The idea is so far-fetched that I nearly laugh. Is this place stripping my sanity? Am I delirious from lack of nourishment? I’m reading more into this woman than is actually there because I want so badly for someone to be able to help me get out of here.
I don’t let my brewing insanity stop me from getting answers, though. I swallow around the knot in my throat and continue over.
Without even looking at me, she hands me a tin with some water, and I gratefully take a swig.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
She nods. “It’s worse out there, you know. The town is...they aren’t themselves. Something is going on.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. Morts. That’s what’s going on. Which means I need to get out there. Now. The longer I’m in here, the more my chances slim of ever stopping them in time to return to Anna.
“This woman needs to get out of here.” She indicates the pregnant woman she is caring for, but the woman waves her off. “Far away from here.”
“We all do,” the pregnant woman says, but her voice sounds so weak I wonder how she would be able to move if the opportunity arose.
I introduce myself and soon come to know the pregnant woman as Vanessa and the fair-haired woman as Elizabeth. Elizabeth, it turns out, has been arrested on the charge of witchcraft. Am I here because they think I’m a witch, too?
Still, I almost find myself entertaining the idea. Is Elizabeth a witch? She is subtly different, though nothing sinister. If I get out of here—when I get out of here—I should mention her to William and Tess. They might be able to tell me what she is.
Sadness pangs in my heart as I remember what I saw about this woman. About her being hanged. I can’t tell her this, though the remembrance is making it harder for me to look her in the eye. At the same time, I half wonder if she already knows. It certainly wasn’t my abilities that showed me her future—that is not one of my gifts, and none of my gifts work in this Godforsaken place anyway. She is magical, and by the curious way she looks at me, I can tell she senses something about me, too. Perhaps her own gifts have caused her future to be played in my vision this way.
Whoever this woman is, she is here and might be able to help me. “So how do you suggest we go about escaping?”
“I might be able to help,” she replies quietly. She steals a peek toward the guard. He’s snoring. “There’s no escaping here—not without something more on your side.”
My hopes lift. She does have some kind of magic. She must. She’s guarded about it, but I sense her desire to help will override whatever she holds back.
“Then we can all get out of here,” I say.
She smiles sadly. “I won’t leave here, no. But you will take Vanessa with you, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I promise. Now I’m almost certain Elizabeth already knows she is destined to die, but if that is so, then why wouldn’t she fight it? “Are you a . . .” I lower my voice. “Are you a witch?”
A shuffling outside the cell steals my attention. The guard’s shoe, sliding across the dirt. I study his face, confirm his eyes are still closed, that his chest is rising and falling in the true shallow breaths of slumber. He snorts, his body shifts, he sucks in a deeper chunk of air. But he’s asleep. I slide my focus back to Vanessa, and I can tell she’s holding her breath as I have been.
“Well, are you?” I ask. I sense we don’t have much time before the beast awakes.
“I’m not what they think I am,” she says. She’s not looking at me, though. She’s staring at the guard still. “I’m not what they think witches are.”
Well, that’s evasive. How can she help me if she’s not honest with me? There are too many lives at stake to hold back now. Hers included, if the vision I had holds any truth.
At the same time, I haven’t exactly offered anything up to her about my abilities—or the ones I had before I arrived here. I consider opening up first, in hopes it will bring her around, but I can’t risk the guards or other prisoners finding out the truth about me. In the end, I settle for this shared knowing we seem to have. I might not know who she is, and she might not know who I am, but I sense she trusts me as much as I trust her, and that we both know the other has something preternatural about them.
Besides, there is no time for building trust. We need to escape right away. I’ve already been in here too long.
Before I can say anything, she grasps my hand and gazes into my eyes. “Who is Anna? Who is William?”
I snatch my hand back. “I thought we were trying to get out of here.”
“Sorry.” She takes my hand again, and I let her. “Please try to keep your mind clear.”
