by Riley LaShea
Spinning in the water, Haydn lifted her head suddenly, and, though Delaney couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness, she knew Haydn’s eyes saw her. Rushing inside, she slammed the balcony doors, frantic for an escape from her own warped desire, knowing well there was none.
INNOCENTS
16
There is no sleeping through a nightmare. People can endure such a state for a time. Once a dream reaches a level of terror that truly classifies as nightmare, though, the body eventually insists on waking to ensure the danger isn’t real.
Delaney translated a passage like that once in the writings of a Chinese researcher who spent her life dedicated to the study of those things in the world that went unseen by most, and, like most in her field, gave her life for it.
That first night in the stone castle, the hypothesis proved sound. Falling asleep not long after she made it back to the bedroom and climbed into bed with Kiara, Delaney woke repeatedly, only, each time her eyes opened, expecting to find it all just a product of her mind, the nightmare was still there. Distress catching, Kiara too began to toss in her sleep, so Delaney gave up on her own rest and moved to the chair in the far corner so as not to disturb her.
No windows in the room, no access to sky even if there were, she lost track of time, slipping in and out of consciousness, until Kiara called her name and she blinked back into their dreamlike reality.
“I’m hungry,” Kiara said, and, the light left burning on the small table enough to bathe the room in pale light, Delaney was glad electricity had made it into the bedrooms, even if none of the house’s other modernizations seemed to have gotten beyond the door. “Is there something to eat?”
Fright in the question troubling, it occurred to Delaney that being the person to whom Kiara clung meant she was also the person who would have to answer the girl’s questions, even when she didn’t have any answers. Useless excursion of the night before fresh in her mind, she knew, underground as they were, there would be no more light by morning than there had been by night, and she didn’t want to get Kiara’s hopes up.
“Let’s go see.” Her restless night converged in her lower back as she stood from the chair, watching Kiara’s legs swing to dangle over the edge of the mattress as she eyed the large drop to the floor. Going to help, Delaney felt a small hand grip tightly to hers as she put Kiara on the floor, and, squeezing softly, she hoped it wasn’t false assurance as she tugged the girl toward the door.
The quiet that greeted them outside the room was so absolute, it made the darkness feel even deeper, and Delaney scarcely managed to withhold her scream at the unexpected voice as she stepped into the hallway.
“Good morning.”
Whirling to the hall’s far end, she saw the man she had noticed the night before due to the white collar that stood in prominence against his black shirt, standing in the light that leaked from the open door of the room he’d taken. Noting both shirt and collar were exactly as they had been, Delaney assumed he had gotten even less sleep than her.
“It’s morning,” she said. She wouldn’t call it good. Even calling it morning felt like a stretch when she had no idea how many hours they had been there or how long Kiara had slept.
“I was just… waiting to see.” The man in the collar glanced past her down the hall. He didn’t have to say for what. He likely didn’t know, just as Delaney didn’t know. They were all just waiting to see what happened next, to find out if it was truly safe to wander about the halls, if they were really under the deraphs’ protection, or if they were just some folly in a sadistic joke.
“And have you? Seen anything?”
“No,” he replied with a small shake of his head. “They don’t seem to be concerned with us. I guess we pose no threat to them.”
He was certainly spot-on there. Even well-trained and sporting weapons, the eight of them would stand little chance against a single deraph, and none in an even fight. Untrained and unarmed, they were no more than mice in the deraphs’ domain. The worst they could do was nip at the bread, if there was even bread to be nipped.
“I have to pee.” The declaration prevented Delaney from having to confirm the man in the collar’s fear, and, glancing back to him as she turned with Kiara, she saw a small smile flit across his lips before he trailed them down the hall.
“Don’t leave me,” Kiara said a moment later.
“I won’t,” Delaney promised, leaving the bathroom door ajar and leaning back against the wall to wait.
“I’m Bryce.” The man in the collar reached across the old floral runner that dated the hallway by about three centuries.
“Father Bryce?” Delaney returned as she took it.
“Most people call me Vicar,” he said. “Though, I’m not sure either matters much here.” Fingering the white collar at his throat, he seemed to consider, for a moment, pulling it out, but checked that it was in its proper place instead.
“I’m Delaney,” Delaney replied, and Vicar Bryce’s gaze on her turned tentative.
“Last night…” He glanced to the bathroom doorway, voice lowering in regard to Kiara inside. “You said they were -”
“Deraphs,” Delaney declared, looking down the dark hall for signs of movement, as if saying it would bring them flooding back in.
“Vampires,” Vicar Bryce amended. “You said vampires.”
Jaw tensing, Delaney knew the conversation would come back to haunt her. Reaffirming the fact with a succinct nod, she watched the vicar try to process. She had actually expected a barrage of questions as soon as they were left alone together, but, everyone in newly-kidnapped shock, there had been none.
“But you don’t actually mean ‘vampires’ like the kind of vampires that drink human blood, right?” Vicar Bryce asked.
Not sure what he wanted to hear, Delaney did know what he didn’t. Unable to ease his mind without blatantly lying, she thought it best to say nothing at all.
