Chapter 52
Rafe
My God, I couldn’t have planned a better distraction.
When Lucille Brandt approached Skye, Wyatt and I had hesitated. We hadn’t counted on Lucille trying anything, but we shouldn’t have been worried. As soon as Skye turned on her bitch mode, the two of us disappeared, even though I could tell Wyatt really wanted to watch the face off.
Raaz allowed me to watch the entire thing after I’d sent him in as backup, and he took my distraction suggestion extremely literally.
I wasn’t mad. He was growing on me.
Wyatt and I stepped out of the shadows at the dungeon entrance I’d seen my father and the Crusader exit weeks ago, and we stared at the door for several seconds in silence.
“Any bets?” I asked.
“Sure,” Wyatt said, thinking hard for a moment before snapping his fingers. “I think Rogelio is down there.”
I choked on a laugh, actually leaning over and coughing before I could catch my breath. “What the fuck?” I wheezed.
Wyatt shrugged. “You?”
I rubbed my jaw. “My father possesses a clone of some kind.”
Wyatt snorted, and then I snorted, and then we were both chuckling in an attempt to mask our nerves as we made our way through the door and down the dingy steps.
The air was thick as we descended underground, and there weren’t nearly as many cobwebs as I’d expected. This passage was used frequently. There were even literal fire sconces on the wall, eternally lit by someone’s affinity.
Wyatt and I grew quieter and quieter as we went deeper and deeper down the winding steps.
Finally, we stopped at the first landing.
One of the Rogelios –maybe the first?– had dubbed the levels in the dungeon as the levels of Hell.
Maybe it was fitting at one time, but now we didn’t actually have any prisoners here, as far as I knew.
Only those convicted of treason could be kept in an actual dungeon, and nothing like that had happened in nearly a century.
My father got close, but we never were able to prove he’d been the one to try to kill me.
“Well?” Wyatt whispered.
I shrugged. “Let’s start checking doors.”
There was nothing to see for about twenty minutes. Wyatt and I carefully peeked into each cell, and only a few rats blinked back at us.
It gave me the fucking creeps. Who the hell had let us play down here when we were kids?
I was beginning to think Alejandro had wanted me dead a lot longer than my eighteenth birthday.
Just as we were about to give up, some shadows spilled from the walls, then danced along the floor. One seemed to skip around a corner, then came back and prodded at me.
“Fucking weird,” Wyatt whispered harshly.
The shadow seemed offended.
I glared at Wyatt, then began walking backward, following the shadow. I was ready to waste the rest of his night if I had to, I was sick of his attitude toward the shadows.
“Rafe,” Wyatt whispered harshly, and then froze as we rounded the corner.
This section of the dungeon looked visibly…newer. Or at least better kept.
The walls and floors were clean, and there were electric lights on the walls instead of the sconces from the last hall.
A feeling of dread washed over me. My stomach began to churn as I made my way forward. I heard the softest beeping sound in the distance, on the other side of the wall down another set of stairs. A shadow dipped down the nearest set of stairs and sprang back out quickly.
“Rafe,” Wyatt whispered. “Wait–”
There was no waiting. This was it. Whatever we were here to see, it was down these stairs, I just knew it. So I drew closer, even as Wyatt hissed at me to stop. My feet moved me of their own accord as more dread filled my stomach.
I knew what I was about to see. Somehow, deep down, I’d known about this place. I’d known what was kept here. Shafer wasn’t speaking cryptically, and neither was Marion. I was beginning to think they were two of the most truthful people I knew outside of my budding family Chain with Skye.
Wyatt followed me even as his panic increased. It was as if I could hear his heartbeat pounding alongside mine as we quickly descended the spooky steps into an even cleaner section of the dungeon.
Our breathing was hushed in the heavy silence, our footsteps echoing loudly. We arrived at the first of several steel doors, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that I wasn’t about to see what I thought I was about to see.
My heart sank as I opened my eyes, peering through the little window on the steel door.
Inside, in the center of the room, was exactly what I didn’t want to see.
A hospital bed.
With dozens of wires attached to a frail, ghostly figure that was nearly lost in the sheets.
Shadows slipped into the electric lock system, frying the passcode box before the door unlocked, and more shadows pulled it open.
Wyatt was frozen in the doorway as I made my way forward, coming to a stop at the bedside of one very, very old man; so old he gave Shafer a run for his money. He looked like some kind of spooky decoration. Inhuman. So frail and thin that just looking at him felt like it could break a bone.
