Reckoning (The Watchers Book 5)

by Veronica Wolff

  “Would you like me to stop? Have you aught to say? You say nobody has helped you, but surely there is one who is your ally.”

  He scrutinized me as my brutal hacking slowly dissipated into dry-heaves. When I finally finished, I blinked the tears from my eyes and met his gaze. I donned vampire-worthy good manners like armor. “In this, I have acted alone, Master Fournier. The arrogance and disrespect are solely my own. But I am ready to repent. I will tell you whatever you like.”

  Fake it till you make it, and in that instant of fakery, I felt a fresh burst of courage. Of rebellion. I didn’t have much, but I did have my dignity. I refused to be broken. And I was going to buy myself some time.

  He made a little hmph sound, then after a pause, pulled a pristine handkerchief from his breast pocket, acting the refined Fournier once more, and dabbed at my lips. “Then enough of this vulgarity. Let us be honest with each other. What role does Tracer Ronan play in your drama?”

  It wasn’t the question I’d expected. My breath hitched, setting off a fresh round of coughing.

  I’d thought he’d ask about my escape, what I knew of my mother, and then there was Carden’s mysterious cause that I kept getting hints of…but Ronan? That was one place I dared not let my mind wander. Carden was a vampire who had no trouble watching his own back. But not Ronan. I needed to keep him out of this, no matter what. I could do that one thing for him. Aside from my mother, he was the one person in this whole mess I wanted protected above all others.

  Fournier had my chin between his fingers again, holding me like a vise, staring deep into my eyes. His pupils expanded, contracted, as he searched for something.

  Cold fingers wended through my brain and—holy shit—he was in my head, probing.

  Ronan had the power of persuasion, and he’d once told me how I was one of the few people who was strong enough to fight it. And so that’s what I did. I gritted my teeth and fought. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I put up barriers, pushing away the cold, concentrating on my pulse, my breath, anything that’d keep Fournier away.

  “Fascinating.” Disturbingly, he grinned. “You’re clever. But I’m more than you’re used to.” He let go of me and clapped his hands together like he needed to brush off dirt. “Though you do surprise me, on many levels. Your strengths. Your…passions.”

  The slightest twitch in his brow told me he maybe even respected that. I made myself give him a nod, as if his esteem mattered.

  He leaned in close and pinned his eyes on me, holding me in place as surely as his hand had. “Most girls are vulnerable to those of the Vampire persuasion. But you have never been most girls, have you, Acari Drew? Perhaps it isn’t physical fear that’s your undoing. Perhaps it is a Tracer who is your weakness.”

  A Tracer. Ronan.

  I hadn’t fooled him for a second. And as Fournier spoke the words, more than ever, I felt the depth and the truth of my feelings for Ronan.

  And with it came a knowledge that was bright and clear and true: Fournier could drown me all day, but I’d never let him see how much Ronan meant to me.

  “Tracer Ronan means nothing—”

  He smacked me. Hard.

  “Don’t be coy. You’ll answer my questions, or I’ll explore the topic of your fears in greater depth.”

  There wasn’t anything in this room he could subject me to that’d be worse than losing someone else I loved. I considered the doctor’s bag and something inside me died. But the answer would just have to be bring it on.

  Fatalism made my voice firm. “Tracer Ronan is my teacher. That’s it. He’s all right, I guess.”

  Fournier studied me, his lips pursed like he was being forced to smell something really gross. He didn’t seem to be buying it, but he wasn’t not buying it, either. Maybe I was stronger than he realized.

  “That is your answer?” he said after a moment. “Tracer Ronan is your teacher and nothing more? You believe he is faithful to Vampire above all others?”

  I managed a nod, the terror clutching my throat, making it hard to speak.

  Fournier’s eyes narrowed. “More loyal to us than he is to you?”

  “Yes,” I rasped. “Of course.”

  “Hmm…” He considered me, and just when I thought maybe I’d convinced him, a smile curled one corner of his mouth. I was only now getting acquainted with Headmaster Fournier, but I knew what that smile meant. “I’m told to beware of ladies who protest too much.”

