“There are no bodies.” I have to repeat myself twice, pointing toward the broken but abandoned floor. “If the Mara got them all, there’d be . . . evidence.”
He winces. Nods, eyes closed as if he’s absorbing my words, weighing them. I don’t think it’s an act. He really is falling apart at the idea of death overtaking these halls—again. It’s a new and better look for him, and it weighs me down with an unexpected burden of hope.
I squeeze his hand. “We need to check for survivors. You try down there.”
We’re in the middle of the chain of halls that make up Freedom. I point him toward the early rooms, the safest ones, even though they are the closest to the Refuge access point I’m most familiar with.
In the other direction, the halls get darker. I’m afraid of what might be lurking in the black hall—the room of sacrifice. I’ll check it myself, though I’m aware of the absurdity of shielding this man from death when he’s knowingly sacrificed lives to the Mara to get what he wanted.
But, twisted as his actions were, he seems to think of the dancers as his people in some way. Not friends, or equals, but perhaps subjects. Or pets. Creatures under his domain. I’m not sure if he’s more in shock at their supposed deaths, or the lack of anyone to rule over.
I’m probably being stupid, pitying him. I’m surprised Cadence isn’t telling me so right this minute. Why should I protect him?
I try, all the same. But he trails along behind me, stubbornly refusing to go where I would send him, and so we discover each new broken and desolate hall together.
The damage worsens as we round each new corner. Our shoes scuff through grit and debris and dark stains that I refuse to stop to examine. But we find no one, dead or alive. Retracing our steps, we search in the other direction, and then in the side chambers concealed behind the hangings, checking staging and supply rooms with no success.
I keep expecting the Mara to descend.
Is it possible they’ve devoured all the living, not just in Freedom, but in Refuge and the city outside as well? Have their hunger and their power grown to the point that they can devour our forms entire, and not just the life that lies within?
Finally, we’re forced to admit Freedom has been abandoned. The Mara don’t make an appearance, though the hairs prickling at the back of my neck suggest something must be watching. I guide a staggering, shell-shocked Ravel out of the halls of the club and into a dusty service corridor before speaking.
“We’ll find them. They can’t all be gone.”
His gaze sharpens. “Liar.”
“Fine. The Mara chomped them all up, right down to the bones, and we’ve come too late. Better?”
He chokes, eyes blazing.
But I’m not afraid of him anymore. I find that I haven’t been for a long time. I turn on my heel. “I’m going to check on Ange. Come if you want.”
It’s a bluff, of course. It’s possible there are still some living tucked away into some corner of the city. Perhaps the dust-dimmed dancers of Freedom and the Noosh-dulled workers of Refuge finally woke up and decided to remove themselves from the scene of carnage. If they already admit they are in danger that will make what I have to do next that much easier.
I choose to hold out hope there’s someone left here to save—which means I’ll need Ravel’s help sooner than later.
It has been a while since I navigated these corridors and tunnels. Luckily, Ravel catches up quickly. Finding my way back to Ange isn’t easy, especially when she is not where I left her.
The rooms are all empty in Under, too. At first, I think we’re in the wrong place, but when Ravel leads me to the makeshift recovery room I stayed in, its cots overturned and trailing bedding, I have to accept Ange and her people are gone, too.
The damage isn’t as bad down here, though cracks spider web across the floor and the ceiling has crumbled in places. Did the Mara come for them, too? The monsters had never ventured this far below the surface before, not on dry ground.
I kick my old cot hard enough to send it screeching across the floor. Dust sifts from the ceiling, powdering the shiny surface of a dark object half-buried in trailing sheets.
It’s a mask. A deep purple mask that once belonged to a man I got killed.
Ange is alive.
Chapter 32: Clues
Ravel stares at the mask without a flicker of recognition, but I’d know it anywhere. It once belonged to Cass.
