21. AURORA
Time crawls by with a painful slowness.
I spend the afternoon mopping Tally’s brow, then moving through my regular series of pliés, tendus, and relevés.
Reach. Stretch. Breathe. Forget that I’m in a cage.
Forget that a de Vaux will be back any moment to trap me with his constantly watching eyes.
The air is saturated with the scent of unwashed bodies and the usual chemical tang of the block, but there’s something else. An ominous foreboding.
A storm is brewing.
My heart lurches as a body appears in the outer doorway again.
But it’s just Layla. She rounds the corner carrying a dented metal tray. Behind her, Sky is clutching a plastic jug of water like it’s a holy relic. Her eyes are wide, darting around, constantly scanning for danger.
“Shit, Lay, you made me jump.”
“Good to see you too, Barbie,” Layla huffs, her mouth in an unhappy line. “How’s the boss?” She slides the tray through the narrow gap at the bottom.
I wish I had a better report for her. “He still hasn’t woken up properly, I don’t get it.”
I drop back to my knees beside Tally, my hand going to his chest. His heart is beating, slow and regular. My fingers linger for a moment before I pull them away.
“You’ve checked him over?” Layla asks.
“Sort of. What do you mean?”
Lay lets out a heavy sigh, the sound of a woman who has had to be the responsible one far too many times. “A physical exam, Barbs. We need to check for hidden injuries. Feel around his head for contusions, lumps, cuts, whatever.”
Right. I’m an idiot. I run my fingers through his short hair, searching for anything, but my fingertips come away clean. “Negative on the head injuries.”
“Good, now check his chest and belly.”
Tally’s jumpsuit is already unzipped, so I pull up his white tank and examine his torso. It’s a roadmap of new bruises and old scars—signs of a life lived on the edge. Thankfully, none of the injuries make Layla worried. “Where else should I look?” I ask her.
“Barbie, you are not truly this useless are you? Check everything. Is his skin cold or clammy?”
“No.” I glance up at her.
I am useless.
Layla purses her lips. “Roll him over and look at his back.”
Fuck. I brace myself and push. As I finally get him to turn, he groans again.
“His back looks alright,” Lay grunts in annoyance. “Pull up an eyelid, see if his pupil reacts to light.”
I wrangle Taliesin again. “Gods, Layla, he weighs a ton.” He’s probably twice my weight.
“Time you built up some muscle, Barbie. Pretty and petite doesn’t count for shit in the sub-levels.”
Sky actually lets out a tiny giggle from behind Layla’s shoulder. It’s a fragile sound, but I love to hear it.
“Yeah, yeah, Sky. I’d like to see you do this!” I give her a pretend stern look and she gives me a small smile in return, but I can tell the confidence she had regained is slipping away with the arrival of Francois. I imagine he reminds her closely of the many males she’s been subjected to.
Men who just take what they want.
After another few minutes Layla has exhausted every medical check she can think of. She’s as frustrated as I am. “Just keep trying to give him water. I’ll come by later to check in. Is Frenchie giving you a hard time?”
“Eh, not really.”
“That’s good, people are talking all kinds of shit about him. Like he must have some kind of superpower.”
I scoff at that. “His only superpower is being more annoying and arrogant than anyone else on the planet.” A little voice in my head questions that, but I ignore it.
Instead, I take the mug of coffee from the tray. It’s bitter and burned, but when the heat hits my throat, it tastes like ambrosia. “Gods, I never thought I’d find this stuff delicious.”
“Careful, Barbs,” Layla smirks, a flash of her old self returning. “You’re beginning to act like a Digger.”
The laughter her words provoke is interrupted by the arrival of Francois.
“Acting like a Digger? What a revolting thought.”
Layla and Sky both jump to their feet as he glides into the room. Sky instantly starts trembling, her knuckles white as she tugs on Layla’s sleeve. The frantic, animal terror in her eyes speaks volumes.
“You go,” I say quickly. “Speak to you later.”
Sky hurries out, but Layla gives Francois the stink-eye then indicates the jug she’d brought in. “Your water, m’lord. Fresh as can be found in this place.”
“Excellent,” he replies, his voice smooth as he settles back into the new chair. “You may leave.”
A silence fills the cell after she’s gone. My pleasure in the coffee has evaporated, now all I can taste is worry.
“The strong-woman I recognize from the yard,” he says, leaning back and crossing his legs with a casual grace. “But the small one. Who is she?”
I don’t like the way he asks. “Her name is none of your business. She’s just a kid who’s been through enough without someone like you being around her.”
“Someone like me?” Francois tilts his head, his dark eyes glittering with a sudden, sharp interest. “And what is that?”
I stand up, smoothing my jumpsuit, then channel every ounce of Drakeward ice I have left. “A monster. She’s already been around too many.”
He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “A monster, yes. Exactly what I am, ma petite. But fret not, I am not interested in broken little girls. Tell me, did your visitors come to see you, or to see their fallen leader?”
“What does it matter? But if you must know, Layla has some medical knowledge, so she helped me check his vitals.”
“And?”
“They seem okay. Layla says there’s no physical reason for him to be under this long.” Shit. Telling him anything of Taliesin’s current state seems like a betrayal.
Francois gives a slow, predatory smile. “Layla’s ‘medical knowledge’ is based on the frailties of common men, Aurora. She doesn’t understand the weight of the shadow I left behind.”
He leans back, eyes fixed on the man on the floor with a detached, clinical interest. “His mind is simply trapped in the dark I wrapped around his consciousness. He’s fighting it, of course. I can feel the friction of his will against mine even now. It’s… spirited.”
He feels the friction of Tally’s will?
The way he says it makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“You’re crazy,” I snap.
“Am I? I guess if your ‘friend’ wakes up, he’ll be able to confirm or deny my words.” Francois stretches his arms behind his head, with a languid, cat-like movement. “If he has any mind left to speak with.”
Fuck that guy. Francois de Vaux looks like a fallen angel contemplating his next sin. The zip on his coveralls is pulled low, the white undershirt molding annoyingly to his regrettably phenomenal torso. He catches me looking. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“See something you like, ma petite?”
“I’m just amazed that the corruption of your soul hasn’t rotted away your skin,” I retort, my face heating up. “By rights, your flesh should be putrid and decaying.”
“Oh, Aurora, you are divine. Baudelaire said it perfectly. ‘She makes one wish to die slowly…” he gestures to me…“beneath her steady gaze.’”
Slowly?
I’d settle for very fucking quickly.