by McGill, Brie
Her hand smacked against an empty mattress.
She peered over her shoulder in the grey morning light: he was gone.
Ninkasi sat up, naked, puzzled, alarmed. On Orion’s pillow was a single red rose.
She picked up the flower and twirled it between her fingers, smelling its perfumed fragrance, studying its jagged leaves and thorns.
Orion was gone. The bed was empty.
The flower was beautiful, imparting an ominous feeling of dread. Why had he left so early? Why had he told her nothing? Where did he go?
She doubted he would leave her, especially after all the things he said through their nights together.
Ninkasi tucked her legs into her chest, and coiled her arms around them. She rested her head on her knees and stared at the bed, where Orion had been, where he had slept all tangled up with her.
She thought of his promises, the possessive way he held her, and felt a hot flash of desire. There was no way he used her for sex; he wasn’t the type of guy who opened up to just anyone.
Closing her eyes, she gripped her elbows—and realized there was nothing knocking against her wrist, impeding her movements, only the soft feeling of her limbs touching.
Her tracking bracelet was gone. Orion must have removed it while she slept.
Ninkasi climbed out of bed, and found her panties on the floor. She stepped into them, shook out her gold-threaded chemise and tugged it over her head. To hell with the rest of her underwear, with the elegant gowns.
As nice as Aleister’s dead auntie’s dresses were. . .
She winced, untangling the few remaining topaz barrettes from her hair. She walked to the gold-leaf mirror on the wall and grabbed a wide-toothed comb from the armoire, pulling the tangles from her hair.
It was a relief to have her hair long, hanging over her shoulders, halfway to her waist. She felt normal again, free, more like herself, the self she was frightened to think could be made to evaporate by this crazy chateau.
She had worried for nothing. It was safely there inside her, all along.
Ninkasi tiptoed to her door, and listened: silence.
The hall was empty. Gingerly, she curled her fingers around the gate, and tugged.
The gate squealed and rolled away from the wall, unlocked.
Had Orion left it open?
Did he intend for her to escape?
Still, even if she did escape the chateau, where would she go? Wasn’t there nothing but a forest full of predators surrounding them?
Ninkasi crept down the stairs to investigate. She wanted her freedom and she wanted Orion.
Ninkasi ducked behind the wide stone arch leading to the banquet hall.
Aleister’s booming voice was unmistakable: she followed the echo of his maniacal rants until she found him standing beside an opulent granite counter, with two silver-haired twins and the reddish-blonde pretty-boy that trespassed on her rendezvous.
She narrowed her eyes and listened.
One of the twins shoved a candy bar into his mouth.
Aleister slapped it away from his face with a grizzly paw.
Ninkasi never noticed how terrifying Aleister’s strong hand looked until she saw it clearly, in that moment, in broad daylight, the object of a severe personal injury.
The boy winced, gripping the candy bar tightly, its shiny wrapper rustling.
“Where did you get that?!” Aleister’s voice squeaked and cracked.
The other twin crossed his arms, eyes wide, reprimanding his brother with a harsh gaze.
The boy made a sheepish face, chewing his food and swallowing with a guilty smile.
“I thought I told you never to eat that shit!” Aleister wrested the candy bar from his hand, throwing it against the floor in an extravagant motion, and squashed it with a pom-pomed royal slipper. “That’s the devil’s food!” He thrust a crooked finger into the boy’s face. “The devil’s food! Do you understand me?!”
The obedient twin sighed, shaking his head.
The pretty blonde spoke up. “Lord Aleister, Sir, we’ve searched the entire chateau, and he’s nowhere to be found.”
Shutting his eyes, Aleister jammed a finger in the blonde’s face, then returned his focus to the twin in need of discipline. “If you let the devil into the temple, he can exert his influence over you and control your mind!” He towered over the naughty twin and lectured, swinging his arms for emphasis. “That’s how it works! He doesn’t have to tell you that he’s there—”
The frustrated twin threw his arms into the air. “What temple?!”
Aleister grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him violently. “This temple!” He jostled the boy’s body to and fro in a frenzy.
The boy winced, convulsing in his grip.
“This temple!” Aleister roared, shaking the boy harder than her mother shook a martini. “This one! Do you understand—”
The blonde cleared his throat, observing the spectacle. “One of your vahans is missing, Sir.”
Aleister released the boy, whipping around to stick another finger in the blonde’s face. “Ah, ah, ah!” he chided, silencing him.
The blonde bit his lip and grumbled.
“The devil never tells you he’s there, or that something belongs to him.” Aleister poked the recalcitrant twin in the forehead. “He tricks you into opening the door. Those most susceptible to infiltration are the ones that think it’s all bullshit, that there’s nothing to fear, that they are safe!” He slapped the boy across the face. “Well, you aren’t safe! You have to be vigilant! There’s a never-ending battle waged all over this earth, every second of every day, to pollute your body and your mind! It’s gone on for centuries! It’s—”
The blonde cleared his throat. “Lord Aleister.”
