14. Leah #2
In Malice, I’ve found a quiet spot in the mountains to focus better on occupying Rose’s mind.
It can be…consuming, the thrumming of her heart against my consciousness, the steady cadence of her breath as it draws in and out.
The brush of her hair against the nape of her neck is a whisper on my own, and when she speaks to me, it’s like a hand reaching for me from the darkness of her mind.
At times, it’s as if I can taste her on my very tongue.
It makes for a visceral experience then, discovering the mass grave in the warehouse—because surely that’s what this place is, even with the absence of bodies.
“Something is wrong about this,” I say as she crouches down to look more closely at the marks. One of them is positioned farther out than the others, as if the demon in question tried to flee before they were killed.
If they did, they only got a few feet.
“I’d say a lot is wrong about this,” she replies. Her voice is the same in her mind as it is out loud—bright and sharp, like a colorful flower armored with thorns. “Demons and ephilium aren’t meant to be getting up to any kind of war shit in Pax.”
“Exactly my point. You said that maybe the ephilium have been torturing demons for information on our wards. But even if they were, they wouldn’t do it here. They wouldn’t risk breaking the Concords.”
“You sure about that?” she asks, skepticism heavy in her tone.
“That pact has been strong enough to maintain peace in Strata’s cities for more than two hundred years, and with good reason.
The pale-bloods’ collateral is very dear to them, even when locked away in the Assembly building under human control.
They take all the drivel about ancestral magic very seriously.
” I spin Rose around, earning me a flare of anger in her mind—though, as usual, it gets clamped down quickly.
I scan the warehouse for any more clues, but the building has little to offer.
“No, if these rifts and murders are the ephilium’s doing, then they must’ve found a loophole. ”
“You mean like getting humans to do their dirty work for them?” she responds, her thoughts so pointed I can feel them poking at me.
“It’s not their usual style,” I say, refusing to rise to the bait.
“The pale-bloods are arrogant and pompous. That’s why I wouldn’t expect them to entrust humans with an operation like this.
They think of you as weak and incapable, for the most part.
But yes, perhaps they’re taking a leaf out of my book these days,” I finish.
“I just don’t know why you guys don’t get along better,” she says. “You sound like such a fan.”
It’s unexpected enough that I have to quickly suppress a laugh.
Amusement is not an emotion I anticipated after seeing those smiting marks or receiving the slap in the face of recognizing the river.
I thought the city would be so changed that nothing would seem familiar.
Another assumption swiftly debunked. That’s happening a lot these days.
“Come,” I say, not wanting to crawl back into the pit of wallowing that comes with dwelling on certain subjects. “Let’s return to the workshop. It will be simpler to open the rift back to Malice from there.”
“We’re done?” she asks, her heartbeat fluttering lightly for a moment. Is it just surprise? Or hope? It shouldn’t matter, and it’s best I disentangle myself from her mind before I get too curious about Rose Radley.
“For now,” I say. Though I try to ignore it, I can feel the way that same heart sinks at my words.
I try to distract myself by admiring the agile way she leverages herself back up to the windowsill, using nothing but an iron hook as a handhold before swinging up and through the open frame.
Another skill she must’ve picked up scavenging.
Not for the first time, I find myself wondering how she found herself in that life, but when I brought it up before, she’d stayed silent.
I tell myself that’s for the best as she climbs down from the other side the warehouse window, landing neatly in the side alley.
Instantly, I go on alert. We’re not alone here.
“Company,” I warn, growling the word into her mind. But I know she’s caught it too, a twist in her gut alerting her to movement at the end of the alley.
Three figures draw closer. All men, heavily built, who look like they’ve seen more than their share of fights. I’m not used to viewing the world from this height, and from Rose’s perspective, they seem like small mountains, looming over her with calculating eyes gleaming in their brutish faces.
Something stirs within me at the sight—a beast that’s been asleep for a long time. It’s a creature of rage and violence I thought I’d killed off centuries ago. But the way those men are looking at her makes it unsheathe its claws and bare its teeth.
“What are you doing down here?” demands the one in front. He has a scar running from his ear to his chin and a dagger strapped conspicuously to his belt.
“Make an excuse and leave,” I order, because if I take full control of her now, I might do something I regret—or that she’ll regret, and I’d rather not have to feel her pain. It was unpleasant enough last time.