The last time I saw it, Ange was wearing it in mourning as we rushed to save Ash from torture at the hands of the twisted, Mara-possessed enforcer, Serovate.
It’s a message.
I race out of the room, ignoring Ravel’s shout. I round a corner and trip over rubble from a caved-in ceiling.
“Where are you going?” he pants. I backtrack, peering around each corner in search of familiar landmarks. “What is it?”
“She left it for me.” I take a few steps down an unfamiliar hallway and retrace them. “She knew I’d come back. She wanted me to find it.”
“Okay. Sure. And now you’re lost?”
I refuse to dignify that with an answer.
He sighs. “Just tell me where you’re trying to go, flame.”
“There was a room. Where that possessed enforcer held Ash, tortured him, when you . . .”
“Had you kidnapped? Drugged? Forced to participate in human sacrifice?” Exhaustion is etched on his face. “Sure, why not? Let’s go visit a torture chamber.”
He navigates without hesitation, jaw set, though we both can’t help watching out of the corners of our eyes for movement, signs of life, even signs of death that could answer the question of what happened to strip this place of all life.
The door is closed when we reach it, hiding a room I never expected to return to.
Ravel gestures, inviting me to enter first. I hesitate, flashing back to images of Ash’s torn and broken body tacked to the wall; sobbing children cowering behind the monstrously mundane form of Serovate; sharp-edged implements strewn across a blood-spattered tray.
I haul open the door, stale air rolling toward us. Ravel holds out the light. I step into the dark room. And trip, the lamp arcing away as I scramble to catch myself. It flickers wildly when it lands, but doesn’t go out.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. There are piles and piles of stuff heaped all over: not debris, or bodies, not Ange and her people waiting to welcome us home—a distant hope, but one I’d harboured until this moment. There’s hardly room to move, the floor is so piled with bundles and boxes and mismatched heaps of random objects. And, right in my path, that stupid “gift” from the forest that I swear keeps following me around. I’m not sure why Ravel thinks it’s funny—or how he has the energy to play games right now—but I’m not amused.
I give the thing a hard kick, sending it crashing into the depths of the room where I’m sure he won’t find it easy to retrieve.
Why would Ange send me here? Did I misunderstand her message? Or was the mask a meaningless accident, dropped during some fight and left behind? Still, I didn’t remember her ever wearing or even storing her club costumes anywhere but in Freedom.
Ravel recovers our light and finds it a safe perch on one of the nearer piles. He picks up one object, then the next, sifting through the seemingly random collection. His face lights up. “It’s all here. Food. Clothing. Weapons. Trade goods. Everything we prepared for an escape. They saved it.”
I study the piles instead of meeting his gaze. The supplies might have survived, but where were the people?
Was this Ange’s last message? Take what you will and go?
I can’t accept that. I blink away the sting of tears and turn back to the closed door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Again, Ravel follows without comment or question. Marvelling at his uncharacteristic obedience distracts from the tightness in my chest, even if it is part of some larger ploy in his eternal quest for power.
This time, I find my way without his help. But w
hen I reach for the door leading into that long, dreaded stairwell back to the first home I remember, he catches my hand.
“Are you sure?”
My fingers tighten on the handle, knuckles paling. Of course I am.
Of course I’m not.
But what else is there? “I have to know.”
He hands me a square of dark fabric and shakes out a second into a black cloak. “After you, flame.”
ALL THAT TRAINING WITH Steph is paying off. Even exhausted by the journey, I match Ravel’s pace up the stairs. Our breaths echo in the silence of the first couple floors, though by the time we reach the third landing, I realize we’ll actually need to check every level to be sure. But if there is any life left in the Towers of Refuge, it’s most likely to be on the highest floors, where it’s safer.
We don’t get that far. There’s light under the door at the sixth floor’s landing and a rustling sound. Something is still alive on the other side. I want to believe it’s something human. Maybe even someone we know. If we’re lucky.
