by Indie Gantz
The man looks genuinely concerned for a moment, before Kor shakes his head and waves his daughter’s remark away.
“No worries, Ilesh. We’re fine.” He arches a brow Bo, but she only shrugs in response.
“Be right back,” Kor tells us again, before opening the door and disappearing into the hallway.
The room is silent for what feels like several minutes but is probably less than one. Scoria and Ilesh, who both continue to stand, keep their eyes on me.
I still haven’t taken a seat, and I find myself unwilling to. I give our hosts an apologetic smile.
“Actually,” I say innocently. “I could use some relief myself.”
“By all means,” Scoria answers, smiling. “Do be quick though, Porter should be here momentarily.”
“Right,” I reply, moving around the table and purposely failing to catch anyone else’s eye. I don’t want to see their reactions to what I’m doing. Oleander will probably look concerned, Avias a combination of intrigued and irritated, and Bo will just look jealous that she didn’t think of sneaking out first. For once in my life, I don’t know what I’d see if I looked at my brother, but I imagine whatever expression he wears right now is one I wouldn’t like. Cal and Celosia are sitting next to each other at the far end of the table, but I doubt either of them is interested in what I’m doing. They’ve got their own problems.
I slip through the door quickly, knowing the faster I move, the less likely I am to re-think my decision.
Despite my hasty exit, I enter the hall quietly. The hallway is dark, lit only by sparse candles on the wall that ignite as I walk along and then extinguish once I’ve moved past them. The walls are a combination of rock and steel, curving upwards to meet at an arch in the ceiling above me.
I move silently, listening for anything of interest. I don’t know what I expect to find, but something inside of me tells me I’m on the right track. I know Kor lied about needing the bathroom, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.
After going several paces, the way the man said Kor should, I find no sign of a bathroom. There’s another hallway off to the right, though. It’s narrower than the main hallway, but just as dark. I turn down the hallway and try not to think about my brother or Kor.
My thoughts wander to the cast used to create the candles and the fire they produce upon interaction. The mental exercise keeps me from noticing the soft pound of feet coming towards me at an alarming speed. When I register the sound, my body freezes. My heartbeat echoes along with the pounding footsteps. My powers surge beneath my skin, but still, I don’t move.
The candles much farther down the hallway begin to ignite. One by one, they illuminate the dark passageway, until they reveal a shadow. A shadow that’s sprinting toward me. A shadow that’s…A woman.
A woman runs toward me. She wears a long night dress, heavily stained and torn in multiple places. Her hair’s ragged and dirty, bunching up around her head in clumps. Her arms flail at her sides, her face pinched in anguish. As the distance between us closes, I can see her eyes are huge and brimming with tears, but I can feel her terror. This is not the run of a pursuer. It’s the escape of the pursued.
Her fear pushes me to move. I rush toward her, arms outstretched and ready to catch her when she inevitably falls.
“Please,” the woman cries as she reaches me. “Help me, please!”
“What’s wrong?! Who-”
“She’s coming! She’s—”
A second set of footsteps interrupts her. They’re slow and steady, not at all the sound of someone in the middle of a chase. These footsteps don’t pound with fear, they click with malicious confidence.
The woman’s fingernails dig into my skin as her eyes grow even wider. “She’s coming! We have to run!”
“Who? Who’s after you?” My voice shakes as I push the words out, fear overcoming a lot of my senses.
A second woman’s voice comes through the darkness of the hallway, soft and floating into my ear like a whisper in the wind. “Leave her be, girl. The prisoner’s mine to dispose of.”
“Prisoner?” I repeat back to the darkness, straining my eyes to find the new arrival through it. The candles refuse to light her way. The footsteps stop, and I’m still left with nothing to focus my eyes on. “What did she do?”
“She’s a traitor,” the second woman replies softly. Her voice reminds me of a bell, ringing delicately. It’s not the sound I expect to hear through the darkness. “Release her to me.”
