the front of the group. Her pinched face fluttered with an embryonic grin.
“Oh God,” Nate whispered in terror.
“Good morning, ladies. I hope you forgive us for not standing; I’m not especially familiar with ritualistic murder etiquette. Are you guys gonna bone us, like, one at a time… or all at once? Because if we have a say in the batting order, I’d like to put in my requests now.”
“What in the freaking hell are you trying to do?” Nate hissed.
“If you could try and move the fatties and hags to the back of the line, I would super-appreciate it. I’m sure you know where you can stick yourself, Mrs. Thorndike.”
Instead of fixing him with a rage-filled glower, Hester just smiled and moved to the side, revealing the woman behind her.
Bryce’s voice trailed off.
Marianne Coffin didn’t look at him. Her eyes were glassier than usual, and she swayed badly as she walked.
Hester began to chuckle.
83
To the Church
Mr. Harris drove up to the house. Harwich Hall looked empty, but that was no guarantee of anything. For all Abby knew, Hester and Constance were waiting just inside the lounge, waiting for her to return.
She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and suddenly the house was green-black, covered in the same mold that was taking over dollhouse. It lasted a few moments before returning to normal. With another twinge, she was back to seeing with her eyes.
“Let’s go.”
“What about your grandmother?” Sindy said with a fearful look at the house.
“She’s already gone.” Abby tried to sound confident. She turned to Mr. Harris. “Be quick, all right?”
“As fast as I can,” he said.
She gave him a brave smile. Her teacher, a monster, and an ally amidst all the strangeness. Abby got out of the car, doing her best to conceal just how difficult that was. She felt like she had an armchair strapped to her belly. Her feet complained. Her ankles burned.
As Sindy joined Abby on the street, she took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. They went through the gate and approached the house cautiously, ready for the door to burst open at any second. They made their way around the side and Abby immediately felt better.
She opened the door that led into a hallway and listened. No sounds came from the house. On the one hand, the house being empty meant they were safe for the moment. On the other hand, it meant the Daughters had already left for the church. They were
running out of time.
They went into the kitchen and down into the cellar. The secret door was open. Whether this was through forgetfulness, intent, or invitation, Abby did not know. She took Sindy’s hand again and they plunged into the tunnel together. She knew that she could not allow her friends to languish one second longer than necessary.
They made no effort to move silently and their feet scuffed along the stones, pulling whispering echoes from the wall. The passageway slithered outward, and on the last slight wave, Abby came to a stop. Sindy ran right into her back but knew enough to keep quiet. Ahead, haloed in the dark circle at the mouth of the passage, were two figures. Abby saw them as they were. Croatan. They faced outward.
“What now?” Sindy whispered.
Abby only shrugged. She probably should have expected guards, but they’d come into this blind. Maybe they could backtrack to the house and get some kind of weapon? Knock these two out? It was as ridiculous and desperate as the rest of their not-plan.
“I can hear your eyes blink. Whispering will do you no good,” said one of the voices.
“Oh no,” Sindy hissed.
The two Crows turned and peered into the passage. Their silvery eyes reflected blind light from the moon.
“Eleazar?” Sindy said.
“Hello, Sindy. Thanks for bringing Abby. Why don’t you just grab her arm and we’ll all head up to the church?”
Abby looked at her friend in horror. Sindy’s eyes were wide and her mouth was slack. Her arm came up, hypnotized, ready to grab Abby’s arm.
“Sindy!” Abby said in shock.
Sindy jumped. “What?” She looked at her own hand and yanked it back as if it belonged to a stranger. Eleazar began moving toward them, his mouth pulled up in a terrible snarl. Sindy looked back and forth between him and Abby, then put her hand up in his direction.
“Stay away from us!”
The Crow halted in his tracks. He didn’t even try to move. A bolt ripped through Abby’s belly. She groaned, clutching at it. The tunnel turned black, glistening with oily slime. It was alive, somehow, and the mouth was the only way out. Fleshy protuberances had enclosed Eleazar’s ankles. He was ensnared by the floor and Sindy’s command.
The world shimmered back to normal, freeing Abby’s perception. She was about to call to Sindy, but her friend was already on it.
“Eleazar, stop your friend.”
Eleazar tore his legs free and whirled on his friend and savaged him with two swift swipes. He stood over the fallen Crow before straightening up to address Sindy. “Anything else, Mistress?”
“Go to the entrance and make sure it’s clear.”
Abby looked at her friend with wide, shaking eyes. “How did you do that?”
“It’s a long story,” Sindy said.
“Why is he doing what you say?”
Sindy grinned. There was a certain light in her eyes that made Abby squirm. “Because I am a Daughter of Arkham.”
Now was not the time to get into it. Until Mr. Harris showed up-if he showed up-Eleazar was their only ally. The fact that his loyalty was somehow compelled rather than freely given could be addressed later, assuming there was a later.
“It’s clear,” Eleazar whispered.
Abby and Sindy made it up to the entrance and peered out. The forest was dark and quiet. They couldn’t see the church, only a few diffuse lights between the trunks that hinted where the church might be. Abby felt the presence as she had felt the last time she was here, the sense that the forest did not want her here. The Woodsman, Nate had called it. She wondered if the others felt it, or if it was some fell spirit they had conjured to protect them.
“Come on,” Abby whispered.
The three of them went up the winding path through the trees. Eleazar took the lead. Abby felt eyes on her from above. She wanted to ascribe some kind of human feeling to that gaze, even something like amusement or anger, but she could not. It was only an immediate, menacing hunger.