  He strolled to the table in the corner, wiping his hands on a cloth. “But no matter. There are those who plot against us, and I shall get at the truth. I suppose I’ll just need to probe more deeply. Or rather…not I. There are others to probe for me. I tire of your charade. But Hugo is tireless. Yes,” he added with a smile. He’d caught the panic in my eyes. “I speak of Master Alcántara. As you know, he has more of an appetite for torture than I.”

  He reached for the door. Opened it. Stepped back.

  I craned my head back, tracking his line of sight.

  Alcántara.

  Fournier tipped his head toward the Spanish vampire as he left the room. “Enjoy.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  As Alcántara’s attention melted into me, he touched his hand to his heart with a small bow. “What a pleasure to have you here, spread before me, a feast for one starved.” He must’ve seen something in my expression that amused him because a slow grin spread across his face. “That is right. You are mine now, querida. What think you of that?”

  I didn’t think much of it, obviously. This guy gave me the serious, old-fashioned creeps. And by the hungry look in his eye, I feared I was in real trouble now. Out of the frying pan and all that.

  But I clenched back the shudder that was threatening to spring from the base of my spine. “I think I’m glad the headmaster is gone.”

  He chuckled. “Indeed.” He traced a languorous finger down my cheek, pausing beneath my chin. “And are you happy I am here?”

  Oh crap.

  I needed to stall. To buy some time. “Are you working with Fournier?” Instantly, I bit my lip, fearing the words came out too much like a challenge.

  But Alcántara shocked me when, instead of getting upset, he simply expelled an impatient breath. “Must we speak of him? So consumed by political matters, he is. It is entirely lacking in couth. Fournier desires the quick victory, but mine is a deeper sort of game. While he is thinking of politics, I pursue a different kind of power.”

  That didn’t bode well for me, bound as I was to a table. I gulped hard. “So, uh, not a politician?”

  “Not I, no. Politicking is for the simpleminded. Fournier builds an army of pawns, whereas I see the entire chessboard. And so I am patient, allowing the game to unfold. Rather than short-term grasping, I content myself with books, studies.” He drew his thumb along my lip and down to pinch my chin. “Other such amusements.”

  Oh hell no. I couldn’t help but notice I was pretty much the only “amusement” in the room—unless you went for old bags and empty buckets, and somehow I didn’t think that was Alcántara’s thing.

  I gave a nervous laugh. “Well, you know, I’m with you on the book thing. Love the old books. And you have quite the collection. In particular, I loved when you showed me—”

  He pinched harder. “I’m told you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

  “A total misunderstanding. Those Trainees came for me, and sure, I shouldn’t have been out past curfew, but I like to challenge myself with the occasional brisk night swim. You remember how swimming used to freak me out? Well, I’ve been practicing, but I should’ve told someone what I was doing. In my defense, it seems I’ve been punished accordingly.” I wriggled my shoulders and gave him my most innocent smile. “So maybe you can let me free?”

  As I was babbling, all I could think about was the misericordia in my boot. Could he smell it? Sense it somehow? It had belonged to Sonja, the high priestess of this whole place. Alcántara reported to her. It’d probably mean major brownie points if
he were to return it to her.

  “A swim?” He eyed me. “In these clothes? I wonder…” He grabbed a handful of fabric at my belly, feeling all the layers I’d donned. “It seems you’d sink, no?”

  “I like a challenge?” It was a last-ditch effort delivered with childlike uncertainty.

  Bizarrely, Alcántara began to laugh. “Always you amuse, little one.” And even more bizarrely, he began to unbuckle my leather bands.

  “What’s happening now?” I ask uneasily.

  “You are young yet, and so I’d see you live.” He paused to let those coal-black eyes lock with mine. “Soon a new power will rise, and when it does, you will remember this day. You will remember your friends and what they have done for you.”

  Did he just call me his friend? Was he letting me go? I wouldn’t believe I was free until the fresh air was in my lungs. Slowly I sat up, rubbing my chest where the bands had cut into me. “For sure. And…thanks.”

