It’s a warped, alpha dog move.
And that’s the point. I shake my head again and force my thoughts pass the burn.
“You can… Arrange for us to be in a room without this shit in my veins.” My voice slurs, but insulting him helps clear the infusions effects, namely to repeal curses.
Might not be able to hurt him, but I can do something else. The thought presses a weak smile to my lips. I clear my throat loudly.
“Eight more minutes, Mr. Richards.”
I nod. Right. I get to it.
“Unless you let all the people you’ve got locked in that Pit out, I walk.”
He laughs, a hoarse humorless laugh and rests his fingers on the side of his face. “Now, that simply isn’t true.”
I cock my head sideways. “Bet it.” I flash every tooth I have.
Jax uncrosses his legs and leans toward me. “Need I remind you…”
“Yeah, yeah.” I put my hand up to stop whatever threat is about to fall out of his face. My body feels a little lighter. Some of the ice is lifting, making it easier to move. To think. Leaning over, I match his posture.
“I call bullshit.” I stab the air between us with a finger. “See, I think you need me. Matter fact, I’m betting you’ll do a lot more for me than you wanna admit.”
Anger flashes in his eyes, which please me. I fold my arms and scrutinize him while the monkshood slowly lifts out of my muscles.
After that initial rush of anger, his eyes go blank. Face immobile. He starts to button up his jacket. Then, he cracks his knuckles.
By now the winter chill biting down on my power is more of a shiver. Juliet was generous about that ten minutes.
Good.
After a few more moments of waiting, Jax taps his wristwatch and raises it to his mouth.
“Juliet.”
Seconds later the doors squeal open. I shift my gaze and follow as Juliet saunters to the platform. She stops at the bottom step and looks at Jax only.
“Have the staff prepare thirty rooms.” His gaze sweeps back toward me. His expression is relaxed. I don’t feel anger from him. Or anything negative for that matter.
“Then, have the prisoners in the Pit assimilated into the general population.” He stands fluidly. “And, take Mr. Richards with you when it’s cleared.”
Juliet huffs. “Sir, you can’t possibly…”
Without another word, he glides down the steps and sweeps across the room. “To more tolerant times,” he calls back before ducking out of the cafeteria.
Juliet stares at me, then jerks her head to the doors. “Shall we?”
I stand and go down the steps, then follow her out. As we head down the hall she shoots me a smile.
“I have a feeling this isn’t going to go the way you want.”
I match her grin. “Keep talking, bitch. That monkshood is out of my system.”
Sweat beads up on my forehead as soon as we get to the Pit. With a groan, I cover my nose and mouth, knowing full well it won’t block the moist, foul chemical smell suffocating the narrow corridor.
As I trudge behind Juliet through rows of cages, I can almost feel the cage I was locked in as we pass it on the left. My eyes drop to the aged, rocky floor. I run into Juliet’s back, and glance up. She’s shuffling from one side of the Pit to the other, pressing in numbers to the keypads.
Sheets of glass shoot up, one after the other, in alternating sides of the hall. Bodies stumble out of cages and stand beside them. This happens until we reach the end of the hall.
Juliet opens the last cage and a figure darts out and throws her arms around my waist. I lift my hands, glancing around, as the girl sobs into my chest.
“Shh,” I say, reaching down to pat her scarred, shaved head. I catch a glimpse of Juliet reach for her waist and my mouth falls open.
She jams a Taser into the girl’s neck, and she collapses onto the floor.
“Hey, what the fuck?” I yell over the buzzing voices now swimming through the Pit.
“You were instructed to stand by your cell until further instruction,” Juliet says to the convulsing mound on the floor. I shake my head, then bend over the girl.
She probably used to be beautiful. Her skin is lined with scars and grime. With a smile, I reach for her hand and look into her sunken eyes.
She’s a Spirit. I feel it right away. I plant my feet, preparing to help her up. A rumble rings out from behind me. Juliet clears her throat.
“Return to your position, C6-14, or I’ll have to administer another dose,” she says.