They emerged from the thicket. The church was just ahead. Flickering light spilled from its windows and the cracks in its walls. The light made the big oak look like it was on fire. There were no more Crows outside. Abby imagined they would be inside with their mistresses, ready to fight if it was necessary. She thought the best way in might be the gap that the oak tree had torn in the wall. She hoped it was big enough to admit her.
And then what? She had no plan. No way of taking on the Daughters. Maybe they should just wait for Mr. Harris and his friends…
“What now?” Sindy asked, giving voice to Abby’s doubts.
“Let’s see where Bryce and Nate are first, then we can figure it out.”
“They’re up on the altar,” Eleazar said. “Chained to the floor.”
Abby blinked at the Crow.
“Uh… thanks, Laze. Grant. Laze Grant… Eleazar.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.”
Abby shook her head and led the way up the hill. The forest was silent. She hoped to hear the clamor of Mr. Harris and his “apostate” croatan coming through the woods, but there was nothing, not even savage song of the forest.
Abby approached the crack in the church. The candlelight dyed everything gold. It would have been warm if not for the terrifying cold within. She approached the crack, ready to look inside to see what she could see when she heard a surprised gasp and then a gurgle.
She turned to see Eleazar Grant bleeding from the mouth, the scarlet point of a knife protruding from his ribs. Bertram stood behind him. He held his hand over Eleazar’s mouth as he gave the knife a final twist, then he yanked it out, letting Eleazar collapse to the ground in a heap.
“Good, the guests of honor have arrived.”
Hester Thorndike stood off to the side, flanked by more Crows, her hand on Sindy’s shoulder. Sindy’s face was drained of color, her blue eyes wide. She shook with horror.
“Bring them inside.”
84
The Mother of
All Daughters
Bertram clapped a strong hand on Abby’s shoulder and forced her into a chair. There was a short table set up on the altar, and below, a longer table that looked like something out of Game of Thrones. Sindy was two chairs away. She sat in petrified silence, unshed tears wobbling in her eyes. Constance was next to Abby. She stared ahead, offering no support. Faith Endicott was doing the same for Sindy. In front of them, Bryce and Nate were chained, stripped, and covered in bloody runes.
“Mom!” Abby whispered. “You can’t let them do this. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Abby. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Nothing you can do?”
“When this is all over, you’ll be one of us. Then I promise, everything will be better.”
“Nothing you can do?!”
Constance refused to answer. Servants spread through the room, carrying trays of wine glasses. Each of the Daughters claimed a glass of the red cordial and drank deeply, their faces melting in ecstasy.
Hester hobbled up onto the dais and took her place at the center of the table. She didn’t sit. Abby had never had particularly warm feelings toward her grandmother, but they were still family. She’d assumed their blood bond would be enough to keep her from the worst of Hester’s wrath.
Clearly, that was not the case.
Hester Thorndike controlled the room as surely as if she had all the Daughters in chains. Everyone gazed at Hester with the same adoring, respectful eyes-the people she knew in school, her mother’s contemporaries, the dowagers of Arkham… All of them.
“Tradition,” Hester began, strong and clear, “is the backbone of our society. The power of tradition gives us the bonds of family that make us strong. It is that strength that has allowed us to last these many centuries.”
Hester swept a look around the room before she settled on Abby. “My own granddaughter Abigail has already shown her lack of respect for tradition, for propriety, and for her own body by allowing herself to become ruined.”
A disap
pointed murmur rippled through the assemblage.
“She must be brought into the fold. It is only through the power of our society that we can help her become the woman she should be. We must do this tonight, before the child is born.”
Everyone, save Abby and Sindy, nodded in agreement. Abelard brought a tray bearing a single wine glass to Abby. She pushed back in the seat, but Bertram held her fast. He lifted one of the glasses and gripped her hair, locking her head in place. “Drink.”
Abby tried to tear free but Abelard grabbed her face, grinding her cheeks into her teeth as he forced her jaw open. Bertram poured the wine into her mouth. Most of it spilled down her chest but Abby couldn’t help swallowing some of the sickly sweet liquor. The faint, iron-laced taste of blood lingered on her tongue as she choked up what she could.
“Bastards. You bastards!”
Abelard and Bertram were impervious to her rage. They turned to face their mistress.
Hester clenched her raised hands in triumph. “Let us call upon our lady, the Mother of All Daughters, wise Yidhra, to bless and accept her newest daughter to her bosom. Join me, in calling our mother into our Abigail.”
Abby’s eyes widened. Into?
Hester began to speak, and the congregation joined in. To her horror, Abby saw Constance was echoing the words, though her voice was small and broken. She whipped her head around, trying to get up. Bertram clapped his paw on her shoulder.
Hester spoke, though it was not English. It was not any language Abby could recognize. Just hearing the words dropping from her grandmother’s lips turned her stomach. The syllables scraped over the back of her neck and burrowed into her mind. She felt them, twitching and writhing and crawling inside her. They reached her belly.
And stabbed.
She screamed as the white-hot anguish of the words speared through her. This was no sudden flare; it did not disappear in a comforting fading ache. As each fresh sound joined the first, it expanded a phantom wound that blacked her vision and flooded her mind. She felt her body split open inch by burning inch. Even her scream, slicing the night, was only the dimmest reflection of it.
Mother of Crows Page 35
