Chapter V. A Mouse in a Trap #4
They were back in the ballroom, and Rafaela looked around, as if trying to find somewhere safe. Ariadne grabbed her arm, pulling her down to speak close to her ear.
“This is your last chance.”
Before Rafaela could push her away, two raised voices and a wave of scandalized whispers made them turn around.
Again, someone said, looking at the entrance.
They’re doing it again. Ariadne glanced at Rafaela, who had stopped because of the tumult, her long neck stretched to see above other people’s heads.
On the other side, Augusto was talking to the unsettled human girl she had seen before, covering her with his dinner jacket.
Ubirajara still sang, oblivious to the fight, and Quaint grasped Dami?o by the shoulder.
“… won’t do anything tonight. I just want to know where Erik is.”
Dami?o stared at the hand grabbing his arm with disdain.
“And why would I know? I don’t like him any better than I like you.”
“Play nice,” warned Quaint, but his grip was strong enough to twist Dami?o’s arm slightly. “I know Rafaela is involved. Where is he?”
The two women exchanged glances, silently agreeing to move toward the fight. This time, it was Rafaela who clasped her hand, dragging her through the crowd.
“I don’t question my wife about her business.” Dami?o dusted the sleeve of his double-breasted frock coat like it had been tainted. “Go bother her instead. Or don’t, because that would just upset her, and there’s nothing sadder than a dead child, don’t you think?”
Quaint’s nostrils flared, and Ariadne walked faster. Her free hand fumbled inside her purse, searching for a familiar shape.
“That’s low even for you.”
“Ignore him,” Augusto said, a few meters from them. “The trash won’t take itself out, but they sure like to talk, don’t they?”
Under the chandelier, the purple veins under Dami?o’s eyes were more visible, and fangs appeared when he curled his lips, a rabid dog gaining momentum.
Ariadne froze when their eyes met. In his presence, she was still the little girl who watched as they took turns biting her arms, blood gushing until she was dizzy and weak.
The only thing tying her to the present was the pain caused by Rafaela’s clawing fingers on the back of her hand.
“It’s you,” gasped Dami?o. “You’re little—”
“Don’t say that name.” Ariadne’s voice almost faltered. In a second, he was in front of her, bizarrely fast, nauseatingly close. Dami?o’s brown eyes scanned her from head to toe, and he made a thoughtful sound.
“At first, I wasn’t sure because you shaved your head, and because…
” He spoke in a low and hurried voice, his spidery fingers reaching out to her face, trying to trace the absence of black hair, but Ariadne flinched, ducking.
Behind Dami?o, Quaint and Augusto roared, shouting for him to stay back. “Now I can see it’s really you.”
“Me,” Ariadne repeated laconically. She searched for the veterinary automatic syringe, one hand discreetly buried inside her purse, checking the liquid bottle and touching the handle.
Rafaela’s fingers slipped from hers and fell to her side. The other woman seemed in shock, gawking at their interaction in disbelief.
“Come, now—I wasn’t the one who hurt you, remember?” urged Dami?o when he saw his wife’s face. He rubbed his cane with a gloved hand. “They’re upset because they think I was the one who did it, but if you tell them the truth…”
“The truth?” Ariadne couldn’t register the people around them. When she blinked, the walls turned yellow, and she was be trapped in the old house again. “You were the one who took me there in the first place.”
“I did you a favor, do you think you were any better where I found you? Do you think things would have turned out any differently for you?” Dami?o whispered frantically, his pale face awash in outrage. “The people who gave you to me were no kinder than Minotauro was. They were just human.”
Ariadne stared at his shoes. In her heart, she knew it was true, and that the apathy with which she had accepted everything was just a sign of it.
Minotauro’s compliments were a constant reminder that her old life was no better than her new one: She never cries, she never complains, she was born for it.
“That’s no excuse for doing the things you did, and yet you did them anyway,” replied Ariadne with a hollow voice.
The walls around them were no longer yellow, and when she looked at him, there was little left of the terrifying outline of the man in the top hat.
It was just a man, and a weak, tedious one at that. “That’s the only truth I’ll tell.”
For the first time since they had arrived, Rafaela moved, jolting her husband by the lapel of his coat. Her growls were even louder than the men’s.
“And what exactly did you do? Huh?”
“Nothing! I never touched her, I swear.” Dami?o glanced at her, as if expecting Ariadne to back him up. “When he was finished with the kids, I ate them. That was our deal.”
“Whatever makes you sleep better at night.” Ariadne let out an angry laugh and turned to a livid Rafaela. “And whatever you want to believe.”
“Enough. You have no right to talk to her—” Quaint pulled Dami?o by the neck, forcing him away from Ariadne like he was pulling a dog by the leash. “I will ask one more time: where are they?”
“Even if I knew, I would never tell you,” snarled Dami?o, his voice turning feral as he became more agitated. A smile crept onto his face. “A friend for a friend.”
His hat fell to the floor, and he tried to bite Quaint, who dodged and punched him in the face.
The sound of fist against nose made Ariadne’s stomach churn.
Thick drops of blood fell on Dami?o’s white tie, and he groaned, curling in on himself, one hand slipping inside his frock coat.
Before anyone could react, he jumped on Quaint.
Dami?o was swift: avoiding a second punch, neck bending sideways right under Quaint’s wrist, lock-blade knife snapping open under his thumb.
The blade cracked one of the dark lenses of Quaint’s glasses, and he stumbled back, covering his face.
Rivulets of blood dripped from Quaint’s left eye to his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt, like tangles of red veins.
“Quaint!” Ariadne and Augusto screamed. Dami?o charged again, but this time she ran toward him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, throwing her arms around his head from behind, trying to claw his eyes.
Sharp teeth invaded the metal of her prosthesis, and Ariadne gasped.
The pain lasted only until the sensors broke, making her entire arm go cold.
She took the syringe with the other hand and slammed it against his neck, pumping tranquilizers into his jugular vein as she pushed the bitten arm against his jaws.
“You—” Dami?o tumbled into her arms, convulsing and looking at her with bewilderment.
Ariadne held him as he fell to the floor, lowering his heavy body with the same care she would have given a sack of sand, seeing herself reflected in his eyes.
“To me, you’re just a mouse struggling in a trap,” she said, and Dami?o passed out.