“Hi, boys, I just got a little lost, I’m afraid,” she says. It’s shocking how good she is at holding her voice steady when I can feel her heartbeat racing in her chest.
“Well, get the fuck out of here—this is our territory,” says the shortest one, offering a clenched fist to illustrate his point, as if she wouldn’t somehow get the hint from his subtle choice of words.
She starts to back away. Which is good. Of course, the beast stirring inside me doesn’t like it, but it keeps him from needing to rip anyone’s throat out.
Then she stops.
“Hey,” she says, her voice absurdly cheerful for someone whose cold sweat I can feel beading at the base of her throat.
“What are you doing?” I snap.
“Shut up,” she tosses into her mind before speaking aloud. “I have a question for you guys.”
“You’ve lost your mind, woman,” I hiss, preparing to settle deeper into her body and take over her limbs. She hisses back.
“Maybe that’s because I have you yammering in my head all the time. Do you want answers or not?”
Before I can respond, she’s talking to the men again. “I thought I saw some wingers around here earlier,” she says, tilting her head as if she’s only mildly intrigued by the idea. “Ephilium. You haven’t seen anyone like that, have you?”
One of the thugs stares at her blankly; the other two exchange a look of confusion.
“What’cha talking about? What the fuck you want with wingers?”
“You know the bawdy house over on Wick Street?” she says. I can’t see the shy smile playing on her lips, but I can feel it. “My madam sent me to drum up some business down by the river, and everyone knows the ephilium pay best.” The lie comes smoothly, just specific enough to feel authentic.
When they still look blank, she takes another step backward. “But if you reckon I’m in the wrong part of town, I’ll be on my way.”
The scarred man’s brow furrows.
“Nice gamble, but he doesn’t buy it,” I say, slipping my magic down her arm to the delicate shape of her wrist, shifting it closer toward the knife concealed beneath the hem of her tunic.
“You don’t look like no whore,” the thug says, scanning her dark pants and tunic.
“Told you so,” I snap, closing her fingers around the dagger’s handle.
“Wow, you know how to flatter a girl,” she laughs weakly, then in her mind to me: “Just let me have a moment; I can give them the slip.”
But I can feel her panic rising as she throws a glance over her shoulder.
The shortest thug is squinting up at the warehouse now, suspicion creeping across his face. We have about ten seconds before they decide she’s lying and try to gut her.
“Sorry, Rose Radley, but we’re doing this my way.”
“Don’t—!” she shouts at me, but I’m already pouring myself into her, wrapping my power around her limbs, fully taking over. I pull the knife out from under her tunic, raising it in warning.
“Leave her alone,” I growl from her lips, letting the crimson of my eyes shine through her own. The men’s eyes widen, mouths gaping, but the sight of a blade has them immediately reaching for their own weapons.
I seize the shadow of the one on the far right, pulling the darkness up and wrapping it around him. Like a hungry snake, it yanks him to the ground, the alley filling with choking gurgles as the shadow crawls down his throat to suffocate him.
That man must’ve been the brains of the operation, because instead of running for their lives, the scarred man lunges for Rose.
The move is sloppy—I can see where he’s aiming from a mile off.
These men might be used to street fights, but they’re clearly the type to rely on brute force rather than skill.
I twist her body around, driving her arm up to block the thug’s strike at an angle where she can quickly slice open his wrist too.
Except it never gets to that.
The moment her arm connects with his, it’s thrust back—she simply lacks the strength to stop his momentum.
Her shoulder joint screams in its socket from the impact, sending a throb of agony through her body.
Worse, the Infernum knife goes flying, skidding along the alley as the man’s dagger descends.
I throw my magic against Rose’s legs, shoving her body aside just in time.
The blade glances across her side instead of driving into her stomach.
Still, I feel her body recoil as the metal bites at her flesh, leaving a thin gash.
No cry escapes her lips—I’m still in control—but a shriek of pain rips through her mind, clawing at me.
Then a meaty fist collides with her jaw.
The world spins around us as she goes flying, thrown a good two feet backward as she hits the ground. I’m aware of the agony radiating across her face, burrowing into her bones, but my focus is elsewhere. Through her blurred vision, I can see my rune-etched knife laying a couple yards away.