  “All I ask is that, when your moment comes, you will remember what is important.”

  “Friends. What they’ve done for me.” Check and check. They were the replies I thought he wanted to hear. Now if he’d just let me out of this room. All this weirdness had sent my heart pounding.

  His eyes hardened. “Heed me, Annelise. This is not to be taken lightly. You are one to whom much has been given. You must value your intellect. Your ancestry. As those in power neglect their ideals in pursuit of blind dominion and brute control, they forget what we value most. They forget how the source of true power springs from the purity of blood. Purity of intent.”

  Sounded a little Hitler-y to me, but who was I to argue? I was free. “Uh, yeah, for sure.” Alcántara could yammer all day about what was important to him, but I didn’t forget what I valued, and that was saving my mother. I scooted to the edge of the table. Mentally, I was so out of there. “And, Master Alcántara, I am sorry.”

  His expression became blank and cold. “No more lies. No more attitude. You will be authentic with me. Or I will wash my hands of you.”

  I froze, and my face must’ve looked as wild as my thoughts, because he softened again. “Such doubt you have. Do you not yet trust me? I thought we’d reached an understanding.”

  “Of course.” Though my reply came quickly, I found myself adjusting to sit cross-legged—all the closer to my weaponry. “So, just to make sure I’m following…you’re saying you’re getting me out of here alive?”

  He grinned, and it was a creepy, creepy sight. “No, querida.” He took my hand and guided me off the table. “I’m getting you out of here dead.”

  Every part of me shot to high alert. The misericordia was burning a hole in my boot, but with one hand in Alcántara’s, I wouldn’t be able to reach it quickly enough. “Uh…dead? I’m not really ready for dead.”

  Why wasn’t he making any moves? I needed him to be the one to attack first. He’d see me coming a mile away—when it came to speed, I’d never beat him.

  And then it hit me…oh, crap…he was going to make me a vampire.

  I studied his face, trying to decipher his intent, but he’d used his free hand to slide a device from his pocket—I’d once seen Watcher Priti with the same thing—and was focused on his thumb as it danced over the surface.

  Was Alcántara texting someone?

  “So, about this get-me-out-dead thing…” I tried to tug my hand free, but he wouldn’t let me go.

  Instead, he squeezed my fingers, his eyes meeting mine. “I sense your fear as it thrums with every beat of your heart. But there is no need to be afraid.” He slid his hand from mine and knelt beside the Trainee sprawled dead on the floor. “Shall I explain?”

  A small curved blade appeared in his fingers, and when he spoke again, it was over the crackle of fabric as he sawed down the center of Rob’s sweater. “Nature has many lessons to teach us. For example, some animals feign death to avoid predators.”

  Feigning death? Some of the tension between my shoulders relaxed. “So…you don’t want me dead-dead?”

  “Por supuesto que no, cariño. You will merely feign death to escape the keep.” With a flick of his wrist, he sliced the Trainee’s carotid artery on the side of his neck. “But we must make it realistic. We must camouflage you. And there is nothing more repellant to a vampire than the scent of half-turned blood.”

  “How are you going to—?” And then I smelled it—I smelled the blood before I saw it—a blast hitting me like the stench of rotten things left too long under a hot sun. “Oh.” Thicker and darker than normal human blood, it flowed sluggishly, forming a shining black moon on the floor. “Ew.”

  He began to make other, deeper cuts along the Trainee’s body.

  I couldn’t suppress a shudder. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “You hope it will be. My plan is audacious, but it is not foolproof. It requires much gore. Under which you will need to lie utterly still.”

  I glanced from Alcántara to the body and back again. “You want me to be in all that?”

  At his nod, my stomach pulsed and spit filled my mouth with the urge to retch. I buried my nose in the crook of my elbow. “Can’t.”

  “You can, querida.” He rose, and it was amazing how, after all that, his clothes were completely spotless. “And you will. I risk much to help you. Even now the gravedigger comes for you. We shall wrap you up and he will cart you away from here like so much carnage.”

