Chapter 3
Shey Thrudesh-Vo
Shey woke to a pounding head and the horrible taste of cotton in his mouth. He blinked several times to get his eyes to focus through the bright lights. At least he wasn’t dead. That was one positive, but he had a feeling that all the positives were going to stop there.
His bleary eyes cleared, allowing him to take in his surroundings.
He was in a cell. On three sides were plain white cinder block walls, while the floor was a dull gray cement with a tiny circular drain in the center.
That was more than a little disturbing. In the far corner were a toilet and a small sink.
He sat up from the bed he was lying on and found that it was nothing more than a thin mattress on a metal shelf bolted to the wall.
Bars formed the fourth wall, revealing a narrow corridor and an empty cell opposite his.
The smell of bleach was strong in the air, and an icy chill ran along his spine as he found his eyes straying to the drain in the floor again.
It would make it easy for his captors to torture their prisoners in their cells and then use a hose to clean the room after their captive was dead.
He had no idea where he was, or even how long he’d been there.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his head while straining to hear if he was the only prisoner in this cellblock.
If he was alone, was there a reason for him to be kept apart from the others? Had someone guessed his real identity?
The frantic thoughts flashing through his head slammed to a sharp halt when there was a metallic bang followed by a screech of metal.
Shey lurched to his unsteady feet and stumbled across the room to press his face to the bars.
He peered down the open walkway to see that there were at least two other cells on his side of the room and a total of three on the opposite side.
The cellblock ended in a heavy metal door with a single square window that was just big enough to fit a person’s face.
A woman, wearing all black, strolled in. “Wonderful! I told you our new guest would be awake by now,” she crowed. Her high-heeled boots clacked loudly on the concrete floor.
As she spoke, sharp spikes of fear stabbed at Shey’s heart and sent a dense fog through his brain. He lurched away from the bars and backpedaled until his thighs banged into the metal shelf. Cold sweat slipped along the side of his face.
What the fuck was that?
Her icy blond hair hung down her back and she watched him with cold, dead blue eyes as she smiled at him through the bars.
Her mouth was like a large red gash across her sharp, angular face.
She had all the pieces that would normally make her an attractive person, but something of her soul must have shown through, because she only made Shey think of a reanimated corpse.
She stood watching him, her hands propped on her bony hips as she grinned. “Yes, he’s definitely looking more awake, but is he ready to talk?”
“Who are you? W-where am I? W-what am I doing here?” he stammered, fighting to keep his voice even and hard. But it was no use. Fear was practically choking him. His heart was racing so fast, it was about to burst out of his chest.
This made no sense. He’d been in far more dangerous situations and had remained in complete control of his emotions. Rayne had been stabbed in front of him, and he hadn’t fallen apart. Why did he feel like he was a hair’s breadth from sobbing in despair?
Yet before his brain could follow the thread of that important thought, the woman spoke.
“How about you tell me your name?”
“Sh-Sh-Shawn,” he finally got out through clenched teeth. The terror living inside him demanded that he tell the truth. A voice in his brain screamed that he would die if he lied to her. But there was an even louder voice ordering him to hold in that scrap of information.
His visitor motioned for one of the guards to unlock his cell using a key card that was swiped across a flat panel.
He glanced at them, briefly taking in their black protective armor, heavy automatic weapons, and face shields.
There wasn’t a single insignia or marking anywhere to identify who they were or who employed them.
As soon as she stepped into the cell, Shey caved to his instincts and climbed onto the shelf, pressing himself into the corner as much as possible.
He drew his knees up to his chest and turned the left side of his face toward the wall in a last-ditch effort to hide his scar.
It was the one thing most people remembered about him.
During his first few weeks in Damardor, he’d used makeup to hide it, but he’d long since lost those supplies.
The woman stopped near the bed and leaned in, her eyes narrowed on him as if she were peering into his head and could see exactly how terrified he was.
“Shawn, huh?” she repeated, each syllable dripping with sarcasm. “What were you doing in Bellcairn?”
“L-l-looking for w-work.” Shey struggled to spit out those four words.
His head was a muddled mess. Terror created a dense fog in his mind.