I look back into the crying woman’s eyes and find her shaking her head, a cold, desperate look on her face. I don’t know what’s going on, but prisoner or not, this woman is terrified. No prisoner deserves the kind of treatment it seems she’s endured. I pull her around me so that I’m in front of her.
“I am going to bring her back—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” the mystery woman replies. “Don’t be an idiot, girl. Give her to me.” There’s another soft click and then she’s finally stepping out of the darkness and into the soft orange glow of the candle’s flame.
She’s still cast in shadows, but I’m instantly confused by the woman’s appearance. The person standing before me doesn’t look capable of inflicting the kind of torture the crying woman has undoubtedly experienced. She’s petite, smaller than I am, although her presence is undoubtedly large. Her hair’s pin-straight and falls to the middle of her back. In the darkness, it’s difficult to make out the color, but it’s very light, maybe even white. Her skin looks like porcelain, her cheek bones high and finely cut, casting shadows down her face. The eyes that stare back at me are set deep, but it’s too dark to make out their color. She wears mostly black, but there’s a splash of blue around her neck where she’s fastened a scarf.
“Don’t make me ask again,” she requests softly. So softly, I’m not entirely sure I hear her correctly.
“What do you want with her?” I ask carefully.
“That’s my business.” She steps closer. Click. Click. Her heeled boots lace up to her knees. “Are you in the practice of getting involved in other people’s business, girl?”
She sounds like silk, honey that drips from her lips. It’s distracting, pulls my attention away from my fear.
“Stop calling me girl.” I respond, standing taller as I find my nerve. “I’m not a girl.”
“Your voice betrays you,” the woman replies, stepping closer still and keeping her eyes on me. The prisoner’s grip on my waist tightens.
“I mean, I am not a child,” I spit back, feeling more irritated than afraid now.
“And yet you steal other people’s toys without asking.” The corner of her lips lift. I’m mesmerized by the motion for the barest of moments before I register her comment.
“She’s a person,” I argue. “Not a toy.”
The woman sighs and lifts her finger to the wall. She slides it along as she slowly closes the distance between us.
“Sympha is whatever I say she is.” She pauses and turns her gaze to her frightened prisoner. “Go on, pet. Tell her. What are you?” Sympha cowers behind me. “Oh, I see,” the mysterious, predatory woman continues lightly. “You think this girl can protect you?”
She laughs, and it’s instantly the most interesting sound I’ve ever heard. Her eyelashes fan down over her cheeks as she looks me over.
“Not a girl. Not a child…” she whispers serenely, her eyes searching my own. My mouth’s gone dry. There’s an ache in my chest I can’t find the source for. I should be running, I know this, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I find I don’t want to.
When she continues, her eyes shimmer silver and gold. “What are you, then?”
It takes me several moments to realize I’ve been asked a question, and even longer to voice an answer.
“My name’s Charlie. I came here with Kor.”
“Kor?” the woman repeats. The soft ring of her voice turns harsh. Her eyes narrow as she leans her face awa
y from mine. “You aren’t related to him, are you?”
“No,” I shake my head.
“Oh good.” The woman sighs and touches the edge of her scarf with her index finger. “That would be inconvenient.”
“What?” I ask, very confused about several things at this point. “What are you talking about?”
“I have a strong suspicion you say that often.” She smirks and holds my gaze much longer than necessary. Before I can come up with something to say in response, her focus goes back to the woman behind me. “It’s all right, pet. I’ve grown bored of our time together anyway.” Her lips curl into a wicked smile as she raises an eyebrow and gestures towards her prisoner. “I think we can call it day, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” the prisoner replies from behind me. “I-I apologize.”
“Oh, no,” the woman laughs again, this time sending chills up my spine. “Apologies are for those with something to atone for.” She leans closer again, lowering her voice to a whisper. She continues to address her prisoner, but her eyes are back on me. “And you can’t atone for anything if you’re dead.”
As soon as the words slip between her lips, a popping sound echoes throughout the dark hallway. The scared prisoner’s hands clench around my waist again and then go slack. I turn around just as the woman falls to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.
