Chapter 9 #2
The only sound in this room is the lilting melody playing from an old gramophone in the corner.
It’s almost pleasant in tone, like it might be something that people dance to.
And there, in the center of the room, sitting in a chair that looks more like a throne made of salvaged bones and velvet, is who has to be the Witch Doctor.
She's not what I expected.
Then again, what did I really envision? Someone old and withered, maybe. Warts. A cackling laugh, like how the witches are in the books we found.
But she's young-looking, with skin as pale as milk and thick blonde hair falling down in waves. She's wearing a metal mask that has a bat head at the top, its wings spreading out as woven metal covers her eyes, so can she even see? Her heart-shaped lips are painted a bright red.
"Oh, darling, I was dreading having to ruin this for you,” she says, her voice warm and amused, like we're old friends catching up over tea, and she's about to tell me my husband is cheating on me. “I’ve seen you quite a bit,” she muses, motioning her natural, long nails over to a crystal ball.
“I know why you’re here. Unfortunately, I can't make a deal on your soul.
Removing your scent gland requires that caveat, but it's already been spoken for. "
My lips part as the oddly happy music continues to play.
"What?" My voice comes out flatter than I intend.
She waves a hand lazily, rings glittering on every finger—silver and gold and something darker that seems to drink light rather than reflect it. "Someone else beat you to it. Years ago, actually. You're already claimed, little omega. There's nothing left to bargain with."
"When?" My voice shakes before I can hide it. "When did this happen? Who the fuck—”
She tilts her head, little beaded jewels dangling from her mask. "Oh, quite a few years ago." Her vermilion lips crook in a smile, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. "Before you were found. Before you ran. Before Judge.”
My mind races, stumbling over itself trying to make sense of what she's saying. This cannot be happening to me. Who in the hell would have come and made a deal about me? No one has ever meddled so much with my life that wasn’t my parents—
My parents.
Could they have done this? That wouldn’t make any damn sense.
"Sit," the Witch Doctor says, cutting through my spiral like she's bored with watching me fall apart. "There is something I want from you."
My body sits in the chair she indicates as if I’m possessed, because what else am I supposed to do? Ignore her? I’m morbidly fascinated by this woman, and my legs are about to give out anyway, and I want some answers!
She produces a strip of black silk from somewhere that I genuinely don't see, and holds it up, letting it dangle between us like a threat dressed as a party trick as she leans over. "May I?"
"May you what, exactly?"
"Blindfold you." She says it like she's asking to borrow a cup of sugar. "There's a test I'd like to conduct. It won't hurt.
I stare blankly, dumbfounded. “I—” I stammer, looking around. Seriously, what do I do? Did I come all this way to say no? “Fine.”
Her smile widens, showing teeth that are just slightly too sharp. "Nothing worth knowing comes without risk, darling. Surely you've learned that by now."
I have learned that lesson. I've learned it over and over again, in blood and pain and loss.
I've learned it in Judge's attic, in his arms, in the way his purr could make me forget everything I knew to be true. “Then do it,” I say, because apparently I've lost all sense of self-preservation. "But if you try anything weird, I’ve got nothing else to lose, and I’ll fight.”
“Of course you will. You’re a very proud omega.”
She actually blindfolds me.
The world goes dark, and I can hear the scratch of the gramophone needle even more, my own heartbeat pounding too fast in my chest. I can smell those black flowers, stronger now.
"Pick," she whispers, her voice coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Pick what?” I ask, half lost between desperation and waning patience.
“There are things on the table before you. You may touch them, although I’d prefer if you merely hovered your hand over before selection.”
“No, what am I touching?”
“You’ve come this far, Diana. Why back away now?”
My hand hovers slightly, as she’s not wrong. But I feel like a madwoman even entertaining this. Whatever reckless indulgence led me here overtakes me as my hand moves, floating out in front of me like it's being pulled by invisible strings.
