The Soulless

by Kate Martin

  Bri watched Carma’s expression go from pure annoyance to a polite smile when she turned to greet the woman. “Agatha.” The women exchanged kisses and pleasantries. Bri didn’t care to listen. They were talking about some other woman’s social agenda and accepted wine from a passing waiter. Bri worked at centering himself, and keeping the myst at bay.

  Until the woman turned her attention on him.

  “Oh, and who is this young gentleman?” Her voice was an octave too high to be pleasant. She drifted closer to him. “Wait, don’t tell me. This must be Bri. Am I right?”

  Carma stepped closer as well. “Yes. My cousin.”

  She talks about me? The thought of his name among the gossip of the city made him wish for a hole to open up in the floor and swallow him.

  Agatha cooed. “You never told me he was so handsome. You just keep all the handsome men to yourself, don’t you, Carma?”

  “Fate has been good to me,” she said with a fake smile, but then she cursed as a man bumped into her on his way by, spilling her wine down the front of his suit.

  Agatha, however, was still focused on Bri. “What a beautiful face,” she said, not noticing the commotion at her side and reaching out to stroke Bri’s cheek. The touch was so unexpected, he couldn’t guard against it.

  The myst swallowed him instantly.

  The darkness was everywhere, and Bri had only an instant to see the huge mass of myst that had been so eager, swirling violently, before it slammed into him and invaded his mind.

  The vision was clear. Clearer than any he’d ever had before. Each stone that made up the grand temple had precise edges, detailed pitting, and spots of crystal. The polish it had undergone made it smooth beneath Bri’s fingertips. The torchlight flickered and cast errant bits of warmth around the cold and dark room. Crying echoed off those walls, along with screams and shouts for help, and laughter carried through the room beside those terrible sounds. The scent of blood was thick on the air, so thick…

  At the center of the room was an enormous labrynth scrawled in red. And at one point of the labrynth was Agatha.

  She screamed, her hands and feet outstretched but tied to nothing. Her dress had been torn, her face bruised. A knife lifted beside her, floating on the air as though held by some invisible hand. It rose and rose, then centered above her chest.

  When it plunged into her breast, blood splattered, and the scream that erupted from her throat shattered Bri’s nerves. He turned, hand over his mouth as his stomach lurched at the sounds of her ribs cracking and splitting.

  Then more screams echoed from around him. Hand still pressed firmly against his mouth, Bri opened his eyes.

  More labrynths, more lines, more bodies, all bloody, screaming, struggling. Dying.

  He spun around, trying to escape, but had no idea where the seam in the myst existed. He could find nothing but blood, screams, and that terrible laughter.

  Light glinted off something in the corner of his vision, drawing his desperate attention. A mirror.

  The myst imploded around him.

  The orchestra played a waltz, and bright light lit the gilded room. Agatha’s fingers had just left his cheek, and he felt his entire body trembling, broken out in a cold sweat, his clothes suddenly too tight, too restrictive. His stomach lurched.

  He ran, pushing through the crowd. The myst that clung to them poked at him as he made his way to the wall and followed along it. Fresh air, that was what he needed. That dark myst by the dais felt too close.

  He didn’t apologize as he pushed past people, nearly knocking over one young woman who emerged from a group of potted plants, straightening her hair and skirt. The cool glass of a set of doors graced his clammy palms and he surged through. The night air rushed into his lungs, chasing away the heat of the vision and chilling the sweat spreading across his skin. The sounds of the ball grew dimmer with each running step across the cobblestones, and when he reached the stone wall that signaled the edge of the garden, he gripped it, leaned over, and retched.

  Lillianna saw the woman in purple touch the boy, and saw him go absolutely still for no more than a breath of time. Then he ran.

  Carma, of course, called after him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. When he didn’t stop, she gave chase.

  They were both headed straight for Kai.

  Careful not to draw attention, but still moving as quickly as she could, Lillianna cut across the dance floor, and back into the crowd of spectators.

  She reached the edge just in time to see Carma’s boy narrowly miss careening into the young woman who came from behind the potted plants. The flustered girl stared after the boy, blinking in confusion before turning to look back where she had come from.

  Ah, yes. She would know that face well, given the circumstances. Taking the girl by the arm, she directed her back the other way. “Go find some nice gentleman to dance with.” Thankfully, Kai’s former play-thing did not argue, and Lillianna slipped into the cover of the plants.

  Kai was still fastening his belt. “What are you doing—”

  Lillianna clamped her hand over his mouth and pressed them both up against the wall just as she felt Carma’s energy pass by.

  Kai struggled against her hold, but she was far stronger than him. As a warning, she dug the thumb nail of her free hand into his throat. He stilled. She waited until she was certain Carma had moved far enough away before releasing him.

  He rubbed his throat, irritated. “What was all that about? I thought we were meeting at the gardens.”

  “I changed my mind. We’re leaving now.”

  “Now?” He adjusted his mussed clothing. “Why? Why the rush?”

  She could see it in those intelligent, albeit mad, silver-brown eyes. He knew something was up. Something big, or she would not have acted the way she had.

  She grabbed him by the throat. “Don’t question me.”

