30 Turn Against Your Sister
Turn Against Your Sister
The boy has given up looking for an exit, no longer racing around his cell frantically when Zara and I visit.
Instead, he hides, wrapped in a blanket I pushed through the hatch, the occasional flash of his eyes visible from its folds as he tracks my and Zara’s every movement.
Zara lounges carelessly sprawled across a lab table, reading a book while I work.
“At least get off the table in case anyone walks in,” I say.
She rolls her eyes but complies. Sort of. She hops down and sits but kicks her feet up onto the tabletop and rocks her chair back and forth on two legs.
I grit my teeth and resist nagging at her again.
I’m on edge. Adele wants a progress update, and I have nothing for her.
And this time, I’ve been genuinely trying to find a way to appease her.
She won’t let up about gates, conduits, channeling massive amounts of magic through these thoroughly unmagical creatures to return something from the void.
I know I could do it, make those collars.
I know exactly how at this point. Ever since the moment I wandered near that magic abyss to create the Gauntlet, I’ve known how.
All it would take is another trip past that threshold.
But I don’t know if I could come back from it unchanged.
If I could come back at all. If I could control more than one magical gate at a time.
And the Gauntlet is always present, a splinter in my mind.
I still have some free will left. What if she could control me completely, though?
I think of armies of the dead brought back to life. Of legions of these child-appearing creatures with unnatural magical powers under Adele’s command. But they all fight a faceless foe, an unknown opponent. What am I missing? What is Adele keeping from me? And why?
I’ve made a few prototype drawings. Enough to look like I’m making progress. Not enough to give anyone who looks at my notes enough knowledge to know how to proceed. The thought of Adele wielding that whirling storm of magic through an army of conduits is blood-chilling.
“You aren’t actually going to make her some sort of mind-control device, are you?
” Zara asks, right in my ear. I jump in surprise.
She’s snuck up on me quietly. I reflexively cover my paper and turn to shoulder her away, surprised to find I have to look up.
She’s grown so much recently, and I forget she’s taller than I am already.
Her teenage gangly limbs remind me with a pang of nostalgia of that year when her toddler limbs stretched out in similar fashion, baby fat melting away and leaving a scrawny child in their place.
“I’m going to do what I have to. Don’t worry about it,” I say, sounding more frustrated than I mean to.
Zara narrows her eyes, but stalks back to her chair and resumes her rocking and reading.
“Sorry, I—”
The door swings open, and Adele strides in.
The baby starts in fright and darts around the cage, looking for sanctuary and finding none.
Zara and her chair crash to the floor as Adele’s jaw clenches disapprovingly.
Adele closes the door with a snap. Zara tries to hide her book behind her back as she hops up and rights her chair.
My feet are moving, stepping between Zara and Adele before I’ve consciously registered the lack of guards, Adele’s bare face.
We all know we’re in trouble when she leaves the mask and guards behind.
A quiet family chat with Adele is never just a chat.
“You let her get away with too much laziness,” Adele says sharply, holding out a hand for Zara’s book. Zara complies meekly.
“That’s not my job. I’m not her mother,” I say waspishly.
“I’ve made her your responsibility.”
“Of course you’d figure out a way to make your incompetent parenting a criticism of me,” I say, leaning back against the lab table, crossing my arms, deliberately leaving the Gauntlet on display.
Cold satisfaction rises inside me as I see Adele bite back her response.
We’ve reached a stalemate over the last few years.
She doesn’t control the Gauntlet entirely.
It hurts when I try to fight her hold on it—it takes so much effort—but I know it saps her just as badly.
I’m not proud of it, but these days, the one who’s usually using the thing is me.
It gets easier the longer I do it. Adele rarely has to interfere.
It’s the only thing besides my sisters that has made staying here bearable—it gives me just enough leverage, just enough satisfaction that she treats me with wariness and grudging respect.
When Adele isn’t in the room, it’s me that everyone jumps to obey.
But apparently Adele has chosen today to prove a point.
“You want parenting?” Adele asks through gritted teeth but with a sweet smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Why start now?” I snort. “You don’t like any of us. I’m not even sure why you had us.”