But this is the sixth floor, where they send those in need of correction—all too often a euphemism for elimination. There is less shielding down here, less protection against the Mara. I’d hoped Refuge would have abandoned the floor when they realized the danger.
I should have known better.
Ravel tugs my sleeve, motioning to descend a few steps before whispering in my ear, “I’ll go in first. Follow right behind and be ready to fight.”
I shrug him aside. “I’m better trained.” He lifts a sardonic eyebrow at that. “Whatever. I’m going first. Follow if you want.”
Then, before he can argue or I can start to worry about our distinct lack of weapons, I hurtle up the last few steps and shoulder the door open.
Something soft and very solid gets in my way. The stranger and I clutch each other in an ungainly dance before I catch my balance and wits enough to sweep his feet out from under him.
Once I pin him, noting a poorly maintained white enforcer’s uniform as I wrestle his hands behind his back, I look up to see a second enforcer staring slack-jawed. Ravel grins over the man’s shoulder. I cut my eyes at him meaningfully and he winks. Then he disarms the enforcer, stifling his shouts with a mouthful of torn cloak.
We take turns shredding our cloaks for makeshift bindings, moving as quietly as we can. It’s not normal for enforcers to guard the stairways like this, especially not at this time of night. Not when Refuge has so many better ways to make sure its people don’t stray. But if these two are here, there could be more around. If anything, it is strange no one has come to check on the shouting.
When we split up to tiptoe down the halls and peek around the corner, the reason for the silence becomes horrifyingly obvious. Long cracks splinter through the drywall. Portions of the ceiling have crumbled, exposing dangling wires and dripping pipes. The floors are cratered, thin carpet shredded and mixed with concrete and dark stains. Worse are the gaping dark holes of empty doorways.
I’m afraid to get closer; I don’t want to see what lies beyond.
It shouldn’t feel like a shock. The Mara have always haunted this floor, though nowhere near to this extent. But the last time I saw one of their victims here, it was an empty-eyed but otherwise pristine corpse. Some part of me had been holding out hope what I had accomplished during the battle in Freedom had, if not broken them, at least weakened them. Slowed them down.
Ravel storms back to the nearest guard and kicks him, repeatedly, before turning on the next. Both are moaning behind their gags by the time I drag him off.
His punch would have had me rolling beside them if I didn’t have the benefits of Steph’s training to draw on. Instead of backing off, I press in, shoving him against the wall.
“They—they had no chance.” He chokes on the words, grimacing as if to hold back the welling in his eyes. “I didn’t think—I could have got them out, flame. I should have, before—”
Before he came after me. So he did realize he could have saved them on his own.
I glance back the way he came, gaze skipping past rubble and snagging on an empty doorframe. Is it wrong that the very last thing I want to do right now is to go look? Is it cowardly to want to ignore the cost of his actions, his selfishness—and mine?
But it’s not my fault my magic vanished overnight. I never chose to leave. That’s all on Ash, who isn’t even here to face the consequences.
It’s not my fault Ravel chose to come after me, either. If he’d just tried to save them on his own, instead of fixating on me in the first place . . .
There’s something there, something about him and me that I hadn’t faced until just this moment. But there’s no time to tease it out because there’s one door in sight that remains intact. It’s the one that leads to the main dormitory.
And someone’s knocking on the other side.
Chapter 33: Livestock
I reach the door first.
The knocking stops when I turn the handle. It doesn’t open. The banging starts up harder than ever, desperate but muffled cries rising behind it.
Ravel elbows me aside to wrench at the door, hurling himself shoulder-first at it when the handle refuses to turn. I dart to the bound enforcers and rifle through their pockets, ignoring their moaning. If I focus, I can almost quell the churning disgust at the way these idiots not only locked up survivors in this death trap but also stayed to guard the only escape route.
At least their presence means a key is within easy reach. The banging stops the moment it scrapes into the lock.