When my hand lowers like I know it’s what I’m supposed to do, I flinch when I feel thorns. But as I move my hand up, I caress a few soft petals and decide it’s probably a rose, releasing the breath I’d been holding, as if it would help me focus.
The blindfold lifts, making my body vibrate with nerves, as I didn’t know she was that close to me.
When I look in front of me, I see it’s a black rose—real, dewy, midnight-dark—and it's so fat and full of petals. The Witch Doctor laughs softly, knowingly, like I've just confirmed every suspicion she ever had about me.
"Oh, he's done a terrible job hiding himself from you, hasn't he?”
Blood roars in my ears. Rage, confusion, terror, all of them choking each other, fighting for dominance. My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking.
"Who made the deal?" I demand, my voice raw, looking up at her. "Tell me. Who claimed my soul before I even knew someone could do that? And what is the purpose of this rose?”
"Mm-mm." She shakes her head, the dangly bits of her mask shaking.
"Not my secret to share, darling. Some bargains come with conditions, and this one's condition is silence.
" Her smile turns razor-sharp, all teeth and absolutely no warmth. "But I will tell you this: You might want to consider stopping running from him. I don’t think life will be terrible for you.”
I'm sorry, what did she just say to me?
"That's—that doesn't even make sense," I spit back, my voice rising despite myself.
Did I seriously fucking make it to the Witch Doctor for her to tell me to go back to Judge?
"I've been running away. That's literally the whole point.
I have blisters. I jumped off a train. I'm on a nightmare caravan surrounded by death flowers and creepy music—"
"And yet here you are," she interrupts smoothly, “getting confirmation that it was all for not. Funny how that works."
I can't breathe.
“What’s the point of this rose?” I demand, trying to get something useful from her.
“It’s proof that Judge and you are destined.”
I drop the damn thing like it’s on fire. I want to scream that she's wrong. “I can’t be destined with that blockhead asshole! Did you seriously let me come in here, just to tell me that?”
She laughs again, the sound creating a haunting mix with the gramophone. “I didn’t force you to run away from him… I recommend you just wait, Diana. He’ll be here shortly for you.”
I start pacing the room. “This is fucking stupid! He locked me in his attic, and bit me while putting engagers in my system!”
“I’m not responsible for how mortals conduct themselves. I’m the one who just knows things.”
I stand there, heavy breathing. I can’t believe this.
I can’t do this. I can’t be with an alpha that fucked this up so much.
With one who has no touch with his own heart.
Tears stain my eyes, pissing me off because I’m so tired of crying.
“Please, you have to be able to offer me some kind of option.” I do something I’m not proud of and fall to my knees, and beg.
“Please… take away being an omega.” The tears are flowing, and it feels like I’m pleading with my makers.
Like I’m finally able to talk to some part of the universe that cursed me since I was born.
“I don’t want an alpha to have power over me. I don’t trust anyone to do that!”
She’s silent as we have to listen to that creepy ass music playing so happily in the room.
It’s weird staring at her mask, as I can’t tell where she’s looking or if we’re currently making really awkward eye contact or if she’s even acknowledging me.
“Please,” I say, nearly whispering, unsure if I should call her ma’am, or whatever.
I’m not sure what her ego needs. “This will have been a useless trip.”
“For you, probably,” she quickly remarks, very softly. “Although I do think your soul needed this small attempt at freedom. The other omega with you, I will help. So, it wasn’t all for waste.”
I feel even more crossed. More betrayed. More abandoned. “So, nothing? I don’t get anything?”
“I gave you a black rose that you threw on the floor. I’d advise you to take it with you. I don’t often give out my flowers.”
I pitifully stare at the damn rose like I’m in a hallucination.
I pick it up because I don’t know what else to do.
As it’s in my hand, I glance up at her, slightly motioning that if she has anything else to say, now is a great fucking time.
Only the music answers me, and when I take a single step toward the door, I nearly collapse back on my knees again.