I know I shouldn’t goad her, but I’m aware that when Adele’s focused on me, she’s more likely to ignore Zara. And honestly, I’m in a foul mood, and it feels good taking it out on Adele. So I recklessly continue.
“I’m working on your project of the month, keeping up your facade in public. Why can’t you stop pretending in private? Get out.” I dismissively wave my hand.
Zara stifles a gasp. Adele’s eyes snap to Zara, then back to me, and her expression shifts to something predatory.
“I created you. You’ll do as I require,” Adele says. She cocks her head like an animal ready to pounce, and the hairs at the back of my neck rise. “Let me see your notes,” she says, holding out her hand to me.
“No,” I say.
My hand twitches of its own accord. It rises, outstretched, fingers unfurling like petals on a flower, mirroring Adele’s movements. Reaching toward Zara. Panic starts to rise like bile in my throat. She’s never made me use the Gauntlet against my sisters.
“I said give me your notes.”
I don’t answer. I’m struggling to control my arm, but I can’t. A smile rises on Adele’s face again, and the Gauntlet moves in tandem with her own hand, curling my fingers against my will.
Pain. So much pain. That same pain I felt in that magical void. Every nerve ending screams. I want to crawl out of my skin. My head is bursting, my blood boiling. My knees give out, but I’m held by my arm in that iron grip.
“I said get me your notes.”
“I can’t move,” I gasp, struggling against the awkward angle of my arm to hold myself up again.
“Zara, go get them for me,” Adele says.
Zara remains paralyzed, eyes darting, panting. A rabbit pinned by a fox.
“Run, Zara, run,” I urge through clenched teeth.
Zara is still staring in horror, frozen.
“Get me the notes, Zara,” Adele repeats.
When she still doesn’t move, Adele sighs deeply.
“Fine. I don’t like this any more than you do, but clearly the time has come for consequences.
Maybe, if you have a taste of the suffering, of how it feels to be too connected to someone, to go down with them, then you might just begin to understand. ”
My arm twists, turning on Zara, grasping armored fingers, squeezing.
My screams don’t drown out Zara’s. The Gauntlet moves my arm. Adele moves my arm, pulling me closer, leaving me no choice but to walk toward Zara, stand above her as she writhes.
I remember screaming. I remember looking for help and finding none.
Finding only a pair of eyes in the darkness.
A little boy watching from the corner of the cell, perfectly calm now.
His eyes look as dead, as unfeeling, as far away, as I want to be.
He never looks away through it all, though I think he’s somewhere else.
I don’t know how long Adele keeps us there before she leaves with my notes.
Time moves in great skips and stutters again.
I drift like I haven’t since Luca left. Soon we’re both tucked back in my room, Zara and I.
My bed is crowded with sisters. I fear I’ll always remember feeling trapped in that room, listening to Zara scream.
I’ve tried to remove the Gauntlet every way I can think of.
Tried with decreasing regard for my own safety to physically destroy it.
I hit it with a hammer, stuck it in a fire, and poured acid over it.
It always reemerges unscathed. Short of cutting off my own arm, which I can’t yet bring myself to try, I don’t think I can remove it.
Maybe if I jumped back into that magical void, I could destroy it.
But I’m not that self-sacrificing. I think long and hard about what to do the following few days, delaying real work as long as possible.
Doing nothing isn’t an option. Watching Zara follow in Adele’s and my footsteps, letting this project turn her cold, I won’t allow that.
I could lie to Zara, do the project myself.
But surely Adele would find out, and then Zara would think I betrayed her.
And if I do nothing, I know now it’s Zara whom Adele will punish.
There’s the solution I’ve opted for once before.
I could set the baby free, like I did with Luca.
The ache in my chest at the thought of Luca is still there, but it’s like prodding an old bruise rather than a raw, gaping wound.
I still have the key to the cell, but there are other problems with this plan.
I got away with it once, but not unscathed.
And I doubt Adele will allow that kind of betrayal a second time without more severe consequences.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this dungeon.
Nor do I want the Gauntlet turned on Zara again.
There’s also the creature’s well-being to consider.
Could he even take care of himself? I suppose he probably was fine on his own before Adele captured him, but she has given me precious little info about his past. Maybe someone was caring for him.