Suddenly it’s as though I can’t stop thinking, and I feel her in my head, but she doesn’t say anything this time. Energy passes from her hands into mine, and a cooling sensation runs through my veins and spreads through my body.
The energy jolts—it’s a snap that has broken the connection. Elizabeth releases my hand, shakes her head, then grasps my hand again. The flow of energy returns, building again, a little stronger this time. My heart beats so hard I worry the guards will somehow hear. The connection, however strong, feels fragile at the same time. As though we’re only connected by a thread instead of a rope, and it can snap at any moment.
“Relax,” Elizabeth says easily. Like this is the most natural thing in the world, what we are doing right now.
I try to push my apprehensions aside. She seems to at least know what to do, and perhaps it’s best we don’t talk aloud about what we are doing. I have to trust that I’ll know what to do when the time comes. William would be proud.
The connection between Elizabeth and me solidifies, and my patience is renewed. The way she gently squeezes my hand is now somehow comforting. A golden glow blooms between our palms, but so far nothing has happened that I can see helping us. If anything, this shimmering light between us will only expose what we are doing. We are running out of time. If something is going to happen, it needs to happen soon.
My breath rushes from my lungs. I’m terrified and awed by the energy between us. This could be it. I’m desperate yet hopeful. We’re almost there. I can feel it.
And just like that, my strength returns. I almost feel like me again—like my Ankou abilities are back. My body jolts through time and space, the way William and Tess taught me, as though any moment now I will pop out right beside them.
“Abigail!” Elizabeth yells behind me.
I crash into the cell bars. They’re like fire on my flesh.
I wasn’t trying to leave her behind. It was instinct. I wouldn’t have left without her or the young woman, or I would have gone back for them. I know this, and I hope she does, too. But there’s something more concerning right now.
I don’t have my abilities back.
It had felt like I had, and it terrifies me that I could be so wrong. Whatever I had felt, it must have been the start of something different. But now it’s too late.
Before I suck in another breath, a lanky, blond guard appears at the front of the cell. I see the black in his eyes, a Mort controlling him.
If only I could move the Mort. The guard would still be a guard, but he might appreciate being freed from the possession enough to help us. Suddenly, destroying the Mort overshadows any other goals I have. I’m not sure if it’s instinct or impulse.
I step toward the edge of the cell, but hesitate as a shred of reason prods into my skull. If I try to remove this Mort, I will expose my magic. That could make escape even harder. Maybe it’s best I stick to my original plan.
The one that doesn’t exist.
I frown. I have to try something, but I’ve never moved a Mort that has already possessed someone before; even Verity had not been possessed completely. And it’d been a risk—a huge risk. She could have died.
I steel myself against my doubts. If the Morts are this deeply involved, we’ll never escape unless I get rid of them. And this guard is as good as dead if the Mort possesses him anyway. I need
to act. Now.
I lunge forward and reach through the bars, ignoring the searing on my shoulders and face as I dig my fingernails into the guard’s head, hoping that at least my hands will work once outside this cell. But it’s no use, and I can’t handle much more of the burning iron cell bars.
The guard grabs my wrists and pushes back. The iron has weakened me, and I can’t hold on. With another hard shove, he knocks me to the floor. He thrusts the cell door open and stalks toward me, lifting me by my neck and pushing me back against the wall.
I grasp his hands with my fingers, try to pry myself free. My face burns, and I cough, choking. I muster any resolve I have left to move my hands to his scalp once more, allowing my body to dangle from his grasp around my neck. I visualize moving the Mort from the human vessel, but my energy is sapped and the pain is debilitating, and it’s undeniably true—my Ankou abilities are gone. My hands and fingers are so weak they’ve gone numb.
Through the haze of my pain, I see another guard in the cell. He’s nearly as tall as William but his muscles hide beneath a fatty bulk. He grabs Elizabeth by her arms and drags her from the cell. The cell door is open, and it seems the perfect opportunity to run. If only I wasn’t incapacitated by this Mort-Guard.