His green eyes were open, owlishly staring up at me while the heart rate monitor began to beep faster.
I glanced at the monitors, nearly cringing when I saw how high his numbers were, then looked back to his face.
His breathing rattled again, and one of his eerily thin hands reached for the oxygen machine attached to his face.
I shook my head, gently stopping him with a hand to his clammy wrist. I glanced at Wyatt, who’d finally made his way into the room. He looked aghast, somewhere between disbelief and horror as he moved forward. He placed a hand on the man’s forehead, wincing as he got a read on him.
If you remove the oxygen, he’ll die within minutes.
I breathed out slowly. Even in our minds, Wyatt sounded shattered.
Can he speak?
No, Wyatt answered. He can’t do anything on his own. These machines do everything for him. Fuck, Rafe. He’s old as sin.
Can you tell how old?
No.
I nodded, then whispered to the old man. “If you can hear me, blink twice quickly.”
The old man blinked twice quickly.
“May I speak into your mind? You can speak with the two of us that way.”
The old man blinked several times in a row, his eyes desperately darting between me and Wyatt.
Thank you, I said. Who are you?
My name is Albert. How old are you?
Wyatt and I shared a look. That wasn’t the question I’d expected, but okay.
I’m twenty-eight, I replied.
Albert appeared relieved. I cannot fathom I’ve only been here thirteen years, it’s felt like a lifetime. But I will not complain. Thank you for coming for me, Rogelio. I knew my future king wouldn’t leave me here to die.
Wyatt turned to stone next to me.
My stomach felt as if it’d dropped out of my body and through the floor.
Rogelio was my grandfather.
This man thought I was my grandfather.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him how wrong he was, but Wyatt grabbed my shoulder.
You’ll give him a heart attack, Wyatt hissed, following my train of thought.
How old is he? I breathed. Wyatt, how is he alive–
I don’t know, but–
My king? Albert asked shakily. You are…you are the king?
I took a deep breath.
My name is Rafael. Rogelio III was my grandfather. He died last year. His daughter, my mother, succeeds him. Her name is Ramira.
Albert looked as if his brain short-circuited. He froze, his eyes going far away as if his lucidity was leaving him.
Albert, I said urgently. Please tell me who put you here. Tell me everything you remember.
Albert took a sudden, gasping breath, and Wyatt shouldered me out of the way, then grabbed Albert’s shoulders.
I could feel the warmth of Wyatt’s healing affinity flaring hot from beside me, but nothing happened.
Albert continued gasping desperately, his hands twitching like they’d be flailing if they weren’t so weak.
More, Albert wheezed even in his mind. There’s more…
More what? I asked desperately.
He stopped communicating, his jaw falling slack as Wyatt ran his hands over his chest. Albert continued gasping for another minute or so, and I finally turned away sharply, covering my face with my hands while Wyatt hopelessly tried to save the poor man.
After several long seconds, Wyatt’s ragged breathing was the only sound in the sudden silence. Albert was gone.
There’s more of them, Wyatt told me. I think he was trying to tell us there’s others.
Other what, though? Prisoners?
Fucking hell. My grandfather had been an absolute piece of shit, but to keep prisoners alive like this? But this wasn’t my grandfather’s doing. Albert thought my grandfather would save him, which meant it was my grandfather’s father who’d done this.
Once again I found myself wishing Rogelio II had been killed by that Telekinetic.
Rafe…Wyatt cleared his throat quietly. This man was a Sensor.
I turned around, looking at my friend in bewilderment.
I could feel it, Wyatt said quietly. He was a strong Sensor. His affinity reacted to mine. He knew what we were before we’d even spoken to him.
I ran a hand down my face, looking down the length of the dungeon hall.
I strode forward, leaving Wyatt grunting disapprovingly behind me. I heard his footsteps echoing a moment later, quickly trying to catch up to me. I stopped in front of another dilapidated door, then peeked through the small window.
Another hospital bed.
Another frail body.
I looked at Wyatt, knowing my gaze was wild, but his matched. Wyatt didn’t wait for me this time, instead pushing through the door on his own.
“Sensor,” he breathed. “Another Sensor.”
I stalked forward, stopping at the foot of the bed to take in the tiny form of what appeared to be a woman. She couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds, her skin barely clinging to her bones. Her hair was so white it was nearly translucent, tucked beneath her head.
I’d thought Albert looked like a spooky decoration, but I’d been wrong. This woman looked like a fucking skeleton.
Then she gasped.
Wyatt lurched back.