“Forgive me.” Her silence proved illuminating enough. “You must realize that’s somewhat difficult to accept.”
Taking the same deep breath she always had to take before defending the realities of the unseen against the skepticism of her fellow man, Delaney’s sigh reverberated down the long hallway.
“You believe in demons, don’t you, Vicar?” she asked, and Vicar Bryce fidgeted at the question.
“Well, the Bible says there are demons,” he responded. “But, like all things in the Bible, it’s open to interpretation. Human beings can behave in ways that make them seem like they are possessed. Mental illnesses disturb people’s minds. There is evil.” Looking to her again, he seemed to realize he hadn’t actually answered the question. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You should,” Delaney uttered, and, feeling the discomfort in his stare until Kiara at last emerged from the bathroom, Delaney wasn’t sure if he believed her just a little more or thought she was insane.
Kiara’s hand in hers once more as they continued down the hallway, Delaney was relieved to find some light to guide their way.
Vicar Bryce at their backs, they made it to the bright entrance of the kitchen, and Delaney glanced through the doorway across the hall from it, seeing chairs and the head of a table in what appeared to be a formal dining room, before she stepped through the kitchen doorway and into shock at the amount of work that had been done in the night.
Modern refrigerator clashing with the brick ovens and cast iron stoves in the massive cook space, enough food covered the counter that Delaney couldn’t help but realize Haydn meant what she said - none of them were going anywhere for a while.
“It looks like they really do want us to make ourselves at home.” Father Bryce accepted the fact too. Moving to the nearest cabinet, he seemed to take inventory of its contents, before moving onto the next, and, depression trying to pull her down into a stupor, Delaney focused on all that she could do in the situation.
“What kind of juice do you want?” Finding the options in the refrigerator more than sufficient, if not
particularly nutritious, she stood aside so Kiara could see. Pulling the carton from the refrigerator once Kiara made her pick, Delaney turned to find Vicar Bryce holding out a glass.
“Thanks.” She took it from his hand, taking it to the sink to rinse it as Vicar Bryce moved on to inspecting their food supply.
“Would you like one?” he asked, and, glancing over, Delaney watched the vicar pull a banana from a cluster and offer it to Kiara, smiling when she took it from his hand.
“Can you carry both?” Delaney put the half-full glass of juice in Kiara’s other hand, and Kiara’s head bobbed with absolute confidence even as the glass tipped dangerously.
“Should we sit?” Vicar Bryce came to the rescue, motioning Kiara toward the wooden table that took up the smaller side of the kitchen. Eyes moving over its bench-style seating, Delaney knew it was where the servants ate too. After laboring away to serve up perfect dinners for their employers and distinguished guests in the dining room, they were left to subsist on the food and luxury left over once the elite were satisfied.
“Go sit with Vicar Bryce,” Delaney encouraged when Kiara looked reluctant to leave her side. “I’ll be right over.”
Watching until Vicar Bryce got Kiara to the table and helped her settle into her seat, Delaney turned back to the food on the counter, trying to find some logic behind it. Still seeing nothing but a hodgepodge of random items, she realized they would just have to put it away and figure out how to make the best of it at some point.
“Adequate, I assume?”
Voice putting her instantly on edge, though the edge of what, she couldn’t say, Delaney turned to meet dark eyes staring in from the doorway. Though she could sense her, feel her, she had no idea how close, because all night Haydn had been there, an omnipresent ache leaving no part of Delaney untouched.
“I see you found something to wear.” Gaze sliding over her, the borrowed nightgown felt see-through and Delaney remembered the night before when there wasn’t anything shielding her from Haydn’s view.
“How long do you think you can keep us here?” She was just grateful Vicar Bryce and Kiara were in the room when she wasn’t convinced she could trust her own restraint.
“As long as it takes.”
“For what?”
When Haydn took several steps toward her, Delaney’s own determined step away carried her into the edge of the counter with a grimace.
“To keep you safe.”
Feeling the bruise already starting to form on her back, it was almost funny.
“To keep yourselves safe,” she countered.
“I never said there weren’t positive consequences.”
The sudden appearance of Kiara at Haydn’s side distracting them both, Delaney watched Kiara beam up, as if she knew Haydn was responsible for the extensive, sugar-laden juice selection.
“See. I’m not so scary, am I?” Haydn cupped Kiara’s face, and, Kiara falling instantly under the enchantment, Delaney pulled her out of Haydn’s reach, tucking Kiara behind her leg as if she could shield her from further seduction.
“Go sit down,” she ordered.
“I want more juice.” Kiara held her empty glass out with a pout.
“I’ll bring it to you.” Delaney took the glass from her hand, nudging her toward the table, and, watching her go with a small smile, Haydn at last turned back to Delaney.
Determined to hold her ground when Haydn stepped forward again, it occurred to Delaney further retreat would have been wiser as her stubbornness succeeded only in bringing Haydn so close she swore she could feel the rasp of her voice. “You are here for your good, as well as ours. Remember that. And do try to set a good example.”
Sensation of her invasive, stare utterly transfixing, Delaney felt herself being drawn into the feel and fantasy of the woman before her.