“What did you do?” I cry, falling to my knees and taking the dead woman’s face in my hands. “What did you—”
“Just an extra couple doses of oxygen.” The woman shrugs then smiles brightly, like someone’s just given her the sweetest treat. “I just love the sound it makes when their lungs explode.” Terror races through my veins, erasing any confusion I felt earlier. Standing slowly, I start to back away. The woman lets out a soft giggle. “Going so soon? But we only just met, Charlie. Stay awhile.”
She’s enjoying my fear. I won’t let her have it. I stop moving backward and stand tall. “Why did you kill her?”
The woman’s smile falters. The wicked twinkle in her eye dulls, but she says nothing in response.
“Neva.” A familiar voice with an unfamiliar coldness comes from behind me. I turn around to find Kor walking toward me. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Making friends,” Neva answers, side-stepping the dead woman on the floor and walking closer to Kor. “It’s what you wanted, right?”
Kor gives me a cursory glance that holds none of the affection I’m used to. He also wears completely different clothing than the ones he came here in. He’s been up to something for sure. I feel a triumphant justification rush through me, just as I remember the situation I’ve found myself in. I’m definitely not supposed to be here, and Kor is sure to want to have words later.
Looking down at the dead woman, Kor lets out a sigh and gives Neva an irritated look. “She was sentenced to die three days ago.”
Neva’s face is suddenly the definition of angelic. “Oops.”
Kor lets out another aggravated sigh, but he sounds more inconvenienced than anything else. “We’re waiting for you.” His eyes go to me then back to Neva. “Dispose of this and meet me there.”
“Kor, what’s going on?” I finally ask. “How do you know her?” I give Neva the dirtiest look I can muster, but it only makes her smile in response. She lifts her fingers barely a fraction and the dead woman’s body levitates.
“I’m not your friend,” he responds flippantly. “My name’s Porter.”
Bewildered, I take a step back and examine the man closer.
Their faces are nearly identical, but there’s a scar running down Porter’s left cheek I didn’t notice before. He’s scruffier too, not as cleanly shaven as Kor typically is. There are similarities to their stances, both casual and open, but with Porter, there’s an air of indifferent arrogance. He and Neva have that in common.
“You’re Kor’s brother,” I say dumbly.
With the dead woman floating above us, Neva moves to stand next to Porter. It suddenly feels like she’s inspecting every follicle on my head as well as every thought within it.
“Beige,” she finally says with an air of disappointment. “Maybe... mustard-yellow.”
“Excuse me?” I reply, trying to ignore the smirk Porter now wears.
Neva sighs and shakes her head, obviously dissatisfied. “Your crayon color, silly girl.” She steps forward, once again so close I can almost taste the breath she breathes against me. “Not very bright.”
My lips part. I’m at a loss as to what to say. It’s not exactly the best situation to be in when someone accuses you of being an idiot.
When I don’t say anything, but just stare back at her with my mouth open, she eventually steps back. “Well, don’t say anything incredibly interesting while I’m gone.”
With that, Neva turns and walks down the hallway in the direction she came from, pulling the dead woman through the air behind her.
CHAPTER FORTY
…Best Beware My Sting
Ifollow Porter back to the room where I left the rest of the group. I keep a safe distance behind him, although I don’t feel like I’m in any particular danger.
When we arrive, Kor’s already back in the room, sitting in the chair between Bo and Oleander at one end of a large rectangular table. Avias and Tirigan leans against the wall behind them, and Cal perches against the table in front. Celosia has taken a different seat beside Bo.
There are also two more new Téssera in the room. They sit with Scoria and Ilesh at the second table pushed against the wall holding the two-way mirror.
When Kor sees us enter, his eyebrows raise minutely. “I see introductions are no longer in order.”
“Yeah, I, uh, met him in the hallway,” I reply, working my way around the table to sit on Oleander’s other side. I’m relieved to be surrounded by people I trust again.
