13
“The Regiment’s regulatory body is heavily militarized and has multiple compounds in each of Sundbourg’s major cities—the largest of which is located in the capital city of Valestadt.”
I have no intention of staying where the Warden left me.
I lie motionless in the dark after searching the room, trying to slow my heart.
The space is empty of all personal effects, as though it truly is intended for guests.
Even the design scheme is generic. I didn’t plan on being trapped in close quarters with the Warden.
I didn’t even bring all my weapons. At the very least, I need to contact Gabriel.
He’d demanded I update him when—and if—his brother agreed to my proposal, and I can’t shake the knowledge that his expectations are low.
I will prove him wrong. I will make him sorry. First, though, I need to tell him where I am.
My entire body feels like a live wire. For some reason, being in the Warden’s presence again has me recalling our first encounter in vivid detail.
Not the part where we’d tried to kill each other, but the part that came before it.
His hand in my hair. His mouth on my neck.
My arm pinned against the wall. He’d claimed he hadn’t made me want him, but I know better than to trust his word.
Still, I’m restless in a way that borders on unbearable.
Fucking traitor body. The last thing I want to do is get myself off in his house.
Especially when that wicked grin of his keeps slipping into my thoughts unbidden.
He’s right not to trust me. But I’m here, alive, aren’t I? That has to count for something.
After listening at the door for a moment, I’m confident the hallway is quiet.
Surely there’s a rotary phone somewhere; I can use it to place a call to Gabriel, and then I’ll poke around the rest of the house.
The more I learn about the Warden, the better.
You can’t manipulate someone you don’t know.
I hold my breath as I open the door slowly, so slowly. The silence in the hall is oppressive. The threat of echoes lies heavy in the air. Do diabolists have better senses than regular people? I figure it’s smart to assume the answer is yes.
I head for the stairs, eyes narrowed against the darkness.
The main floor is likely my best bet. In a house this ancient, however, every floorboard might creak.
It’s like navigating a minefield, and I wince each time I set a foot down.
The loudest noise of all is my heart slamming in my ears.
I’ve broken into countless houses over the past three years, and I was never as nervous as I am now.
Ironic, since this is a house I’ve actually been invited into.
By the time I reach the main floor landing, every muscle is taut.
The silence persists down here, but moonlight streams through the windows, making it easier to see.
With the stone accents and unnatural emptiness, it reminds me more of a mausoleum than a home.
Goose bumps rise on my skin. It’s as cold as if an exterior door has been left ajar.
I wonder, distantly, if the Warden ever feels like he’s been entombed here.
I slink from room to room, scouring each dark corner for a telephone. Neither sitting area yields anything of the sort, but when I peer into an office, triumph makes my pulse skip a beat.
A desk sits in the center of the space, strewn with stacks of paperwork around a shining typewriter. A filing cabinet dominates the wall behind it, and two chairs face each other by a large window overlooking the side yard. Hanging beside them is a black rotary phone.
I don’t go to it right away. Instead I approach the desk, studying the documents there.
I’m not a great reader, but I recognize some of them as personal correspondence, while others contain numbers.
Financial records, perhaps. More interesting is the photograph leaning against the typewriter.
It’s unframed, one of the corners folded.
I pick it up, brow furrowing as I study it. My stomach gives a jolt of recognition.
Two dark-haired boys stand with a beautiful woman, one of the boys slightly taller than the other.
The taller boy is unmistakably Gabriel. His face is rounder, and he’s smiling in that placid way of his.
One of the woman’s arms is around his shoulders.
The second boy is younger, though his face is sharper, more striking.
He stands a step back from the other two, irises made pale-gray by the black-and-white film.
Even with the dark hair, I recognize the Warden.
He glares into the camera like he’s communicating a silent threat.
The rotary phone rings, then, shrill and insistent. It strikes a chord of shocked terror within me, and I’ve snatched the receiver from the hook before the second ring, keen for the noise to cease.
“Hello?” A woman’s garbled voice carries through the line, slightly tinny. I press the receiver into my ear, fingers stiff from cold.
“Warden? Hello?”
I slam the receiver back down. Breathing hard, I dial Gabriel’s personal number. It’s late, but that won’t matter. A dial tone buzzes twice in my ear before his familiar voice clips a greeting.