“I know about you,” she whispered. “The things you can do.”
“I know.” The small smile that came to Haydn’s lips was pure intoxication. “It’s quite exciting, actually.”
“I know you can warp people’s thoughts, manipulate their emotions.”
“When necessity arises.”
“Don’t,” Delaney stated.
Heart thundering beneath her breast, pervasive throbbing concentrating lower, Delaney was forced to an abrupt stop as Haydn stepped with her when she tried to get away.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Haydn said, “but I haven’t. Or have I?”
Lifting her eyes to Haydn’s steady gaze, the glass trembled in Delaney’s hand - everything trembled - and Haydn let her escape as far as the counter when she tried to get around her again. Thankful the glass didn’t crack when she set it too hard on the counter, Delaney got into the refrigerator, sloshing, but not spilling, as she refilled Kiara’s glass. Prepared to ignore Haydn, as if Haydn could be ignored, as she spun to take the glass to the table, she discovered, though she could feel her just as intensely as before, Haydn was gone.
Garcia needed to go to a hospital. That was her professional opinion. Insistent, though, upon being taken to an old army buddy to mend his many broken parts, it might not have been the smartest option, but it wasn’t entirely wrong either. The injuries he wore would prompt so many questions at a legitimate care facility that going out of the way and prolonging care by hours was almost the only choice. With all they had done over the past weeks, if someone started looking too hard, who knew what they might dig up?
Bandaged hand nearly black in his lap, lung most certainly punctured, though, Garcia was going to die without thorough care, and soon, and the fact bothered Fiona more than she wanted to admit. When Slade invited her into his crew, it wasn’t just about the money, though she couldn’t say that wouldn’t have been enough on its own. For a minute, Fiona actually thought she might have a settled life for once, a place where she could always return, people whom she could depend upon.
Then, Sean.
But Sean was dead. Armand was dead. Jim was dead. Slade was in prison. And, if they had any sense about them at all, Amber and Katlego were as far from the fallout as they could get.
She and Garcia were all that remained.
Tensions still running high between them, for what each fairly considered betrayal by the other, Fiona was surprised Garcia wanted her to take him anywhere.
He had been equally surprised when she had come back in while Jim was trying to keep Garcia in his chair and get free of his binds at the same time. Able to slip up on him from behind, an older deraph she never could have taken out like that. Jim hadn’t even eaten, though. Only half what he was about to become, he was like a baby learning to walk, and it still wasn’t all that easy to take his legs out from under him.
Pulling up outside the address Garcia gave her, Fiona looked to his head lulling against the passenger seat and wondered if he would even make it inside. The trip alone had been brutal. For both of them. Of course, Garcia couldn’t have any army buddies who lived nearby. Thankfully, Fiona had her share of experience, and then some, at making people invisible, and the few hundreds Garcia could draw from his bank account were enough to get them across the water on a fishing boat without too many questions.
By the time she lifted a car, and got them inland, she was nearly falling down tired herself, and she had nothing more than scrapes and bruises from the tussle with Jim that came after she put a knife from Garcia’s kitchen through his back, twisted it into his heart, and waited for him to lose enough blood to become a less formidable opponent.
Those had been the most dangerous moments for them all. Pissing off a deraph was like kicking a hornets’ nest, a really bad fucking idea unless you had a hell of a getaway plan.
“Garcia.” Reaching out to shake his arm only when Garcia didn’t immediately respond, Fiona breathed once again as his eyes at last dragged open. “We’re here.”
“201 Seel Street?” he husked.
“Yeah.” Fiona looked to the window as a group of people went past, all young and in a rush, backpacks or m
essenger bags slung over their shoulders. “Does your friend teach or something?”
“Something like that.”
Suddenly looking as if his own nest had been kicked, Garcia sat up in the seat like he had strength to spare, fingers inching down his leg, and Fiona could see the outline of the knife’s handle at his calf through his jeans.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he checked the pistol in his inside jacket pocket. It hadn’t even occurred to her to question Garcia’s intentions. Assuming he wanted to survive the deraphs’ visit, she simply took him at his word.
Throwing the door open without response, Garcia left it wide as he headed for the door of 201 Seel Street, and, torn between resentment of being lied to and her last standing allegiance, Fiona hesitated before following him from the car.
“What are you doing?”
Garcia walked with such purpose, Fiona forgot about his injuries, and he let out a yelp as she grabbed his shoulder.
“We’re running out of time,” he hissed.
“Well, we can’t just walk in there and kill somebody,” Fiona responded. “Look around. There are dozens of witnesses.”
“Do what you want?” Garcia said, continuing to the door. Impeded by its intercom system entrance, he pressed all the buttons at once, and, a moment later, a disinterested ‘Yeah’ crackled over the speaker. “Maintenance,” Garcia uttered, and, door buzzed open, Fiona had only a split second to decide what she wanted to do and catch the door before it closed.
Measured strides carrying him up a flight of stairs, any pain Garcia felt was clearly low priority for him, and when he got to apartment 2-B, he knocked without pause, waiting impatiently until a guy with shaggy hair and a horrendous case of morning breath answered yawning.