I roll my eyes, sliding one hand under the Spirit with a smile. She gazes back up at me and tightens up, resisting my attempt to lift her.
Her eyes widen briefly. I frown. Then, the Spirit rolls around me, and darts an arm out. I spin in time to see the Spirit throw both hands around Juliet’s ankles. I panic, not sure what this is. An attempt to take down an Enforcer. Can’t say I blame her.
I push myself up with my hands and gape down at her. Rumbling footsteps close in, forming a circle around the three of us.
The Spirit’s eyes shimmer, pulling me into their depths and locking me down. A hand clamps my shoulder. I’m dragged back. The dark Pit swells with power.
I know what she is. A water nymph. A rush of wind knocks me back. Juliet vibrates on her feet. I grab the nearest body and force my way back to her.
A glint of silver flashes across my vision. The metal blade sings through the air.
“No!” I throw myself at Juliet, trying to grab the sword.
A group of Enforcers hold me back. Juliet swings down, kneels over and straightens with the nymph’s head in her free hand.
Time slows. My heart drums in my ears. I can’t move. I can only stare. Blood trickles from the girl’s head, along with strings of flesh. The blood encircles Juliet’s pale arm. She hands the head to me, and then a group of Enforcers go in for the rest of her.
They lift her headless body and carry her out, but it doesn’t reach my mind. It feels more like a nightmare.
I gaze at Juliet’s blade as she wipes it on her coveralls. When she looks up at me, I force my lips together. Everything in me wants to take her then and there.
I flex my neck muscles, trying to control myself.
She lifts an eyebrow. The gesture feels like a triple fucking dog dare. I give her my best poker face. And I block out all the pain, outrage, and hate around us.
Juliet nods, then turns and stares down at everyone in the Pit. She gives a rundown of the rules, with me behind her, like a good fucking puppy.
God, I want to kill her.
She claps, and then turns to me. “This opportunity is part of the C6 initiative to work with descendants. Pike Richards is going to head this effort. Any words?”
I glare and shake my head.
The Spirit’s blood is still on her hands. It splashes on her pants in a red and yellow mosaic. Her blood—her essence--is still running down the hall floor, marked with footprints.
I manage to look at the rest of the descendants. “Follow the rules ‘cause they’ll kill you for it, and damn quick.”
She flips her hair. “Time to move, Richards.”
I stomp my feet to wake up my limbs and start back down the hall. We’re almost at the end when someone grabs me. I turn left, toward the hand on my shoulder.
“Why?” a sturdy looking male whispers to me. His grip is strong, but not aggressive.
Another Spirit. No time to feel for what kind. I use the few moments I have down here to look at him.
To actually look at him. To focus my gaze at him. After staring at me a few moments, he gives a slight nod. Gods, I hope he understands.
“Richards,” Juliet shouts. “Come on.”
He squeezes my shoulder right before I walk off. As I trail behind Juliet, climb into the elevator, and return to the upper levels, I reach up to touch my shoulder.
I can still feel where he grabbed me. I can still feel the silent understanding between us.
&nb
sp; That quiet moment is the only thing that keeps me upright.
I really hate trying to wash off blood. It’s sticky as hell. Clings to the skin like maple syrup, which isn’t fun enough to justify what a pain in the ass it is to get off. The fact that I’ve used my rationed shower for the day doesn’t help.
I stand over the sink with the water on melt-your-skin-hot, and scrub deep blue blood off my hands. Literally and figuratively.
Out motherfuckin’ spot, out.
The water shuts off because it’s been running more than one minute. My jaw tenses. I shake out my raw hands, and then rub them against a towel next to the sink. Then I swipe the towel up and down my face, trying to get as much blood off as possible.
Draped in the darkness behind my towel, Juliet sneaks into my thoughts. Her. Holding that innocent girl’s head like it was a prize-winning pumpkin at the county fair.
I wish I could scrub that image off the surface of my brain. That, and the guilt. Should have kept my damn mouth shut. Now I realize why Jax was so calm.