Through the blur, I see another prisoner try to escape, only to be kicked in the face by another shorter guard that has run up to us. Finally, the black-eyed guard tilts his head, grinning, and drops me to a heap on the floor. I tumble against the wall, the stone whacking the back of my head.
My hands and face burn. My skin bubbles, and pus oozes from the wounds on my hand. The fire rips through my body, replacing the cool from Elizabeth’s touch earlier. My stomach twists in pain. I shudder.
Iron poisoning.
A lot of it this time. Worse than the shackles they used. It’s in my body now. Killing me. Blacking out the world around me and blurring the people in the room as the cell gate clangs shut once more.
My only hope—Elizabeth—is gone.
Late February, 1692
It’s been raining all night, the sky weeping fat raindrops on the ground outside the cell window. The water dribbling in, sliding down the stone walls. Splashing in muddy puddles and up against my ankles.
When the hours are too long, my thoughts drift to William and Tess. Are they looking for me? Is William pressing his fist to his mouth, pacing through Tess’ cabin? Is Tess pulling at her earlobe, tossing off indifferent remarks that everyone can tell are just a mask for how she really feels?
I sigh deeply. Do they even know where I am? Or, for that matter, care?
Maybe I hope more than I should, but I imagine they do care. William would anyway, if only because he cares about helping those in need. Tess, on the other hand...would she feel justice served, that I am paying for my foolishness? Or would her anger over one of her own being imprisoned override that, change where her sense of justice lies?
I need to see them again. When all this is done, I’m going to find a way for us to be together. All of us, including Anna.
The slivers of moonlight that weave in through the cell window touch on the freckles of my shoulder, now exposed by a huge rip in my clothing. In the gentle light, I use my fingernail to draw William and Tess and Anna and I in the dirt floor of my prison. I miss them, and that scares me. I never thought I would miss anyone but Anna.
I close my eyes, envisioning them, holding on to them the same way I hold on to my lost daughter. In my mind, I see William, his long strides as he steps through the tall dead grass of the forest, and the way Tess whips between the trees as easily as she would through an open field. I can almost hear the jingle of their chimes, teasing the Morts, calling them out as she runs.
And then a fragment cuts me off from the world I’m in now.
I’m running along an embankment of the Chattahoochee River. Pa watches from afar, laughing. I feel safe. It was before the Shadow Men came. I’m wearing a yellow sundress, and my hair trails like ruby ribbons behind me on the breeze. Mama wears a big sun hat, and she’s smiling, too, and her lips are stained red and she has pale skin like me and twice as many freckles on her shoulders. She’s drinking lemonade.
Then, my vision tumbles. It’s not beautiful anymore. It’s muddy and rippled. I’m outside of myself, looking down, and Mama is screaming and Pa is running down the hill of the bank. There’s blood in the water. He wades in, closer, and I realize it’s not blood. It’s my hair, soaking wet. I’m floating face down, and my pale skin is clammy.
Pa yanks me from the water.
“Rose!”
He sounds so far away.
“Rose, come on. Hang in there. Hang in there Rose. Please.”
Pa carries me back to the embankment. The ground thuds under my shoulders and back, and then he’s shaking me, saying my name over and over again. Mama is crying. I cough up some water and my eyes shoot open and now they are saying my name with more joy and less fear, but Pa’s eyes are still sad.
Mama hugs me tight. “Oh, Rose. Rose, Rose.” She shakes her head, mumbling everything and anything with my name in it, rocking me in her arms. “Thank God you’re okay.”
Pa presses the pads of his fingers into his eyes and exhales sharply, shaking his head. He paces a few steps, then sits beside us and stares out over the river, his wet pants rising to reveal the hair on his ankles.
“I don’t know what I’d do if anything bad ever happened to you,” he whispers. His jaw clenches and he wipes the moisture away from his eyes, then stands again and puts his hand out to me. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”
I force the memory away. It makes me angry to remember that side of him. I can’t reconcile it with who he became—who the Morts made him into. I can’t forgive him for not fighting it. I can’t forgive him because it was his hands that hurt me and his face that stared down at me with such hatred. It was him, and it wasn’t him, because he was stolen from me, and I can’t bear to try to make sense of it.
