Chapter 19 Mosaic of Fears
Zane
I took the basement stairs two at a time, whistling the Jaws theme because nothing says, “Your impending doom approaches,” like John Williams’ greatest hit.
The concrete steps were still unfinished, like most of Evermere’s underground level, but hey, what’s an interrogation without exposed pipes and walls that practically scream, “No one will hear you”?
Three weeks in this place and we still hadn’t gotten around to turning the basement into a proper dungeon.
Between Seri’s recovery, magical hawks trying to curse her, and the general chaos of moving, interior decorating had fallen to the bottom of our priority list.
Not that I was complaining about the aesthetic; it was giving You’re royally fucked in all the best ways.
I paused on the landing, rolling the small mechanical object between my fingers.
Koa’s spy eye, one of his more brilliant creations, looked like a mechanical ladybug had a drunken one-night stand with a surveillance camera.
Its tiny crimson eyes glinted in the dim light, waiting to be activated.
I’d need this to give my brothers a front-row seat to the shitshow I was about to conduct.
The thing about Eluned Harrow was that she wasn’t built like normal people. Pain wouldn’t work. Girl got off on it like some perverted Victorian heroine. Threatening her? Please. The bitch lived with Arabesque “I’ll eat your soul for breakfast” Harrow. Torture was practically her love language.
That’s where I came in. The crazy guy. The one people underestimated.
Casimir had his ice-cold precision, the kind of methodical questioning that would make CIA interrogators take notes.
Koa had that terrifying berserker rage that made monsters piss themselves when his eyes went empty.
But me? I had something infinitely more invasive, a backstage pass to the trauma circus touring inside your skull.
Usually, I didn’t go rummaging around in people’s heads without permission. Telepathy without consent was a dick move, and I tried to maintain at least some ethical standards. But after what that psychotic witch had done to Seri? All bets were off.
Images of our girl flashed through my mind.
Seri’s too-thin body when we first found her, the panic in her eyes whenever someone moved too quickly, the way she’d flinch if a door slammed, the panic attacks and nightmares…
All the scars, both physical and mental, that Arabesque and her demonic offspring had carved into our beloved.
And, maybe worst of all, the theft of her magic.
My jaw clenched. Yeah, Eluned had forfeited any right to mental privacy the moment she helped her mother hurt our beloved.
I flexed my fingers, feeling that familiar tingle that always preceded using my gift.
The ability to slip into minds like they were unlocked houses, to sing nightmares and sweet dreams with equal ease.
I’d spent years honing it, making sure I could get in and out without leaving fingerprints.
But tonight? I was going in with a sledgehammer and zero fucks to give.
“Let’s see what twisted fairy tales are bouncing around in that demented head of yours, Luney,” I muttered, resuming my descent with deliberately heavy footsteps.
I wanted her to hear me coming. Wanted that flutter of anticipation to build in her chest. Psychological warfare 101: Let them stew in their own imagination before you even open your mouth.
At the bottom of the stairs, I turned down the narrow hallway that led to our improvised cell. Koa and I had reinforced one of the storage rooms with extra wards after we threw Eluned inside. Not the best set up, but it would work for Witch Containment Unit No. One until we could do better.
The spy eye warmed in my palm, its tiny mechanical wings vibrating with anticipation. I made an ugly face at it, knowing Koa would be watching the feed.
“Three, two, one, showtime,” I announced to the device, watching its crimson eyes flash as the camera activated. “Coming to you live from the bowels of Evermere, it’s the ‘Make a Psycho Cry’ hour, sponsored by Revenge. Because nothing tastes sweeter.”
The spy eye’s wings buzzed in response, and I swear it gave me a judgmental look. Could mechanical bugs look judgmental? If Koa made it, absolutely.
I approached the door, jingling keys and change in my pocket with deliberate loudness. Another psychological trick: Let her count the seconds before the door opens. Let her imagination run wild with what might be coming for her.
Twenty-three seconds. That’s how long I waited after inserting the key before turning it.
I counted each one in my head, picturing Eluned on the other side, wondering which brother was about to walk in.
Would it be Cas with his cold calculations?
Ko with his barely restrained violence? Or me, the wild card?
When I finally pushed the door open, I flicked on the single overhead light.
