The Innocents

by Riley LaShea

  “They’re the rooms with vacant beds,” Haydn returned. “Would you prefer to sleep with me?”

  Valiant effort at sloughing Haydn off her skin undermined in an instant, Delaney dug at the fabric at her chest, feeling as if Haydn just crawled inside it instead.

  “But you’ve found everything you need?” Haydn asked.

  “Yes,” Delaney uttered. “There’s food and water and toilets and clothes and god dammit!” Fingernails scouring her sleeve as the itch jumped to her arm, she wondered if she could catch pox from two-hundred-year-old cotton. “I know they are old and natural and handmade, but what I wouldn’t give for a synthetic that doesn’t bloody itch!”

  Low chuckle reverberating through the room, Delaney realized her moment of fury had come off more as comedy.

  “How’s the food?” Haydn asked when she was finished being amused.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Is it really?”

  “It’s not the best,” Delaney declared.

  “Well, it’s been some years since anyone here has eaten, so you’ll have to forgive them that too.”

  Food, Haydn meant. It had been some years since any of the deraphs had eaten food. Delaney was certain they had eaten plenty.

  “You know, you could spare yourself the attempts at hospitality if you just let us go.”

  “I can’t let you go.” Again, Haydn managed to sound almost contrite, when Delaney knew very well she didn’t have it in her to care what they were going through. She, and the others sequestered with her, were just means to an end to Haydn. Pawns in the deraphs’ existences. Nothing more than necessity. “Obviously, there are things you’re going to need to be comfortable here,” Haydn said. “So, tomorrow, you and I will go into town.”

  Statement catching her entirely off-guard, Delaney looked to Haydn again, but, hard as she tried, she couldn’t see the deception.

  “You’re not worried I’ll run off?”

  “I hope you won’t try.” Haydn reminded her a try was all it would be. “I think you understand what’s at stake here. If you leave, Delaney, they will kill you.”

  Unable to deny the fear the warning instilled, Delaney couldn’t pretend the deraphs weren’t worthy of fearing too. Threat coming from both sides, they were boxed in, trapped in the trenches of a hostile army, and, just waiting for the shot that started the war, Delaney flinched as the kettle began to cry.

  18

  Soft husk of her name drawing her from sleep, for a moment between unconsciousness and awareness, Delaney thought Haydn was just a part of her dreams.

  “We need to go.”

  Delaney forced her eyes to open, the light from across the room just enough to cast her into Haydn’s shadow.

  “What time is it?”

  “Seven,” Haydn said, and, disoriented as she tried to sit, Delaney decided it had to be the lack of natural light that had her so out of sync.

  “What about Kiara?” Her too, apparently. Asleep for more than nine hours, the girl didn’t move at all as Delaney shifted beside her

  “There are plenty of people here,” Haydn whispered, and Delaney acknowledged it may be more than the darkness responsible for the mental fog that made the entire room feel hazy and lethargic.

  “I can’t just leave her,” she said. “She’ll be scared when she wakes up.” Struggling to form a rational thought, it occurred to her, as Haydn indicated, multiple solutions were available behind the doors around her, and, sliding from the bed, the feel of Haydn hovering so close rendered her less than steady on her feet. “I need to get dressed.”

  Making no move at the statement, it seemed, for a moment, as if Haydn was quite content to stay and watch.

  “Here.” Delaney was relieved as she at last tossed something atop the quilt. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Too anxious to risk another move until Haydn was out in the hallway with the door closed between them, Delaney retrieved the item left for her, shaking it from its folded state to reveal a long-sleeved, black t-shirt that had to have come from Haydn’s own closet. Assuming Haydn didn’t want her to be conspicuous in the scrounged nineteenth century wear, or didn’t want to hear her complain, Delaney pulled the soft shirt on with her pants and coat, gathering Kiara into her arms before Haydn’s smell on the fabric could fully invade.

