CHAPTER 15 #2
“You been in, Ferron? With your repertoire, they must have you working through every room.”
Helena’s mouth went dry.
“No,” came Ferron’s cold voice. “I’ve better things to do.”
“Right, no need to commute to the city when you’ve got one here.”
“The prisoner’s not for that,” Aurelia broke in. “We’ll be done with her soon, anyway. And really—she’s nothing to look at. All she does is skulk around like a rat. I had to threaten her just to make her wash.”
“I saw the picture in the paper. Bit feral but I don’t think I’d mind,” the sly voice replied.
There was raucous laughter then.
“Have you noticed the flowers?” Aurelia asked loudly.
A woman’s voice, much softer than the men’s, replied, and then Aurelia’s voice dropped, too. Helena strained her ears but only made out a few words about import taxes.
The conversation returned to the most recent murder.
“Ghastly. Couldn’t even sleep after I saw him. Cut him to bits, sliced so thin, light shines through the pieces. Stuffed it all down his throat.”
“After, though? Right?” A new, nervous voice. “He was already dead when—”
“No, they did it before. He had the alloy in his blood. Blocked the regeneration. Whoever we missed, they’re psychotic.”
“You’ve noticed the pattern, haven’t you?”
There was a pause and uneasy muttering.
“The Celebration Purge,” Ferron said when no one spoke. “The killer’s imitating the executions. Vidkun was a copy of Bayard and his wife.”
“So it’s all revenge, then?” It was the nervous voice again. “Durant, Vidkun, and all the rest, those are the Undying who were there that night. The rest of us are safe.”
There were murmurs of relief.
“Fuck …” came the sly voice. “That means they won’t go after that frigid little bitch. I was hoping she’d be next.”
“Well, I’m not risking it,” boomed another voice. “Just had a safe room built. Inert iron and solid lead for the walls, ceiling, and floor. I’m the only one with the combination. Nothing can get through that.”
They spent a long time describing various precautions they were taking—trick steps and hidden defences within their homes, all keyed to their repertoires.
Helena tried to listen carefully, but the conversation splintered into several smaller ones overlapping into an unintelligible murmur. Finally, there came the sound of chairs moving, and Aurelia saying something about flowers in the hothouse, and the voices dispersed into another room.
Helena slid down against the wall, unable to do anything but sit frozen with horror at the thought of everyone in Central.
There had been so many women in the Resistance.
Not many in combat, but everywhere else; they’d staffed the hospital, gone to the front lines as field medics and dragged the wounded bodies to safety, operated the radios and relayed messages, washed and repaired the clothes and uniforms, and cooked the meals.
All the ordinary tasks that never ended, not even when a war began. It had been women doing them.
They would have been in Headquarters, and they wouldn’t have been important enough to execute.
All this time, Helena had thought her imprisonment terrible. Now she was left guilt-stricken by how little she’d had to endure.
The house was quiet, the conversation a buzz several rooms away. She slowly headed back to the west wing, still in the stupor of horror.
She was almost around the corner when she heard footsteps pounding behind her.
She turned just in time to see a blur. Something struck her.
The breath left her lungs as she was slammed to the ground, head striking the wood floor. The world swung out of view, the arched ceiling a cavernous maw hanging above her.
She lay half dazed, trying to breathe as the thing on top of her righted itself, revealing the face of Lancaster.
“Got you,” he said, panting, his weight pinning her in place. He laughed quietly. “Who knew slipping off to take a piss would make me so lucky? Ferron always has your wing crawling with his thralls. I didn’t know if I’d ever reach you. Had to get a party big enough to keep ’em all busy.”
His thumb dragged across her chin and cheek, his breath hot and thick with wine. “Fuck. Look at you. You’ve filled out since last time.”
Helena’s head was swimming. Do something.
“If I was Ferron, I’d keep you chained to my bed.
” A hand slithered down to her breasts, squeezing hard, and then harder.
“You were supposed to be mine. I’m the one who caught you while you were busy gutting Atreus.
When I saw you in the ruins of the lab, everything in flames, the sky blazing, and all those thralls around you.
You looked like Lumithia born from fire. ”
Helena tried to shift and twist free but couldn’t make her arms move properly. She wanted to scream, but knew he’d smother the sound too fast. She had to wait for the right moment.
He leaned close, whispering, “I should have been made Undying then; they wouldn’t have caught you without me. But you disappeared. I won’t lose you this time. We’re finally going to have our fun.”
Helena’s heart was slamming against her ribs. She bit her tongue, biding her time.
One chance.
“You’ve heard me scream plenty now,” he said huskily. “I wonder what it sounds like when you do.” He laughed softly. “I guess we’ll have to stay quiet for now. Don’t want Ferron interrupting us again.”
He reached into a pocket, fumbling as he searched for something.
Helena rammed her hips up, knocking him off balance, slamming her elbow into his jaw. She scrambled up, pain searing through her wrists as the core of the manacles bit against muscle and bone. Agony lanced up her arms.
She ran. The door at the end of the hallway was closed. Her hands were on fire, and she could barely feel the knob, fingers fumbling, scrabbling for purchase.
Her head was wrenched back as she was dragged away by her hair. Stars flashed in her vision, and an arm crammed hard over her mouth when she tried to scream, a thick coat muffling her terror.
“Clever little bitch.” He dragged her backwards a little farther and jerked her head to one side. A needle sank into her neck.