  A rap on the door a moment later brought a tall figure in a long black cloak, his face hidden under a deep hood.

  I took a step back, feeling all kinds of trepidation. Why should I suddenly start to trust Alcántara? “Gravedigger or grim reaper?”

  His body was crooked, leaning over an old wheelbarrow. Silently, he pulled aside a musty swath of burlap.

  I peered at the dinged metal. “Is that rust or old blood?” My question was met by silence, and I looked up, trying to discern the gravedigger’s face. “You want me to climb into that?”

  But even as I said it, I knew. Either I seized this maybe-shot at freedom, or it’d be Fournier and his army of Trainee pinheads for me.

  Alcántara glared impatiently. “We do not have much time.”

  “I’m in, I’m in.” I clambered into the wheelbarrow and curled into a ball.

  They draped the burlap over me, and the fabric was heavy with the smell of cheese and sweat and decay. I covered my face with my hands, curling tighter, pinching off the sneezing fit I was desperate to let loose.

  And then the wetness came. The blood, still warm from the Trainee’s body, was heavy, feeling less like liquid and more like melted tar being splashed onto me with dull, wet slaps.

  When the first body part was tossed atop me, I had to recede deep into my mind. I tried to imagine myself any place but here. But more and more toppled onto me, until I felt like I might drown in the carnage.

  I tried concentrating on the image of my mother. I was doing this for her. I would see her. Know her. Save her.

  The weight of the gore became unbearable. Each breath in and out was a battle—the sensation was of inhaling blood, not oxygen. I was choking on it.

  My mind couldn’t hold onto the image of my mother. Thoughts of her mingled with the blood, and I made myself imagine this my rebirth.

  The old me was dying. The old Drew, who’d once chosen this island, would disappear from the face of it. I would die this fake death only to emerge from the carnage as a new person.

  I would be reborn.

  Voices entered my consciousness, and I held onto each word like a lifeline.

  “Take the child,” I heard Alcántara say to the gravedigger. “And do not lose her again.”

  “I’ll protect her better than you ever could,” a male voice said in reply.

  It was Carden.

  CHAPTER TEN

  What. The. Hell.

  Carden?

  Since when was he allied with Alcántara?

  These were the thoughts rumbling through my head as he wheeled me out o
f the keep. Generally, I tried not to dwell on things, but this was one mental loop I clung to. Anger was so much easier to process than the terror that nagged me.

  Because the only thing more frightening than the ancient wheelbarrow’s squeak-squeak as it echoed through the cavernous halls of the keep was when the squeaking stopped. When Carden would let go the cart’s handles to speak, masking his accent in hushed tones, and male voices mingled with his, asking questions, giving orders.

  I held my breath, grateful I had yet to hear the voice that scared me above all others—the voice of Sonja, queen of them all.

  Reborn, I reminded myself. A new person. A courageous person—one who walked alone, made her own rules.

  One who wasn’t freaking out, buried beneath pounds and pounds of foul gore.

  Carden pressed on, and just when it felt like he was going to spend the rest of eternity wheeling me in my own personal horror show, suffocating and scared, his voice came to me in a rough whisper. “Almost there.”

  Even from beneath the layers of burlap and carnage, I felt the temperature plunge. Carden stopped, and I held my breath, tensing and straining to detect where we were and who else might be around.

  But we were alone, and he began to heave chunks of Trainee off of me.

  A blessed blast of air hit my skin, and I shivered with pleasure as he peeled away the heavy layers of fabric. It’d stuck to my skin and made a horrific wet sucking sound as it separated from my body.

  I blinked to clear my eyes, but it didn’t get any brighter. I propped myself up on an elbow, trying in the near-darkness to make sense of where he’d brought me. A single torch hissed and popped as it cast slashes of gold and black dancing along rough-hewn rock walls. Wherever the light caught, gleamed with dampness. I tuned into the distant plip-plip of water and the sulfurous stench of underground springs.

  This was one of the caverns beneath the vampires’ cliff-top keep.