A few days with the little creature have proven that while he may look like barely more than a toddler, he’s most certainly more than that.
His vitals and blood samples are impossible to collect.
I tried to tranquilize him once, but the dart bounced off his skin, and he hissed at me in a very offended sort of way.
He drinks bottles of animal blood and will eat chunks of raw meat but refuses anything else.
Before I realize I’m doing it, I’m going through the old motions again, putting a plan together to leave.
It’s the only way. Though it’s never worked before, I find the cockroach of hope is hard to squash, even beheaded and stomped upon.
It’s far past time I took my sisters and left: I’m twenty-five, Zara fifteen, Meredith eight.
We’ll take the boy with us. I make preparations quickly and tell both Zara and Meredith.
Luca’s phone number and email address are a mantra I repeat daily.
We’re leaving. I’ll face the problem of the Gauntlet once I leave.
Surely distance from Adele will keep her from using it.
And if she loses herself once we go, well, I can’t be responsible for her anymore.
There’s a strange Winnebago in the motley collection of vehicles Adele has acquired for one reason or another over the years.
We’re taking that. Not only is it practical; it feels friendly.
Maybe it’s silly to base such a decision on a bit of intuition, an imaginary voice in my head chiming friend, helper, friend, but I don’t care.
I move a few sentimental items in preparation: Meredith’s cactus, Luca’s old shirt.
Small things—I’m afraid to do more in case we’re being monitored.
The next time Adele is busy with her weather bullshit, we’re running.
Meredith and Zara will leave through the secret tunnel in Adele’s room.
I’ll grab the boy and the Winnebago, and meet my sisters at the outer door, where I can unlock it and let them out.
The little boy looks up warily as he always does when I visit. He is no longer terrified of me, but this time, I need to win his full trust.
“Hey,” I say as I pull off my mask and sit down at the front of his cage as if this were a casual conversation.
He scrambles toward the back corner, wrapping himself in his blanket, as far from me as he can get.
Hissing like a cat and baring sharp fangs, he flexes a row of spiky protrusions along his spine.
I don’t have time for coddling and coercion.
Either he’s desperate enough to accept my help or he isn’t.
“I’m Reggie. I’m going to get you out soon. You don’t have to like me, but you’ll have to trust me if we’re all going to get out of here. I know I don’t deserve your trust, but unfortunately, I’m all you’ve got.”
He eyes me suspiciously but wanders a little closer to peer at me, inspect my face.
“I’ll open up this cage either way before I go. If you want to be on your own, that’s your problem. But if you want my help, I need to know you can promise me a few things. Nod or something if you understand.”
“I understand,” he says in a quiet voice. I’m surprised, but this makes things easier. He sounds much older than he looks, like a teenager, not a toddler.
“Adele, that woman who brought you here, she’s bad.”
“Obviously,” he snorts disdainfully, and glares at me. “But you work for her.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. She is my mother. I didn’t know how to stop her. But I’m done now. She made me hurt my sister—” My throat closes, and I can’t force more words out. But the boy seems to understand. He nods with eyes that are too old for a baby.
“She’s a beast wearing a human skin.”
I nod because that sounds about right. “We’re all getting out of here.”
“I don’t trust you. But I will cooperate with you. I want out.” He doesn’t sugarcoat things as he bargains for his survival.
“Fair enough. I need to know you aren’t dangerous. I don’t think you are, but I want you to promise me. My two sisters, they’re going to come with us, and you can’t hurt them or me.”
“I understand brothers and sisters. Of course, I won’t hurt them; I’m not a beast. But I won’t let you hurt me,” he says, perfectly enunciating the words, looking offended.
“Okay, good. I didn’t think so, but I needed to be sure. Next, I need you to look a little more human, stop with the rainbow skin thing. We’ll have to hide.”
He doesn’t answer but looks at me and bares his teeth, and I watch the fangs disappear, and his skin stops pulsing fantastical colors, settling as Zara’s exact shade of brown. His features shift until he looks like he could be Zara’s brother. An expert mimic.
“As soon as it’s time to go, I’ll come down here for you. Deal?”
“Deal,” he agrees.