  With a quick pull of power, she dragged him back down to Hell before he could discover anything more.

  She would tell him what she had learned later.

  — CHAPTER SIXTEEN —

  Alec had always liked dancing, and Charlotte was quite adept at it, he had to admit. She followed his lead easily, gliding along as though she floated on air. The steady click of her heels kept their rhythm, and kept them both grounded. She was pleasant as well. Well-versed in the workings of the country—her father served the king closely—as well as poetry and art. Conversation with her was a vast improvement over Carma’s cryptic murmurings, and Picadilly’s morbid hobbies.

  But he still hated leaving Bri. Something bothered him. He chocked it up to paranoia, but when he and Charlotte spun around in their dancing, and he couldn’t see Bri or Carma anywhere, that nasty bug of wariness crept up.

  “Mr. Dusombré?” his dance partner said, her voice high and lilting.

  Alec returned his thoughts to her. “Yes?”

  She giggled lightly. “You were somewhere else. I’m not boring you, am I?”

  He forced a smile. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. Just had a thought.”

  “One you’d care to share?”

  “Just wondering where my brother had gotten to.”

  They never lost a step in their dance. “The young man you were with before?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’ll be as handsome as you someday, I think,” she said with a flirtatious smile. “That is, if he can break that shyness.”

  “Something we’ve been working on.” He pulled her into a quick turn, eliciting another joyous laugh from her lips.

  They had fallen back into the familiar one-two-three of the waltz when he saw a flash of black hair in the crowd, a familiar profile with full lips and a strong nose that he had always found beautiful. Suddenly the locket in his pocket seemed to weigh the same as a lead weight.

  “Ariadne?” he whispered, missing the next steps in the dance.

  “What?” Charlotte gazed up at him. “Did you see something?”

  The crowd had closed up,
and no matter where he looked he could not catch sight of her again. But it was impossible. A trick of the light, or his mind. Ariadne had been dead nearly two thousand years.

  “Alec.” Carma’s voice, not Charlotte’s.

  He stopped their dance and let go of his partner when he saw the expression on Carma’s normally blank face. “What happened?”

  “Bri,” she said, sounding both eager and guilty.

  Carma didn’t have to say any more. “Charlotte, I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “No, no. It’s fine. Go.”

  Taking Carma by the arm so he would not lose her as they moved through the dancers, Alec leaned in close so no one would overhear. “What happened? Where is he?”

  Carma wasn’t moving as if she had a destination in mind. “I don’t know precisely. A woman touched his face, I think he saw something and he ran. I can’t find him now.”

  “You lost him? I never should have listened to you. I never should have left him alone.”

  Free of the thickest part of the crowd, Carma loosed herself from his grip. “He was perfectly safe with me.”

  “Apparently not!”

  “He is here to see things. I need him to see. The running is the problem. Where would he go?”

  Cursing himself for ignoring his earlier instincts, Alec shook his head. “I saw Picadilly over by the fountain not too long ago. Go get her and have her search for him as well. I’ll look for him on my own.”

  “Alec.”

  “No.” He batted away her hand when she reached for him. “No. Not right now. Find him. The three of us splitting up have a better chance of finding him sooner than all of us in one group.”

  She ignored him and grabbed his arm with the full extent of her strength. “Not that.” She stopped looking at him. Her eyes were unfocused—indicating a heightened use of other senses.

  “What then?”

  “Someone just opened a portal to Hell.” Now she gazed at him. “Someone was here.”

  Another demon. “You would have felt it before now.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  Blistering… “Go. Now. Find Picadilly.” He pulled away and left. She went in the opposite direction. Alec charged through the ballroom, making sure to look closely at each face, even if far too tall to be Bri.

  If Bri had been thrown into the myst, then Alec knew the symptoms that would overtake him afterwards. And if he was feeling sick, then Alec knew where he would run to.

  Still shaking with the aftershocks of sickness, Bri cradled his head in his hands. He sat on the stone bench between two rose bushes, trying desperately to forget everything he had seen.

  A quite impossible task. He could still smell the blood, feel it splattered against his clothes and face. He choked down another dry heave. There wasn’t anything left to come up. If only his mind felt as empty as his stomach. He pulled at his unbuttoned collar, desperate for more air, more space. It was so hot, yet his skin burned cold with sweat. Tearing at his gloves, he threw them to the ground, then ran his hands through his soaked hair before placing his head between his knees.

  “Are you ill?”

  Bri stilled, uncertain he had heard the voice. He didn’t recognize it—a young girl most likely. The voice prodded with the same words.

  “I—I’m all right,” he said. “Please, just go away.”

  “You don’t look all right. You look ill.”

  Bri took a few deep breaths—or tried to—and prepared himself to look up at this intruder. I never should have begged Alec to leave. I should have stayed with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. All thoughts stopped when he lifted his head and set his gaze on the girl.

  She peered back at him, bright green eyes scrutinizing and intelligent, and focused completely on him. Blonde hair the color of sunlight had been curled and pinned around her head, cascading over her shoulders in long waves. Her dress was a deep sapphire blue that hugged her young shape in a way that accentuated the first beginnings of womanhood. For a moment the neckline held his attention, but the weight of that gaze soon drew his eyes back up.