The bulb buzzed and flickered, casting uneven shadows across the room.
Not planned, but a nice atmospheric touch nonetheless.
I tossed the spy eye into the air, my enhanced hearing catching the soft whir of its wings as it sought the perfect vantage point.
Eluned sat against the far wall, still bound by Casimir’s enchanted cord. Her dark hair hung in limp strands around her face, and despite her circumstances, her eyes held that same manic gleam I’d seen in Seri’s memories the first time Arabesque siphoned her.
“Evening, Luney,” I drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “Hope the accommodations are to your liking. We were going for ‘abandoned serial killer lair’ vibes, but the decorator was on a budget.”
She didn’t respond, just watched me with those unsettling eyes. That was fine. I didn’t need her to talk to dig around in her brain.
I pushed off from the door and strolled into the room, cracking my knuckles one by one, a habit that drove Cas insane, but served as an excellent tension-builder. The door swung shut behind me with a satisfying clang.
“So,” I said conversationally, “let’s chat about your mother’s plans, shall we? And don’t bother lying.” I tapped my temple with my index finger. “I’ll know.”
“You think you scare me, half-breed?” Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I mirrored her smile, showing just enough teeth to remind her what I was.
“Oh, Luney. I’m not here to scare you.” I crouched down so we were eye-level. “I’m here to break you.”
This was going to be fun. For me, anyway.
Eluned only eyed me like I was a particularly interesting science experiment, one she was just dying to dissect.
I made a mental note to remind Koa to finish that Hexenf?nger he’d been messing with, trying to install a self-incinerating feature.
Witch catchers were so much more reliable than fae rope, and way more painful with those spikes lining the inside of the cold iron collar.
That also reminded me to remind Cas that we needed an incinerator installed ASAP. It was going to be a bitch to cut this witch up into pieces small enough to fit in our crucible.
Not that I’d mind, but it would take time away from me doing things I wanted to do.
Such as my wife.
Plopping down cross-legged on the floor, I stared at her without blinking, and she leaned forward, like we were girlfriends at a sleepover about to share secrets. I recognized the manipulation tactic immediately: Create false intimacy, establish rapport. Amateur hour.
“You clenched your fists after the hawk went for her. I saw it. We were watching. You don’t really want her, do you? Not truly. Not with them.” Her voice dropped even lower. “You wanted her to die that day, didn’t you? You wanted to be free of the burden.”
I let my expression remain blank, which I knew would irk her more than any defensive reaction. Inside, though, I was equal parts amused and disgusted. So this was her play. Drive a wedge between me and my brothers, make me question my commitment to Seri.
If only she knew. I sighed wistfully.
Nothing got me harder than watching Koa sink his thick cock into her while she gripped a handful of my hair. Well, unless it was seeing Casimir lose his ironclad control when she begged him for more. Eluned didn’t need to know any of that, though. Let her think she’d found a crack to exploit.
So I sang, watching her face freeze in confusion as I twisted her earlier nursery rhyme.
“Hickory dickory dead,
The witch lost her head.
My gun went boom,
The witch met doom,
Hickory dickory dead.”
Her eyebrows drew together. This wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. No defensive anger or guilty stammering, just calm, creepy singing. Good. Keep her off-balance.
“You’re broken inside,” she hissed, frustration cracking through her manipulative veneer. “Mother says all dhampirs are. You’re all abominations caught between worlds. Your father doesn’t even claim you. How does it feel to be a royal bastard playing house with a worthless farm girl?”
“Is there a point to this charm offensive, or are you just warming up?” I yawned deliberately.
Her face flushed with anger. Her wrists twisted, testing her bonds. Definitely needed to prioritize that Hexenf?nger.
“I have a deadly nightshade,” she suddenly sang, her voice taking on an eerie, childlike quality that raised the hair on my arms despite my best efforts. “So twisted does it grow with berries black as midnight and a skull as white as snow.”
I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“The vicar’s cocky son came to drink my tea,” she continued, swaying slightly. “He touched me without asking, now he’s buried ’neath a tree.”
Okay, that was genuinely disturbing, even by my standards, but it was also my opening. As she lost herself in her macabre little ditty, I reached out with my mind, extending tendrils of thought toward hers.