I yank the door open. Ravel shoves past. He wheels back with a shout as it flings wide. There’s a rush of one-two-four-many people stampeding into the hallway.
I flatten myself against the nearest wall, losing sight of Ravel. Strangers in a mix of Refuge uniforms, Under’s more sedate dress, and Freedom’s extravagant costumes pounce on the bound and clearly terrified enforcers.
A tug on my sleeve distracts from the impending carnage. I look down into the face of a ghost—no, a living child, one with familiar hazel eyes and tight curls.
Lily scowls up at me. “Took you long enough.”
The impulse to offer reassurance takes me off guard. My hand hovers over her head, wavers across to her shoulder, and retreats limply to my side. “Is—are you alone?”
“Uh, no?” She sweeps a pointed glance at the crowd around us. “Are you? Where’s my Ash?”
I search with her, though not for Ash. It shouldn’t annoy me that she insists on the possessive, especially right now. She’s just a child, and I have more important things to worry about.
It still bothers me. To tamp the frustration down, I focus all the harder on the tide of strangers. I pick out familiar faces here and there, but not the one I want to see. The child’s mother pokes her head out the door, sparking a moment’s worth of excitement that dampens at her timid wave. Amy isn’t the one I’m looking, though she sidles out to stand beside us, crowded by Sam at her elbow.
I watch the opening expectantly as the stream of people trickles to a stop. Ravel is the last one out, looking uncharacteristically ragged and disoriented.
“So? Where is she?” He cranes his neck.
The crowd quiets around us, heads turning to watch, voices murmuring. They are looking to us for instruction. Us—not their leader.
“Where is Ange?” My voice comes out steady, carrying none of the shrill panic swelling in my chest.
Feet shuffle, gazes drop, and Lily’s small, warm hand slips into mine. “They took her.”
I look at Ravel. He stares back, wide-eyed and pale.
“He can’t help you,” Cadence says.
I startle. It’s been a while since she last spoke. Foolish instinct has me scrambling for arguments, but the pressure of a small hand yanks me back into the moment.
Instead of pulling back, running away, waiting for Ravel to come up with something—anything—I drop to my knees, bringing myself down to the level of a pair of serio
us hazel eyes. “Tell me everything.”
I DON’T ACTUALLY REMEMBER being Lily’s age, but I’m sure I lacked her composure.
Cadence’s roaring silence confirms the suspicion. The child recounts the days between my departure and return spent helping her aunt rally stragglers and stockpile goods in a remarkably even tone. It barely wavers when she gets to the part when enforcers descended and ripped Ange away from the rest of the group, dragging her off and locking them all into unprotected dorms without light or food.
Lily doesn’t ask me to rescue her. She just watches, silent trust in her unwavering gaze.
It makes what I have to do next so much worse.
“It’s the only choice,” Cadence says, sympathetic for once. “You can’t sacrifice the mission for one woman.”
I catch Ravel’s eye and he nods, slow and solemn. Though I’m very well aware he is not one to shrink from necessary sacrifice—particularly someone else’s sacrifice—if he told me the truth then he has known Ange longer than anyone.
Maybe Ravel even cares for her somewhere in his malformed little stone of a heart.
I shut out the sight of too many people looking to me for answers, for direction, for hope. Just for a moment, I stop and let myself feel what it was like to have power. To risk the safe plan for the one my heart sings. To have options.
But this time, I have nothing that hasn’t been given to me by foolishly trusting strangers. No magic to change our intolerable reality. This time, I can’t fight the monsters.
But I can save the child in front of me. At least I can do that.
I smile at Lily, though my skin is tight with anguish. Amy’s arms go around her daughter and the child relaxes, relieved someone has come along to make it all better.
If only.
I lead the way, and the crowd follows, unquestioning. Ravel walks at my shoulder, silently supporting this show of leadership. But it doesn’t take much—these people are afraid and, in the absence of the leader they know, desperate for someone to take on the burden and show them the way.
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