by Darcy Coates
The cold air moved around her in eddies. The echoes lasted longer than she thought they should. A soft, dripping noise came from the room’s back corner. Was I wrong? Maybe he’s not here. But where else could he be?
Then her light caught on the edge of a stone slab protruding from the wall. She recognised it: the concealed doorway that opened into the maze of secret passageways running through the building. She and Dorran had nailed it shut before leaving Winterbourne, but evidently, the house’s mistress had wanted access to it. And it wasn’t an accident that it had been left open. It was an invitation.
Clare adjusted her grip on the knife and stepped through. A ragged path ran away from her, leading deeper into the building, the walls high and oppressive, the darkness so complete that it seemed to be trying to smother her candlelight.
She knew she had chosen correctly, though. Beneath the sound of panic running through her veins, she could hear other noises. Rasping, chattering breaths. The shuffle of countless bodies rubbing together.
Clare lifted her head. Above her, hollows clung to the passageway’s ceiling, their teeth bared in silent snarls. Their awful spindly fingers and toes locked to any roughness in the rocks, the greasy remnants of hair hanging near enough to Clare’s head that the stench made her gag. Clare froze, shudders running along her spine, shoulders hunching as she tried to sink away from the creatures. She kept moving.
The passageway led her downwards in two or three steps at a time. Her nose and ears stung from the cold. The path turned so often that she lost her sense of direction. The whole way, the creatures lurked above her, watching, ravenous. Drops of saliva hit the stone floor before her feet.
Then the walls disappeared up ahead, and Clare knew where she was. She was stepping into the chamber she had been dragged to on her first encounter with Madeline. The matriarch seemed to favour the cathedral-like room hewn out of bedrock as her court. Clare pushed forward, racing her own terror, afraid of what she would find in the room but unable to survive not knowing. As she moved faster, the candle’s glow spread over more of the stone floor, catching on the rows of eyes filling the space, running up the jagged walls—
And there was Dorran. He appeared at the edge of her dome of light, kneeling, his hands behind his back. A wash of blood ran across his right cheek. Clare’s heart skipped. “Dorran!”
He lifted his head, teeth clenched and eyes wide. “No, Clare, no—!”
Motion arced towards her. Clare slashed at it and felt cool blood splash across her forearm as she severed digits. Another creature was already at her back. She twisted, driving her knife into its throat. The flame guttered then died.
Blind, Clare found herself fighting against an enemy that could see in the dark. She turned to her hearing, relying on the sounds of scabbed feet scraping across the floor and gurgling, gasping breaths.
Overgrown nails slashed at her arm, sending hot pain through it. Clare stabbed towards the creature, but the knife touched only air. She stepped back and gasped as something brushed her shoulder. It was only the wall. Clare pressed her back to it, eyes wide and blind as she stared into the abyss, knife held ahead of herself.
Then a voice croaked from near the back of the cavern. “Bring her, my darlings.”
Clammy hands fastened over Clare’s arms and legs. She lashed out and felt her blade connect with flesh. She pulled the knife free and prepared to strike again, but something grasped the blade and tugged. Clare’s grip was slick with blood, and the handle slid between her fingers. The knife clattered over stone as it was cast aside.
Clare swung her fists instead. She hit two of the creatures and reeled her arm back for a third before bony fingers looped around it. They were pulling her in all directions, grabbing at her clothes and squeezing at her skin. Their rancid smell surrounded her, and the rush of hissing breaths was deafening. Her feet were pulled out from under her. Clare thrashed but couldn’t break free. She was being dragged, scraped over rough stone, countless monsters pressing in at all sides. Then they slammed her down onto something hard and cold. Clare gasped as stones bit into her back. Metal touched her hands, then with a harsh click, she was chained. Clare pulled on the manacles. They were bolted in place.
The presences around her vanished. Clare sucked in a breath. She was clammy all over and shaking. Her stomach was on the edge of revolt. She wanted to call to Dorran. She dreaded what retaliation it might bring, though.