Why him? Why my family? We were nothings. Nobodies.
I liked it that way.
Now I’m the one who needs to fight. The one who needs to honor her daughter and not let anyone stand in her way.
I’m freezing and sweating at the same time, and the hot flashes from the iron poisoning churn my stomach. My only solace is the night. The corners of dark sky outside the cell window bring me peace, where daytime leaves me feeling twice as trapped, threatening to reveal my nature.
My inmates, however, do not feel the same. As the darkness of the night deepens, they become more and more distressed.
Come to think of it, they’ve been this way every night I’ve been here, but I’m only noticing the pattern now. I cannot relate to their fear. Night is my only comfort—the only time of day I know without question. The darkness soothes me, calls to me. I welcome it. I wait for it, always, to come to my rescue.
I hate myself for thinking it, but I want to get away from my fellow inmates as much as I want to get away from the guards, the jail, this entire place. I try to ignore everyone—all but Vanessa, the young woman I promised Elizabeth I would look after. She is the only one who sleeps, her head on my shoulder, her back against the wall beside me, and her body curled toward mine. Her stomach swells between us. She must be due any day now.
I shift my weight to get comfortable, but a sharp piece of hay pokes into my side, and my skin itches. Pain trembles through my body, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. It feels as though the iron in my system is destroying my blood, as though somehow I can feel the death of each drop that flows through my veins. I feel woozy. If I’m to escape, I need to recoup, but I’m not sure how I can do so without the herbs my body requires.
If there was any hope of escaping, wouldn’t I have escaped by now?
I try not to dwell on such thoughts, but I can’t prevent them from popping into my mind. Tonight is the night. Vanessa said we couldn’t wait for opportunity to come to us. We’ve been here too long. She’s right. So tonight, when
they open the cell to feed us, I will rush the guards, and Vanessa will run to the end of the hall ahead of me so I can protect her during their inevitable pursuit.
I can’t stop trembling just thinking about it, so I try to focus on other things. Try to pretend I’m not about to risk my life. We have to do this. We have to take the dive.
The low ceiling above us shakes, and loose dirt between the wooden support beams sifts down. I glance at the roots that protrude from above, still quivering from the movement overhead. Outside the cell, shoes squeak against stone. The aroma of wet grass accosts my nostrils.
As the guards’ footsteps slosh down the hall, I can just imagine the splatter of mud all over their boots. I’m ready to rouse Vanessa and tell her to get ready, but as they draw closer, I distinctly smell blood and moist earth, and I know these are not Morts or guards coming down the hall.
Five men stop at our cell, accompanied by one of the guards. They stand with hands clasped in front of them, their eyes sinister and alarming. They’re all refined, handsome men—but there is nothing welcoming about their appearance. One of them smiles, and his canine teeth snap down to press against his pale bottom lip. He’s white as death, and immediately I realize what these men are.
Cruor.
The sight of them puts a metallic taste in my mouth. I swallow the sense of defeat. I can’t let fear of the unknown get in my way. Not now.
I pull Vanessa closer and wrap my arms around her, my attention never leaving the men. A sense of certain doom flutters in my lungs. I try to breathe quietly, as though somehow that will make me invisible, though I know that is not the case.
One of the men reaches in his pocket and retrieves a small pouch. He holds it out to the guard, his attention never shifting away from the cell. The guard—a stout man with the face of a hungry swine—opens the pouch. Gold peeks from inside. He pours some into his palm, but the Cruor who handed him the money growls.
“It’s all there,” he says, his tone colder than he looks.
The guard fumbles with the coins and pouch and hurries down the hall. The basement door thuds shut, and the cell door clangs open. The smallest of the Cruor runs his hands along the bars, looking over each cowering inmate one by one.
COME, THE DARK: (Forever Girl Series Book Two) Page 14