He had no problem letting the prisoners from the Pit. And he doesn’t plan on making their stay on the main grounds easy. I shuffle backward and sit on the side of the bathtub.
Staring to the other corner of the room, I try to un-see the nymph dying. Dying because of me.
Not that it’s a first.
Still, it bugs me. Not that killing in general doesn’t bug me. Well, I’m pretty sure it does, but it might not.
That does bother me. Being born to like it. Being cursed to do it.
Ball salad, I need a drink. Or several.
A crash makes me jump. I jerk my head toward my room and bolt to my feet. Creeping to the door, I grip the doorknob and strain to hear through it. All is quiet. Slowly, I turn the knob.
Knocking makes me stop. Seconds later, I finish turning the knob and ease the door open a crack, just enough to peer though.
A tangle of gray, like still shots of a thunderstorms progress. My eyes narrow. I push the door further. Shades of gray colors flash again. After a few seconds I realize it’s the spread of wings.
It’s a bird.
It’s my frickin’ bird.
For the first time since I saw Sadie alive I feel light. I shove the door open.
“Oscar?”
A tiny head twists around and stares at me with two beady, black eyes. I inch toward him, face stretching into a huge smile. He turns all the way around, spans his wings, and rushes into the air. Then he swoops back down.
Right at my face.
Talons dig into my cheeks.
“Ah!” I swipe at him and stumble back. He swoops back into the air, only to bank left, and zips down at me again. And again.
“Godamnit!”
He answers with a few more pecks on my neck and forehead. I swat him back with a grunt. “Cut the shit.”
As he floats back to the desk, he makes a low, sputtering noise. Like a lawn mower engine. His feet click when he lands. Then, he turns his back and starts shoving sunflower seeds down his beak.
Ain’t this a bitch?
This isn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind. I shuffle closer to him and clear my throat.
“I haven’t seen your ass in four months, and that’s the welcome I get?”
His answer is the tap-tap of his beak against wood.
“Wow.” I wipe a hand across my mouth.
I’m used to giving the silent treatment, not getting it. This is bush league. I wave him off and trudge to the dresser to pull out clean clothes. Once I’m out of the bloody coveralls, I turn and walk up behind Oscar.
“What’s with you?”
He shakes out his feathers. My eyes narrow. I lean over and flick him in the back of the head.
“Not a good time for your douchery.”
I wait a few seconds.
Nothing.
Some best friend. Little bastard birdie was the only nice thing the gods ever gave me. Now he feels like any other familiar I’ve ever met.
I wave him off, and then stomp pass him and flop on the bed. He raises his head and I glance away. I won’t lie. The shit hurts. I feel the way about my parrot that most rich white people feel about their dogs.
Hurts like a ball pinch.
He goes back to tapping the desk, and I try to ignore it. Try to be hard. The tapping just grows more consistent, making it more difficult to block out. Then, I realize it’s a pattern. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, just talk.”
More tapping. Okay, if we’re going to clear the air, I have to play his little avian games. Perking my ears, I listen to the patterns. When the message becomes clear I shake my head, confused.
“Leave you?” My voice comes out in a near growl. “I didn’t leave you. I was man napped in the middle of the night. Then locked in a cage for months!” Fury boils in my gut. I toss him the finger. “Pull your head out of your ass.”
His head lowers. Light chirping meets my ears.
“Really?” I sigh and sit up. “How am I the bad guy?”
He rolls his neck and looks back up. We sit there a while in quiet. He starts to whistle. This time, the tune sounds familiar. When I recognize it, I bite down a smile.
“Oh, no.” I cross my arms. “I’m not that easy.”
“And I’d, never thought I’d feel this way…”
My mouth twitches. He sounds just like Dione Warwick, real talk. One of Oscar’s talents is imitating all voices.
And I mean all voices.
“Don’t,” I say, clearing my throat.
“And as far as I’m concerned, I’m glad I got chance to say that I do believe I love you…”
That gets a real smile out of me, wide and cheesy as all hell.