For a moment, the cavern was near perfectly silent. Then the rasping voice spoke again. “Let us give our guests some light, my darlings.”
Flames hissed. Torches dotted around the cavern burst to life. Hollows screeched at the sudden intrusion of flame and withdrew deeper into the shadows, until only their eyes and dripping teeth were visible.
Clare was on the dais in the room’s centre. Heavy steel manacles pinned her hands at one end. She twisted them, trying to find any leeway to work her hands free, but the metal was tight enough to pinch.
Now that the cavern was lit, she could see Dorran no more than twenty feet away. He must have put up a good fight. His shirt was torn, and the blood on his face wasn’t the only red on him. His hands had been fastened behind his back with a set of shackles similar to what Clare wore. Their chain looped around the pillar his back was pressed against.
His face was sheet-white and dusty. His lips were pressed together tightly, but his eyes followed Clare’s movements with a fierce urgency. Madeline stood over him. One of her hands rested on top of his head, tangling in his hair, a mockery of a mother’s loving caress.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bile rose in the back of Clare’s throat. Madeline had changed since their last confrontation. She stood at least eight feet tall, held up by nearly a dozen claw-like legs. Their sharp tips clicked on the stone when she moved. They poked out of the shreds of her old dress, a decadent design of black-and-red silk, one of her last reminders of her former life.
She still bore the fire poker Clare had stabbed into her. It entered through her open mouth, angled up to pierce into the skull and extend from the back of her head, through her hair. The metal bar had run straight through her brain, but even that hadn’t been enough to kill her.
The thanites had worked furiously to repair her, but the results were sickening. Flesh had filled her mouth, surrounding the metal and trying to fuse with it. Large bony growths protruded from each side of her skull, each bearing two swollen, skin-covered circles and a lopsided mouth.
Clare pictured the statue in the foyer. The three skulls used to represent the head had not been an artistic choice. Madeline appeared to be growing additional faces on either side of the original.
Clare’s gaze ran down the woman’s body. Red gashes marred her flesh, crisscrossing her throat, arms, and what was visible of her torso. Clare’s first thought was that she’d been injured, but the gashes seemed too clean and straight for that. Then the skin around them quivered. Madeline drew a breath to speak. As the two new mouths on either side of her defunct original opened, so did the gashes across her body, revealing rows of teeth embedded in her flesh.
“I told you she would come if you screamed.”
One of her claw-like legs reached out and tapped Dorran’s arm. He flinched, jaw clenched, sweat beading over his forehead. The skin Madeline had touched was an angry red. She burned him. That’s how she made him cry out.
Horror was replaced by a rush of fury. Clare pulled on her shackles, jarring her shoulder as she tried to wrench free. Heat filled her stomach and turned the edges of her vision black.
Madeline’s hand ran through Dorran’s hair, ruffling it, then forced his head down before she stepped away. “You made a mistake to think I would not hurt you. I admit, I have been overly lenient in the past. A mother’s love knows no bounds, and in too many cases, it stilled my hand when harsher punishments were deserved. And look what it has done for you. You are weak. Foolish. Spoiled.”
Madeline took a deep breath, her back lengthening with a horribl
e crackling noise. All of the imitation mouths across her body fluttered, attempting to draw breath, as well.
“I am afraid we will have to work harder to correct your ill-suited tendencies. I doubt you will enjoy it, but things that are good for you are rarely enjoyable.”
A flash of movement caught Clare’s attention. Something small fell from the ceiling and hit the ground near Dorran. The cavern was still too dim for Clare to see it clearly, but it looked like a shard of rock. She glanced up. The ceiling was covered with the creatures, their bodies moving lithely as they crept over the stone.
Madeline’s claws were carrying her closer to Clare. She laced her hands ahead of herself, the fingers triple-jointed but somehow still elegant.
Finally, Dorran spoke. The words were raspy and pained. “Don’t touch her.”