“Talin?”
I force my breathing to slow. Urgency pulses through my every nerve ending. I don’t know where in this house the Warden is, or whether he heard the phone’s initial ring. “How did you know it was me?”
A stupid question. A waste of time, and Gabriel treats it as such. “Do you have an update?”
I keep my own voice a sharp whisper. “Yes. I’m in his home.”
“You’re in his home?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You were able to convince him to trust you?”
I have the strangest urge to laugh. “Something like that. Listen—the Warden and I have struck a deal. I just want to make sure ours stands.”
“I’ve already given you my word,” Gabriel says, lowering his voice until it’s as soft as mine. “I don’t care to have it questioned. Delivering my brother will be your final assignment, and then you will be free of my employ.”
“How will you ensure we’re granted access to the Reaches?
” The question has been lurking in the back of my mind—it’s not like either the Warden or I have a good reason for needing to cross the bridge separating the Reaches from the Outskirts.
I know agents are stationed at the bridge to question potential visitors.
Gabriel’s voice is calm. “I believe I’ve found a way. You see, my brother looks rather uncannily like a Regiment chaplain named Felix Astor. He’s a young initiate who keeps to himself.”
I wait for Gabriel to elaborate, wringing my free hand in urgency. “And you want the Warden to…what? Impersonate this Felix Astor?”
“He’s not well-known among agents, so they’ll take my brother at his word when he claims Astor’s identity. Especially if I let the guards know I’m expecting him.”
“What about me?”
“Those who receive a personal invitation to the Reaches are welcome to bring a partner.”
It takes the words a moment to register. When they do, I balk. “You want me to pose as the Warden’s spouse?”
“I don’t want it,” Gabriel says. He’s no longer calm—rather, he sounds strained. “I find the idea abhorrent. But it’s only a verbal claim, nothing more.”
“Fine.” He’s right. It’s not like it matters. My real concern should be whether I’ll be able to convince the Warden of this plan. “How am I meant to know Astor? Hypothetically, I mean.”
“You’ll think of something. After all, your role for me puts you in contact with Regiment employees quite often, does it not?”
Only if I’m about to kill them, I think bitterly, working my lower lip with my teeth. “Okay. I’ll raise the idea when the moment seems right. Is that everything?”
“I believe so.” There’s a long pause. Somehow I can sense that Gabriel wants to say more, and I frown, pressing the receiver into my ear so firmly it starts to ache. I’m listening to the even cadence of his breaths when he says, “Talin?”
“Yes?”
Another pause. Then—
“I miss having you here.”
There’s no time for me to process that before the line disconnects with a click.
I lower the receiver, staring at it blankly. Gabriel misses me. He misses me? I’ve received kindness from him in the past, but always bittered by an underlying hint of manipulation. This, though, didn’t feel like a tactic.
It felt like a confession.
I shove my conflicting feelings aside. I could tell Gabriel still doesn’t believe I’ll be successful, but I’ll prove him wrong.
If I fail—if I’m forced to slink back to his side—then how many more kills do I have in me?
Half a dozen? Fewer? Some say the Bloodrot drives you so mad, you don’t even realize it’s taken over.
That’s what frightens me most: that I might already be changing and I’m just not able to see it.
Life under Gabriel’s thumb is a slow, painful death.
The Warden, I suspect, would at least make it quick.
* * *
I retreat to the stairway in silence borne of habit.
The Warden is obviously still asleep, or perhaps isn’t home at all.
Thoughts of Gabriel still rattle in my head, our conversation replaying on a loop.
He made it very clear I have no power where he’s concerned.
And hadn’t the Warden communicated the same sentiment?
I’m tired of it—these arrangements in which I have so little agency.
One way or another, this will be the final time I let a man control my life.
Something in the air shifts as I reach the second-story landing. I freeze, squinting down the hallway as I dial my attention back in. It’s too dark to see much of anything, but a moment later I feel the gentle caress of warm air at my ear.
A breath.
I swallow a scream as an arm lashes out and fastens around my throat. My heels skid against the floor as I’m dragged backward, colliding with something firm. Alive. A sigh sounds from just above my head.
I should have fucking known better.