This can’t be happening. I actually made it to the Witch Doctor. I did it. And she just gave me a black rose, told me my soul already has a deal on it, and that I really am fated to Judge. I look back over my shoulder, and she tilts her head like she’s ready to answer anything. “That’s really it?”
“I can’t help that you have a deal on your soul. It makes me quite useless with you.”
I glance back at the rose. “What do I do with this?”
“Don’t lose it.”
I roll my eyes. “Was it my parents?” I ask, staring at her mask. “Fucking give me something useful.”
“That rose is quite useful.”
Oh, fuck her and her stupid Mirage. I face the door again, opening it, and stepping out feels so wrong, and I even slam the door behind me.
I stand before Selene, who looks at me like she’s waiting to hear about the treasure chest we spent our lives chasing, and I have to tell her all it had was a flower inside.
"What happened?" she asks, her face falling the moment she sees mine. "Diana...?"
"I can't do this life anymore,” I choke out, the words scraping against my throat. "Someone already made a deal on me, Selene. The Witch Doctor can't help. She works on deals or some bullshit. All she gave me was this stupid rose.”
The words taste like ash.
Selene's eyes go wide. "Who the hell would make a deal for your soul? When? That's—that's insane, Diana, that's not even—"
"I know it's insane!" I snap, louder than I mean to. A few people turn to look. I don't care. "But apparently sanity isn't a requirement around here, because nothing about my life has made sense since the moment Judge—"
I stop.
Swallow.
Can't finish that sentence.
Rebecca comes closer. She takes one look at my face and goes pale. "It didn't work?"
"The Witch Doctor says I'm already claimed. Someone made a deal on me years ago, and she can't—or won't—tell me who."
Rebecca is quiet for a moment, her expression cycling through fear, calculation, and finally something that looks like grim resolve. “What about me?”
“She said she can help you,” I say with as much of a pitiful smile as I can muster. “I’ll be here for you, okay? At least one of us deserves freedom.”
Rebecca’s eyes well with tears, like she’s about to meet her maker.
It’s the way her brows are upturned, her lips turning into a smile, that makes me feel so bitter about my predicament.
She shakes her head and then nods. “Thank fucking god.” She wipes the tears.
"There's someone else, Diana. Who might help. Someone in the underbelly. They can do the same thing the Witch Doctor does, but I’ve heard it comes at a higher cost. I don’t know what it is, but you might want to ask if you’re really desperate. Jack talked about him sometimes.”
It all feels wrong. Every part of this. And the worst part, the absolute worst part, is that it makes me miss Judge.
Because some stupid, traitorous part of my brain knows he'd have information about this.
He'd know what to do, who to talk to, which threats to make and which palms to grease.
He told me to never speak of the Witch Doctor.
He warned me, in his own cryptic, controlling way.
He knows how this world works.
I'm so goddamn mad—at him, at the Witch Doctor, at whoever claimed my soul, at this whole broken world that keeps taking and taking and never giving anything back.
And I'm scared. And I'm tired. And I don't know how long I have before Judge catches up, or before whoever fucking owns me comes to collect!
"Let's just go see," I say, my voice flat and final. "See what's down there. See what they want. We've come this far. Might as well go all the way to hell while we're at it."
"Diana—" Selene starts, her voice cracking.
"I'm going," I state. "You can come with me, or you can wait here, but I'm not leaving without answers. I'm done being everyone's pawn. I'm done being moved around a board I can't see." I meet her eyes, and I know mine are hard. "I'm getting my life back. Whatever it costs.”
I swallow hard, push through some velvet curtains at the end of the hall, and descend the metal stairs leading beneath the Mirage.
Down into the underbelly. I’ll just ask around until I get what I want, and if something's waiting for me down there that’s worse than the Witch Doctor, worse than Judge, worse than any nightmare I've ever had, then at least it'll be my choice to face it.
That's more than I've had in a long time.