Madeline began to circle the dais. Clare tried to pull away, to keep her distance from the woman, but the manacles kept her fixed. One of Madeline’s long hands reached out and caressed over Clare’s back. She shuddered.
“You received a message,” Madeline said, looking at Dorran over Clare’s body. Her heavy-lidded, red eyes watched him impassively. “Someone claims to be capable of killing my darlings. You will put a stop to it.”
Dorran’s lips pressed in a hard line. Madeline lifted her eyebrows, then she reached out and pinched Clare’s forearm between her nails.
“Don’t!” Dorran snarled. He pulled at his chains. “I don’t have any control over it. There is nothing I can do to stop it.”
“That is a lie.” Madeline pinched Clare harder, and she gasped, fighting the urge to writhe. “That woman used your names. She knows you. She will listen to you, if you contact her.”
Madeline released Clare, and she slumped, breathing heavily. The second message, half-forgotten in the panic of losing Dorran, resurfaced. The deadline has been moved to today. Madeline doesn’t know that. Madeline thinks she still has time.
“Just… just go along with it,” Clare called. She met Dorran’s eyes, trying to share what she knew without words. If we can get through this—if we can just survive for a few hours—
Dorran’s whole body shook. His eyes flicked from Clare to his mother, and when he spoke, the words were carefully measured. “I have no way to contact them. No radio and no phone.”
Madeline exhaled deeply, her eyes closing for a moment as though she needed to collect her patience. Her fingertips pressed together in a steeple, and when she opened her eyes, her voice was sweet, as though she were speaking to a child. “You are giving me excuses. Did I ask for excuses?”
“Just give him time,” Clare said, again shooting Dorran a meaningful look. Time, Dorran. That’s all we need. Buy us some time.
“Yes—” Dorran’s words were halting. “I will figure it out. I… I will find a way…”
“How?” Madeline asked. “Give me details.”
His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. He was struggling, Clare knew. Caught between fear of his mother and fear of what consequences a single wrong move could create, he was gripped by panic, barely conscious of anything except a fight-or-flight response and unable to follow either impulse.
Madeline’s hand landed on Clare’s head, forcing it down onto the stone. “And this is why we brought your friend here. Motivation.”
The chains clattered as Dorran pulled on them, muscles straining underneath his torn shirt, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Do anything to me, but if you harm her, I swear I will never give you what you want.”
“Hmm.” Madeline’s hand released its pressure, but it didn’t leave Clare’s head. It stroked through her hair, the too-long nails snagging at tangles. “I know you are fond of her. That is your weakness manifesting as attachment to someone who indulges your vices. Once, I wanted the opportunity to kill her. But not any longer. You care for her too much. She will be far more valuable alive.”
“Don’t touch her,” Dorran said, a vicious edge entering his voice.
“She will be your motivation to behave.” Madeline’s fingers continued to run through Clare’s hair. “She will stay here, with me. If you do as you are told, you will be rewarded. You will be allowed an hour to sit with her each day. You may even bring her additional food, if you exceed expectations. But when you disappoint me, she will bear the punishment.”
“No.” Sweat ran down Dorran’s face, creating tracks through the dust. He was shivering, and not from the cold.
“We will skin her,” Madeline said, and every mouth on her body smiled. “A strip for each failure. It will not kill her. No, I will be careful to keep her alive. But her skin will come off a piece at a time if you do not behave.”
Dorran shook his head. His eyes had lost their humanity; all that lived inside them was the terror of a cornered animal. Clare clenched her teeth, trying to suppress her own shivers. Madeline knew Dorran too well. She knew how to find his weaknesses. How to hurt him. How to break him.
“Now, tell me.” Madeline’s voice was soft and sweet, a mother’s coo. “What will you do to contact your friend from the radio?”
“I need time. I’ll do it. Just give me time—”
“You disappoint me.” Madeline’s fingernails dug into Clare’s skin.
“No,” Dorran screamed, lunging forward, the chains sounding out as they were pulled taut. “No—”
Clare bit her tongue, turning her head to face the stone. She was powerless to escape Madeline as the nails cut into her skin. But she could stay silent, endure it without noise. She could at least spare Dorran having to hear her scream.
