Chapter 19 #2
He silences her with a kiss. She responds with an alarming amount of enthusiasm, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.
When they pull apart, she says, ‘I don’t want you throwing parties any more. I don’t like it when you leave. You’re not supposed to leave. Nothing bad will happen, so long as you stay here with me.’
She’s so earnest that her words barely sound threatening, but I shudder anyway, knowing how terrible she could make things for him.
‘All right,’ he says. ‘I promise, I’ll stay. And if I do throw another party, it’ll be in your honour. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
Her eyes widen. ‘I’ve never had a birthday party.’
‘I know.’ He tugs her hand. ‘Why don’t we go for that walk? We can talk about it.’
Well, finally, he’s remembered that getting her out of this room might be a good idea. I breathe a sigh of relief as she allows him to pull her from the chair, but she immediately gasps, whirling in the direction of the stacks.
‘What is that?’ she asks.
Oh, shit. Her nostrils flare. Shit. No relief. I don’t feel relief. I am in no way delighted they’re leaving.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Damian says.
‘But I –’ She cocks her head. ‘What if another one escaped?’
‘I’m sure they’re secure, but why don’t I go and check? First, let’s get you into the kitchen. You’re thirsty, aren’t you? I’ll make you a drink.’
‘Thirsty. Yes.’ Her eyes darken, and I know exactly what she’s thirsty for.
My sweet, sweet emotions. I creep into the far corner of the room, like the shelves here can protect me.
Books press into my spine as I cower against the furthest shelf, when suddenly I hear a soft click, and the whole case spins, flipping around and taking me with it, depositing me in a dark area before returning to its usual position.
Well. That’s one way to leave the library.
I press my ear to the back of the case, listening for any signs that Eira heard what happened.
Their voices are muffled, but aren’t getting louder.
I swallow. I may have avoided immediate discovery, but I still need to escape this house.
I feel along the wall, trying to work out where I am, when my hand hits a rope.
A quick tug, and a curtain above slides back to reveal a window, allowing moonlight to fill the space. I’m standing in a small alcove, my boots dangerously close to a set of steep stairs leading downwards.
Down. I don’t think I want to go down. Down implies underground.
Down implies a basement, aka the place I was warned to avoid. My knees tremble, and I grit my teeth. Surely whatever’s down there cannot be any worse than the Souleater in the library.
I descend the rickety stairs slowly, clutching the banister the whole time. When I’ve got three steps left, I’m hit with a blast of fear so sharp, so strong, that I fall the rest of the way, my hand slamming against the door to brace my impact, the sting reverberating through my palm.
My legs threaten to buckle.
Someone’s behind this door, and whoever they are, they’re terrified.
The back of my throat burns. I’ve never experienced an emotion this pungent before, like all the feelings that came previously were nothing more than the dull edge of a blade, and now I’m finally being pierced by the tip. There’s so much of it. I’d be full. Powerful. I could do anything.
No. I clench my fists. If someone’s this scared, it means they need help. Not from some Souleater wanting to channel all the magic they can, but from someone like the witch in that history book.
I want to be that person.
With no small amount of trepidation, I twist the knob.
Entering the basement is like being pummelled by a wave. The palpable scent of panic is suffocating, and I can’t reach the surface, can’t fight the way my head pounds and my lungs burn, incapable of sucking in fresh air, of being filled with anything but worry.
I press my sleeve to my mouth as though that’ll be enough to save me, and look around. A collection of candles, some burned to their base, sit atop a table, opposite a cage with metal bars stretching from floor to ceiling.
And in that cage . . . people. Over a dozen of them.
They cower as one, save for the girl nearest to me who sits alone, using the bars as a pillow in the absence of any such amenities.
They all wear loose-fitting brown clothing.
There are two buckets in the far corner that, from the smell, I suspect are for waste.
Plates that have been licked clean are stacked on the opposite end.
At the sight of me, some of their panic dims. I drop to my knees in front of the girl, taking in the grey tinge to her skin, the way her bones protrude from her body.
She’s so frail, I’m afraid she might crack in two.
Dust collects around her feet like she’s an ornament that’s been left unattended.
Her hair hangs in limp strands around her shoulders.
It might have been a similar shade of blonde to mine once, but between the dim light and the grime covering her, it may as well be black now.
Her face though . . . it may be gaunt, but I know it. I know it from missing posters nailed to walls, from a mother looking for a child in an inn. Yvette. That was the name her mother mentioned. Tears prick my eyes. I’d envisioned her having a romantic adventure.
And she was here.
She sweeps a lock of hair behind her neck, and the movement draws my attention to her arm. Or rather, what’s on her arm.
Hexmarks. More than one of them.
I reach through the bars, wanting to see how many marks there are, needing to know exactly what Eira’s done to these people – ‘Ow!’
Pain flares up my finger the moment I touch her. My skin hisses, sizzling like a hog on a spit, and I bolt away, fighting a scream, searching for something cold I can use to dim the burn.
‘She can’t touch me any more,’ Yvette says vacantly. ‘So that’s good, isn’t it?’
I don’t respond. Horror roars in my ears.
Our hexes can also be gifts.
She can’t be touched which means Eira won’t be able to hurt her, but it also means she can never be touched, like her flesh is filled with acid that burns at the slightest contact. Like me and Damian, she could never be with anyone physically, if she escaped this place.
How many hexes did it take for her body to decide that was the best solution to her problem?
A door creaks before I can ask.
I jump to my feet, my insides once again doing all kinds of acrobatics, while the smell of fear from the cage intensifies. Light shines at the opposite end of the room, and another set of stairs groans beneath the weight of someone’s footsteps. Yvette trembles.