Porter’s eyes sweep over our group and then narrow at Kor with a distasteful look on his face. “You’ve outdone yourself, brother.” Porter’s eyes land on Tirigan and Avias. “Although... Not all yours, are they?”
“No,” Kor replies. “Some are strays.”
Porter shakes his head as he walks to the middle of the table and takes a seat. He sits casually, one foot propped up on the chair while he rests his arm over it.
“Your penchant for charity overwhelms me.” Porter’s voice is smooth and buttery, coated in confident sarcasm.
Kor gives him a strained smile then pulls his hands together on the table. “Well, we’re here.” He looks across the table at his twin brother, equally assured. “You have something to share?”
Porter’s lips curl into a half smile. “Not just yet. We’re waiting on one more.”
I fail at holding in a small huff at the mention of the unpleasant woman from the hall. Porter notices and pulls his eyes to mine. He looks older than Kor somehow, the skin around his eyes more weathered and tired. There isn’t any light in them. Where Kor exudes bright energy, Porter is like a black hole, drawing all light inside for himself.
“Something to add to our riveting conversation, dear?” It takes me a moment to realize Porter’s talking to me.
“No,” I reply. I wish I could talk to Tirigan about what just happened, but I know he wouldn’t let me in. Besides, I’m not ready to open my mind to him yet either.
“Well, Neva can certainly give an interesting first impression. Tell me, what did you think of her?” Porter asks me, eyes on his fingernails as he picks at them.
“Um,” I respond blankly, unsure of how to answer. Kor gives me a silent nod of encouragement. “Honestly? I think she has a few screws loose. She just murdered someone not five minutes ago and she was cheerful about it.”
“Murder?” Porter repeats slowly, as if tasting the word for the first time. “We don’t murder people. That woman was sentenced after a fair trial.”
“And the obvious torture she endured before her death? Was that part of her sentence?” I challenge, disgusted with our topic of conversation.
> I’m not completely unaccustomed to the idea of capital punishment since the concept seemed to be widely accepted in human society, but the Anunnaki people haven’t officially executed someone for centuries. Seeing it take place so brazenly now makes me sick to my stomach.
“No.” A now familiar voice comes from across the room at the doorway. “That was a bonus.”
The white light from the bulbs above us do nothing but accentuate the features that I found so difficult to ignore back in the hallway. They distract me momentarily, but the sharpness of Neva’s tongue quickly brings me back to the conversation.
“You think torture is a bonus?”
The wicked playfulness I found in her eyes before is gone, replaced with cold steel. She looks impenetrable, standing against the doorframe with legs crossed at the ankle and the cerulean scarf protecting her neck. I couldn’t tell under the orange candle light of the hallway, but there is midnight blue running underneath the white of her hair.
Her face doesn’t give anything away if she’s affected by my disapproval. Instead of answering me, her eyes fall to Scoria, still sitting at the second table.
“I know it was you, and I know why you did it.” Neva’s voice is even, her body still resting comfortably against the doorframe. Scoria immediately goes several shades paler at Neva’s words, the blood draining from her face. “What I can’t quite figure out is how you thought I wouldn’t know. Maybe if you weren’t so preoccupied with landing yourself in Desmond’s bed, you would have been more careful with your treachery.”
“Neva, please, I—” Neva raises her hand, and Scoria falls silent.
“Or perhaps it wasn’t lust that drove you blind. Maybe it was your own misguided ambition. The little voice in your head that says you are actually worth something? Did it tell you to betray me?”
Tirigan’s staring wide-eyed at the exchange. Avias looks similar beside him, as does the rest of our group. Kor doesn’t appear surprised, but perhaps a bit disappointed. Porter mostly just looks bored.
“Did it make you believe that Freo would let you in if you returned Sympha to him? Did it spin sweet lies to you and make you feel warm and safe? Ambition is a fickle thing, Scoria,” Neva continues. “It’ll make you believe yourself capable of great things, even when you’re no more than filth.” Scoria’s chest rises and falls quickly, her face now that of a ghost. “Or perhaps you thought—”