“No!” he yelled again, the word cracking. Underneath the cry was another sound. Metal breaking. Then the scrape of chains dragging over stone. The pressure from Madeline’s hand disappeared.
Clare sucked a thin breath into air-starved lungs and lifted her head. Dorran was no longer chained to the pillar. He moved towards them with furious speed. Madeline had just enough time to raise her hands before he hit her torso, forcing her away from Clare.
Madeline’s insectile legs jerked as she fell backwards. The hollows around them screamed, darting over each other, heads thrown back, ravenous but fearful of angering their mistress.
Dorran tumbled off Madeline. Her three faces twisted as she stabbed her legs towards him, but Dorran rolled out of reach. The legs stabbed into the floor instead, cutting chips out of the stone.
She’s actually trying to kill him. Clare fought her bindings, twisting her wrist inside the metal until a sheen of blood covered it. They wouldn’t loosen.
Dorran crouched, ready to charge his mother again. She rose up onto her multitude of feet, towering over him, arms open as she welcomed the attack. The many mouths across her body fluttered with wild laughter.
He can’t kill her. She’s too strong. She’ll shred him.
A shimmer of movement caught Clare’s eye. A plastic container, knocked over by one of the scrambling monsters, fell into the torches’ light.
The fuel container. How? She’d last seen it in their room. Dorran must have taken it at some point to refuel the generator. He would have had it on him when he was attacked, and the hollows brought it when they dragged him down to Madeline’s lair. Clare didn’t know if it still had fuel in it, but it was the one thing that could give them a chance.
“Dorran!” Clare rose as high as the manacles would let her. “Over there!”
He followed the direction of her nod, and his eyes lit up as he saw the container.
Madeline struck again. Dorran leapt to the side, and the sharp claws scraped across his shoulder. He didn’t stop moving, though, but raced past the dais to reach the fuel. Madeline’s mouths quivered as her voice boomed. “Catch him!”
The hollows swarmed Dorran. Clare sucked in a sharp breath as he, and the fuel container, disappeared under a pile of grey limbs. He needed a distraction. Even just a second’s worth. Clare screamed, making the note as loud and piercing as she could.
Dozens of hollow heads swivelled to stare at h
er. Open jaws worked. Then Dorran lurched out of their pile, heaving the fuel container upwards so that its liquid would splash through the open top.
He’d aimed for the nearest torch. Fire billowed up from the trail of fuel and filled the cavern with dancing reds and golds. Clare finally got a sense of the scope of the hollow infestation. There had to be hundreds of them. Clinging to the walls, scuttling across the ceiling, they were a grisly tangle of excess limbs and overgrown skin. Still more stared through doorways in the stone walls. They all faced the fire, eyes unblinking, maws twisted in miserable howls.
“Catch him!” Madeline screamed.
Dorran lowered the container’s opening towards the flames licking across the ground. An explosion of heat burst up as the fuel inside caught alight. Dorran turned back to the horde, teeth bared in a snarl as he wielded his new weapon.
Every swing of the container sent liquid fire flowing from the spout. He hurled streams of it at the nearest creatures. They backed away, howling, fingers clawing at their melting skin. As they staggered into their companions, they spread the fire like a disease. The hollows were shrieking, scrambling over each other, desperately seeking the exits as they made their escapes.
And Dorran kept advancing. The trail of fire spread black smoke behind him, the shadows blending into his hair until he looked like something mythical emerging from the underground. His eyes were on Clare. Then they turned upwards and hardened, and Clare knew, even before she looked, that he was staring at Madeline.
The matriarch was approaching Clare. Her multiple faces twitched with mingled disgust and rage.
“Get away from her.” Dorran’s voice rose above the hissing, crackling fire and the many-voiced screams of the hollow.
One of Madeline’s feet stabbed into the stone platform near Clare’s head. The matriarch rose onto it, hands flexing into fists at her side.