  With a crinkle just above her nose, she finished her assessment. “Yes, you are most definitely ill.”

  Suddenly Bri felt too afraid to move, and every word that passed through his mind seemed stupid and dull. “It—it will pass.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Does this happen often?”

  “Often enough.”

  “Hm.” She kept studying him.

  Bri gripped the edge of the stone bench so tightly he felt his skin threaten to break, but he couldn’t look away from her and he couldn’t move so much as a single finger.

  “Can I get you something?” she said, her voice losing its interrogative tone. “A drink? A cool cloth?”

  “No. No, thank you. I just need some air.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of that here.”

  She sat beside him. Bri felt his heart flutter, all the work he had done on breathing normally suddenly lost.

  “I could use some air myself,” she said, leaning back on her hands and closing her eyes, breathing deep. “It gets so stuffy in there, between all the people and their self-important conversations.”

  A moment passed in silence. Bri stared as she sat there completely at ease, while his heart hammered inside his chest. Surely she can hear it…

  With a particularly relaxing breath, she opened her eyes and smiled at him. It was the most radiant thing he had ever seen.

  “I’m Ella.”

  “Bri,” his name slipped from his lips before he could think better of revealing it. “Brishen. But no one calls me that.”

  “Do you want to be called that?”

  “No. I like Bri just fine.”

  “So do I. Have you lived here long, Bri? I don’t remember seeing you around before.”

  “I live out in the country. At Lostley House with my brother and cousin.”

  Ella’s green eyes grew larger with that admission. “Lostley House? You mean Lady Dusombré is your cousin?”

  “Yes.” He nearly couldn’t get the word out. Though they had concocted their cover story two years prior, Bri hadn’t left the house much, and as such, had little occasion to use it.

  “They said that place was haunted. No one would live there. Until you.”

  Bri shook his head and managed to look away from her face to stare at the ground. “I’ve never noticed anything strange.” Though ghosts would hardly worry him. The myst was by far more of a threat.

  Ella went quiet again. Bri could imagine her thoughts. Wondering at this boy sitting beside her; this ill, ridiculous boy. Nothing odd in his house indeed—nothing but him.

  “What’s that on your hand?” With one gloved finger, she passed a light touch over the back of his bare right hand. Over the light green vine that twisted down his wrist and behind his sleeve. A violent shiver ran through him at the unexpected touch—gloved though it was—and he jerked his hand away, covering it.

  “Nothing. Just an old scar.”

  She didn’t retract her hand all the way. “It doesn’t look like a scar. It looks…alive. Or almost like a sailor’s mark.”

  That would have been a much better story. “No, just a scar.”

  “Hm. Well, I suppose scars come in all shapes and sizes.” Her hand went back to her lap, but she didn’t seem convinced.

  “Bri!”

  Alec. At the sound of the familiar voice, relief flooded Bri, but the anxiety in Alec’s tone brought on a pang of guilt. Bri had nearly forgotten that he had run away from Carma and had not spared enough thought to realize that he had worried them both. “I’m here!” he called, loud enough for Alec to find him.

  Ella turned in the direction the voice had come from. “Your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  Alec appeared, running from behind a hedge. “Bri, gods, are you—?” He stopped when he saw that Bri wasn’t alone. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Ella,” she said, standing. “Bri was just keepi
ng me company while I got some air. But I really should get back inside. It was lovely meeting you, Bri. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

  Bri was struck dumb and couldn’t answer her properly. That radiant smile overpowered what little thought process he had, though he was fairly sure he managed a nod.

  She curtseyed to Alec, then made her way back inside.

  Once alone, Alec wasted no time getting to Bri’s side, pulling off a glove and touching Bri’s face as though checking for a fever. All tendrils of myst recoiled away, leaving Bri with just his own thoughts. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  “I’m fine. We were just talking.”

  “What?” Alec stared at him like he had gone crazy, something he rarely did. Then a short laugh burst from him. He ruffled Bri’s hair as he often did. “No, not the girl. Though that’s definitely something we’ll be talking about. With Carma. She said you might have seen something and you ran off. You don’t look good. What did you see?”

  Gods, he had forgotten that. How could it have slipped his mind? Now it all came flooding back. He grabbed for Alec’s arm, overcome with the fear of being left alone with the visions. “Alec, I saw something terrible. Awful. So many people…”

  Alec picked up Bri’s discarded gloves from the ground and fitted them back on the boy’s hands. “We’re going home. You can tell me there.”

  “It was a ritual of some kind. People are going to be killed. Shouldn’t we warn them?”

  “We have to figure out what to warn them of first. Come on.” He pulled Bri to his feet. “I know it won’t be easy, but try to recall as many details as you can. The more we know, the better.”

  Bri nodded and let Alec lead him back inside, through the ballroom and towards the doors that would release him from this terrible party. Alec hadn’t replaced his own gloves, and kept one bare finger slipped underneath the cuff of Bri’s glove for which he was thankful. He didn’t want to see that same vision again. Not ever. Especially not while he worked at remembering it.