  Rocking her back into a sounder sleep when Kiara shifted against her with a small whimper, Delaney stepped into the dark hallway, gaze flicking past Haydn as she turned to the far end of the hall.

  “Is everything all right?” Vicar Bryce asked when he came to the door a few seconds after she knocked.

  “It’s fine,” Delaney responded. “Haydn is taking me to get better supplies. Can you look after Kiara?”

  “Yes, of course.” Vicar Bryce reached for her instantly, and, feeling an unexpected twinge as she put Kiara into his arms, Delaney realized the girl had been her focus since their arrival at the castle, and possibly the only thing that had been holding her together.

  “When she wakes up, tell her I’ll be back, okay?”

  “I will,” Vicar Bryce assured her. “We’ll be fine. You worry about yourself.” Gaze drifting down the hall to where Haydn stood, he made little effort to hide his distrust, and, with a chuckle that reminded them both she could see everything, Haydn started down the hall without Delaney.

  “I’ll see you later.” Delaney manufactured a smile, feeling every bit of Vicar Bryce’s apprehension as she hurried to catch up.

  Her body was traitorous. First, with the unyielding desire she didn’t want to feel, and now with the sense of ease she knew she shouldn’t. Delaney needed to be aware of herself, of Haydn, of every moment. She needed to watch for any changes that might proceed danger, to search for means of escape. Partially-restful sleeps and stress taking their toll, though, the smooth sway of the boat in the water and cushy leather seat lulled her into a state of ill-timed relaxation.

  Trying to keep her eyes open as she peered through the glass of the boat that moved at a far more reasonable speed, the darkness outside remained too thick to find anything of interest. Inside, the ambient light illuminated nothing but controls and Haydn, and, eyes drawn, with ruthless force, toward one of those things, Delaney knew it was the last thing she should focus on.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, more in an effort to keep herself awake than in expectation of answer.

  “Tórshavn.” Haydn surprised her by providing one.

  “So, we’re in the Faroes?”

  “We’re in the Faroes,” Haydn said, and Delaney realized any attempt at escape would have proven even more fruitless than she thought.

  Wondering if Haydn would tell her which island the castle was in if she asked, she glanced over and forgot she had a question. Black hair lightened to deep brown, near plum highlights cutting streaks through it, it was something she’d noticed Haydn’s hair did in certain light. It was one of the many somethings Delaney had been unable to help but notice about Haydn.

  “What will happen when we get there?” She questioned, much too comfortable in her position, eyes locked on Haydn as if it was all right to stare, when she couldn’t stop her body from rampantly responding to just the sound of Haydn’s voice or the slightest change in her expression.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The markets don’t open until daylight, I assume,” Delaney stated, and, at the small smile that crossed Haydn’s lips, too tired to fight it, Delaney let the warm feel flood through her.

  “I’ve had several centuries to acclimate to uncomfortable things,” Haydn replied.

  Presuming that meant Haydn was prepared for whatever was to come, Delaney only wished she could say the same for herself.

  The Faroe Islands were a land apart, her father always said.

  Light weak on the sea and landscape looming above, when Haydn docked along a rocky shore away from the pier and prying eyes, it fit every description her father ever gave of the islands, and Delaney tried not to think about the last ti
me he was there.

  Watching instead as Haydn lit a lantern for her sake, she felt every wave as the boat bounced off the bumpers that dangled against its side. Conditions less steady than they had been when she stepped into the boat, Delaney wasn’t sure how she was going to get to her feet, let alone clear the distance to solid ground. So, when Haydn jumped ashore with inhuman poise and offered her hand, Delaney had little choice but to take it, sucking in a sharp breath at the too-pleasant feel of it pulling her safely onto land.

  Footsteps falling into the ring of light cast by the lantern, Delaney realized she didn’t need it. Haydn’s aura like a magnetic pull, she could have followed her through absolute darkness, tripping up from time to time, she was certain, but virtually incapable of losing her way.