Inside, he was so cold, frost seemed to form on his lungs.
He wanted to scream at her to go away and leave him alone.
Even being trapped in a cell was better than facing her.
“Really? Work? What kind of work?”
“A-any.” Gods, make her go away.
Her gash of a smile grew, and her eyes appeared as if they were laughing at him.
She reached out one hand tipped with bright-red fingernails that matched her lipstick.
Shey flinched before she could touch his cheek.
She stopped and smirked as she dragged one long nail along his cheekbone, causing goose bumps to break out down his arms.
“That’s okay. You’ll tell me the truth soon enough. Just remember that all this ends when you answer my questions honestly. But it’s okay if you want to lie to me. I can be patient. I have all the time in the world to make you talk to me.”
Every word she spoke was an icy spike straight into his heart, freezing him.
Shey bit so hard on his tongue to keep from talking that blood filled his mouth.
He ignored her ominous taunts and mentally repeated to himself that he couldn’t talk.
The only thing protecting his home and his people was his silence.
His unwelcome visitor straightened and strolled out of his cell, humming a jaunty tune to herself. Before the guard closed the door, another dropped off a plastic tray of food that didn’t appear appetizing in the slightest.
Shey held it together until the heavy metal door at the far end of the room clanged shut, and silence blanketed the large room.
A great sob tore violently from his throat, and he felt as if his soul had ripped in half.
Terror and hopelessness swamped him, making it nearly impossible to draw a breath.
“Hey! Hey!”
Shey gasped and slapped a hand across his mouth to hold in the next cry. He wasn’t even sure he’d heard someone. He was almost delirious with panic and could have imagined the voice.
“It’s okay. It’s not real,” the voice continued.
He was close. Possibly the very next cell. Shey wasn’t alone.
“I know it sounds crazy, but what you’re feeling isn’t real. That bitch has some strange technology or freaking magic. Each time she talks, fear grips you, making you want to do whatever she asks.”
“Yeah,” Shey whispered.
Hearing the other prisoner’s words was enough to wash away the worst of the terror that had nearly strangled him. Logic and reason flowed into his brain. The fear that had flooded his veins was turning quickly into rage.
“Who the hell is she?” Shey growled. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Tears dampened his palm, and he sneered at them, hating the woman for making that happen.
“I call her Scarella, as in Scary Ella, but she’s never given her real name to me or said where we are. But I can tell you how to get around her fear voice.”
“How?”
“They dropped off your food, right? Did you get a roll? If you did, give me half and I’ll tell you.”
For a second, Shey could only stare at the bars of his prison. So much for the brotherhood of fellow inmates looking out for each other.
A hand reached out. Slender fingers extended into his view from the left wall of his cell. Like the voice, it was a young man’s hand. Maybe someone in their twenties.
“Come on. I’m just asking for half. It’s really the best thing out of the slop they bring us,” the other prisoner cajoled.
Shey unfolded himself from his bed and walked to where the guard had left his tray in the center of the room.
There was a sandwich with a slice of meat that might have been ham, a tiny salad of wilted greens and a single sliver of a carrot shaving, something yellow he couldn’t name at all, and a small round roll of dark brown bread.
He picked up the roll and sniffed it before tearing it in half. It smelled okay, though not exactly fresh.
“Is the food safe to eat?” he inquired, carrying both halves to where he was closest to the other man.
“It’s not poisoned or drugged, if that’s what you mean.
However, there doesn’t seem to be any nutritional value whatsoever.
Even when they bother to include a piece of fruit, it’s disgusting.
If I have to choke down one more mealy apple, I might snap.
And the coffee! Don’t get me started on the coffee.
Those monsters should be burned at the stake and fed to pigs for the atrocities they’ve committed in the name of coffee! ”
“Breathe, coffee boy,” Shey murmured. He stuck his hand through the bar and pushed half the roll into the other person’s fingers.
The other prisoner latched on to it instantly, causing their fingers to brush.
Shey could have sworn he felt a spark, and he twitched, cursing.
Had he lost control of his powers because he was still worked up over that woman’s spell?
Or had that come from his companion?