“And if, I should ever go away, well then close your eyes and try to feel the way we do today…”
I pat my shoulder and he swoops over and perches there. My fingers ruffle his feathers.
“Missed you bro.”
He squawks.
I sigh. “Rough day, Oz.”
Light chirps buzz my ear.
“Got a girl…a Spirit killed today. A water Spirit, too. They’re the only ones that don’t act like their shit doesn’t stink.”
Another familiar melody fills the room. Some blues number. I lean back against the headboard and listen. Try to let it go. Try to find something that at least looks like peace of mind. My eyelids start to feel heavy. I yawn and start to close them.
A loud boom on the door jerks me from drowsiness.
“Who is it?” Oscar calls, sounding just like me. I give him a look and swipe my hands down my face. The banger doesn’t answer, just knocks louder.
With a sigh, I crawl off the bed. “Coming!” I shuffle across the room and pull the door open. It’s Shoestring. Well, Tripp. But that’s what I’ve decided to call him.
“What’s up, man?” I let the door open all the way and step back.
He points his finger at Oscar. “See you two have been reunited.”
Oscar chirps. “And it feels so good…”
My eyes roll up into my head. “Us, and all of Motown’s greatest.”
Tripp laughs, then his face twists into an expression of concern. “I came to check on you.” His hands plant on his hips. “I heard what happened to Sonya.”
I raise a brow.
“In the Pit?”
Sonya was her name. My mind replays Juliet decapitating her over and over. I shake my head like my brain is an Etch-a-Sketch, and moving it up and down can blank the slate.
I gaze past him and stare for a few awkward moments. A clicking noise draws my attention back to Tripp. My eyes dart to the doorknob he’s fiddling with.
He stops and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”
I turn and stroll back across the room. “Nah, thanks, Shoestring.”
He saunters in and leans back against the wall. “You sure? Blowjob? All you have to do is ask.”
I snigger. “Does that actually work on dudes?”
; “Only all the time.” He grins.
Sitting at the desk chair, I tilt my head to the side. “That’s amazing.”
Tripp laughs again, then his expression shifts back to concerned. “No, but seriously. You need anything at all?”
I shrug. “Unless you’re a beer or a time machine, I don’t think you can help.”
We both get quiet, so Oscar fills the silence with chirping. After too long of a pause, my mind starts trying to think up a polite way to tell Tripp to get the hell out. I just want to be alone with my shitty thoughts. His fingers snap.
“Not a beer or a time machine, but do have something that can help.” He pushes himself off the wall. “Come on.”
I shake my head. “Nah, man. Really, I’m good.”
He snorts. “I think you’ve been alone long enough.” His hands wave me toward the door. “Oscar can come too. Come on now.”
I sigh. Clearly, I’m not going to be getting rid of my new bestie. So, I drag my ass off the chair, turn to sweep the rest of Oscar’s sunflower seeds off the desk and into my front pocket, then turn toward Tripp.
“Fine, where we going?”
“Surprise,” he says before ducking out the door.
I follow, swinging the door shut behind me.
“Not really a surprise person,” I say as we head down the hall.
“You’ll like this one,” he says over the clomping of our feet on the stairs.
I roll my eyes and follow him down the front walkway and toward the front door. Once we’re outside I squint to adjust my eyes to the lighting change. The artificial sky draped across C6 is dimming, so it must be nearing dinnertime.
Dinnertime. I remember that being a thing.
We trudge down the front stairs, and Tripp leads me around to the back of the house. I take in my surroundings and reminisce about orange chicken. When dinnertime was still a thing, I would frequent this Chinese joint smack dab in the middle of the ghetto. Their orange chicken was worth the risk of getting mugged. Even as a memory, my mouth waters.
Once we make it to the back of the house, my gaze sweeps across a long field of brown grass. Some two hundred feet away, a yard littered with armored vehicles sit behind a low, bolted gate. My gaze darts ahead, to the alcove Shoestring is headed for. Another set of stairs leads toward a small space on the basement level of our house. Looks almost like a baseball dugout.
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