  “You didn’t tell me there was going to be a fitness challenge involved.” Delaney shivered as she looked up the steep, rock steps that led up the cliff side toward civilization.

  “Do you want me to carry you?”

  “I can do it myself,” Delaney huffed, and, smirk dragging away from her, Haydn started up the incline, lantern held out in one hand to cast light behind her, like the climb was no challenge at all.

  Determined not to let the fact it was a challenge show, Delaney put extra thrust in each step, ensuring Haydn didn’t have to slow down for her in their ascent up the hill. Three-quarters of the way to the top, she determined the climb not nearly as steep as it looked in the exact instant before gravity chose to challenge the notion. Balance off-kilter before her foot slipped on the mossy stone, Delaney reached for something to grab onto, finding Haydn’s arm there in an instant. The panic in dark eyes genuine as Haydn’s fingers gripped her elbow a little too hard, Delaney grimaced.

  “Why don’t you go in front?” Though it sounded like suggestion, the hand that pulled her up the hill and pressed against Delaney’s back was more of an order. Not particularly aspiring to tumble down the rugged cliff side into the cold water of the Norwegian Sea, she accepted the command with minimal irritation, thankful when they made it to the top without incident, so she didn’t have to find out where Haydn’s hands might end up if she stumbled again.

  Turning back at the sound of Haydn topping the cliff behind her, it took several backward steps to alleviate the vertigo when Delaney realized it was, in fact, as steep as it had looked from bottom.

  “How are we going to get anything back to the boat?” Pulling her coat tighter, she longed for her destroyed sweater when the sea air seemed to blow right through it.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Haydn said, and, having just witnessed her ability to scale the precipitous cliff with excess baggage firsthand, Delaney had no doubt she could.

  “Which way?” she asked.

  “Just a minute.”

  Quiet utterance drawing her gaze, for a moment, Delaney stood riveted, watching Haydn stare out from the ledge, rising daylight casting her hair and skin into hues Delaney hadn’t yet seen. Reminding herself a beautiful demon was still a demon, she forced her gaze away, following Haydn’s to the lightening sky, softest traces of pink leaking through silver gray, suspended over the deep blue-gray of the sea.

  Realizing she hadn’t even noticed the view, the sea, the sky or the quiet solitude in which she had the highest degree of nature’s splendor almost to herself for a moment, Delaney didn’t stop watching the changing of the colors until she heard Haydn’s voice again.

  “All right.” Haydn turned her back to the endless panorama just as the sun broke the line between sky and sea. “Let’s get into town.”

  Wide-brimmed hat she’d brought up the cliff situated to shield her face, she double-checked her scarf, gloves and sunglasses before pointing the way, and, once Delaney knew where they were headed, the walk into Tórshavn went quickly, getting them into the port as the second wave of fishing boats were returning to shore with their catches.

  “Where do you want to go first?” Haydn questioned. “The main market is that way, but there are plenty of smaller shops. They should be open.”

  “What can I get?” Delaney asked her.

  “Whatever you need,” Haydn said, and Delaney wasn’t sure why she found that so difficult to believe.

  Trying to think what all they might need, she had come up with a small list of the most immediate necessities, before she was distracted by Haydn’s movement. Almost twitchy as she pressed the sunglasses more tightly against her face and adjusted the scarf higher on her neck, it wasn’t exactly a deraph’s usual grace.

  “You know, you don’t have to stay with me,” Delaney said. “You were right. I do know what’s at stake.” Kiara and Vicar Bryce and the others, if nothing else. “I’m not going to run.”

  “I appreciate the consideration,” Haydn returned, head tilting to block the sun’s rays as she glanced up. “But the people who are after you, I don’t know where they ended up, how many are alive or how many there may actually be. I do know from whom they take their orders, and I assure you it is not someone whose victim you want to become. I would let you do this alone if I was convinced you would be safe, but I’m not, so just try to pretend I’m not here.”

  Like that was within the realm of possibility.

  Nodding in acceptance that the personal guard detail was necessary, and they would both simply have to suffer through it, Delaney headed toward the main market first to see what she could find.

  “You know,” she uttered as Haydn fell into step beside her, “you might be slightly less noticeable if you incorporate some color into your wardrobe.”

  Though she couldn’t see Haydn’s eyes behind the black lenses of her glasses as she glanced her way, the smile that came to Haydn’s face put Delaney into an unnatural state of ease.

  Like a gazelle cozying up to a lion.

  Over an hour left ‘til sundown, and basic clothing, toiletries and more satisfactory food already procured, there was nothing to do but wait, so they escaped into a pub where Haydn could find a corner out of the sun and at last take off her hat and gloves and glasses.

  Insistent she didn’t need anything when Haydn told her to order something, Haydn was just as insistent she did, and Delaney discovered only one of them right when the food came and her stomach wasted no time in reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day.

  “You’ll eat later, I assume.” Pushing a scallop across her plate, its appetizing aroma bred guilt as she remembered everyone else waiting for better back in their prison.

  “I don’t need to eat,” Haydn said.

  “Do you really only have to eat every twenty-eight days?”

  Prong of her fork flaking the scallop’s edge, Delaney was somewhat scared to look up as the silence that followed the question wore relentlessly on.

  “Do you really want to have this conversation here?”

  “Why not?” Delaney shrugged. “I’ve got an hour to kill.”

  Admitting she meant it as a challenge only when Haydn met it in the most punishing possible way, by sliding around the curved booth until they were nearly touching, so they could keep the privileged conversation in relative privacy, Delaney wondered why she had to press. After all Haydn had done for her, for all of them, that day, could she really not let her curiosity lie long enough to get back to the house?

  “It depends.” Elbow settling on the tabletop, Haydn’s fingers moved through dark hair as she angled closer to rest her head on her hand.

  “On what?”

  “A lot of things,” Haydn responded. “Mainly the blood itself.”

  “How so?” Delaney asked, realizing it would be repugnant to most that she was able to eat through the current topic. Normal people didn’t discuss the consumption of human blood without ruining their own appetites.

  “Human bodies replace red blood cells at different rates,” Haydn answered. “Since we don’t have the ability to replace blood cells, the blood rots. Sometimes, it takes twenty days. Sometimes, forty. It just depends.”

  “So, how do you know when you need to
eat?”

  “I get hungry.” Haydn clearly found the question funny.

  “Aren’t you hungry all the time?”

  That was it, the real question, the one to where all previous questions had been leading. Delaney didn’t know a lot about deraphs, not nearly as much as she would like to while trapped in their custody. There weren’t many facts to be found. So much of it was speculation. Two things, however, recurred over and over in the accounts of those few researchers who managed to get close enough to observe deraphs, without getting too close not to die. The first - deraphs were exquisite creatures who seemed to exude their beauty, instead of simply wearing it - already proven, Delaney put considerably more stock in the second - that deraphs had insatiable appetites nearly impossible to appease.

  “Depends what you mean by hungry,” Haydn murmured, and, aggressive shiver racking her, it occurred to Delaney certain words were best not encouraged from Haydn’s lips. “Even if you’ve just eaten, I assume you’re still tempted by chocolate cake every once in a while.”

  Not even close to okay with people being likened to items on a dessert menu, Delaney had to admit the analogy was at least illuminating.

  “Like you, we know the difference between hunger and indulgence.”

  “And how often do you indulge?” Delaney asked, before she thought better of it. It didn’t matter. Whether Haydn killed fifteen people a year, or fifteen people an hour, she was still stuck in her company for the foreseeable future.

  “I don’t,” Haydn said.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Well, amazingly enough,” Haydn returned, “what you do or don’t believe has exactly zero impact on the truth.”

  Put, rather firmly, into place, Delaney’s cheeks flamed as she scrounged for validation that her question wasn’t completely insipid.