Aleister turned his back on the twins.
The reprimanded twin briskly snuck away.
Ninkasi drew in a sharp breath and pressed her body against the wall.
The twin paused beneath the arch to look at her; he dismissed her strange presence and disappeared up the stairwell.
Aleister turned to the innocent twin. “I’ll cut Nero a break, here.”
The blonde crossed his arms.
Aleister scowled, pointing at the twin. “You can clean the carpets for a month.”
The blonde, the one who outed her, Nero, sighed.
The innocent twin beat a palm against his chest. “Lord Aleister, I—”
“No talking back!” He clapped his hands. “Get to it!”
The other twin scampered away, face twisted with rage.
“You ought to thank me.” Aleister grinned at Nero.
“I’m concerned for the security of our mission.” He sat on a leather stool beside the granite counter. “I’ve suspected for some time, he is clearly untrustworthy—”
Aleister waved a hand to silence him. “I appreciate your concern.”
Nero narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you suspicious?”
“This entire chateau operates harmoniously under my command.” Aleister opened his palms, and parted them in a wide, sweeping gesture. “There are no setbacks, the plan advances as intended—”
“He collapsed in the library!” Nero threw his hands in the air, and leaned over the counter, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I didn’t want to draw attention to it, or mention it to anyone else, but he collapsed! You saw it!”
“I appreciate your concern.” Aleister pulled out a stool, sat across from Nero, and folded his hands on the counter, smiling. “But you have to trust me. He’s lived with me as long as you’ve been alive.”
Nero made an unimpressed frown.
“You should relax.” Aleister drummed his fingers on the counter. “I have it all under control.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
Aleister slapped his palm against the counter. “Do you dare to question me?”
Nero threw his hands in the air, whispering in a hiss. “I think he's one of them—”
“I appreciate your v
igilance, but it’s undue in these matters.” Aleister lowered his voice, leaning forward and locking eyes with Nero. “When I found him, all he wanted was a normal life, free from stigma, so I gave him that. Anything beyond that remains strictly out of bounds for discussion.”
Nero tilted his head back. “And now he took off without you!”
Aleister shook his head. “I’m surprised he didn’t do it ten years ago. Instead, he waited this long for me, in good faith. Nero, never speak of it.” He firmly rubbed a hand against Nero’s head, stood up, and walked across the room. “Finish loading the vahans. We’re leaving soon.”
“We’re short one vehicle.” Nero turned his back to Aleister. “Orion took off with one of your vahans. That’s what I was trying to tell you—”
It was everything Orion never wanted, this return trip home.
Home. If he could call it that.
He felt eternally homeless, like he passed his life as an orphan, a vagrant, siphoning the camaraderie and routines of others, for he had none of his own.
The night felt innocuous enough: a cool breeze swished through the trees, and a myriad of stars glittered in the inky sky. The music of cicadas haunted him; their music always haunted him.
They sang the same song on the night he left.
How familiar it was, the cracked asphalt beneath his feet, the humidity in the air, the blanketing scent of pollen in the canopy. It would have been a beautiful summer night, a sultry, perfumed, romantic night, anywhere else in the world.
His surroundings remained as he had hoped and feared: nothing had changed. At first glance, the nightmares he escaped remained intact. Nothing had erased them, washed them away, the passage of time too impotent to erode them. In a hidden, visceral dimension, all the horrors that faded like a dream existed, thumping, coiling, pulsing beneath the surface.
This beautiful surface. Wind, choked with the fragrance of flowers, whipped strands of hair across his face. He shivered with dreadful anticipation.
The charcoal building rose into view like an inescapable tsunami, too monstrous and powerful to escape, threatening to indifferently crush him. To the untrained eye, it appeared a modest, one-story building with tinted windows, chest-high iron fencing, smooth pavements. The building projected a serious air, something corporate, but ultimately a place of human business that closed its doors at the end of the day.
Not a hungry portal straight to hell, with gnashing teeth and snapping jaws.
Orion smiled. He knew its residents forfeited no opportunity for deception.
He passed through the iron gate, lips pressed together solemnly, and climbed the black marbled stairs leading to the circular metal door.
A skull with amethyst eyes stared at him, affixed to the door, floating between the prongs of a cross-hilt bident, a trademarked symbol of death.
Orion adjusted the drooping hood on a long cloak, and inserted a bare hand into the black biometrics box beside the door.
The silver doors spiraled away, retracting into the wall.
Winding, metallic halls awaited him, with walls the colors of dead flowers, and cool, dank passages that reminded him of entombment.
Stepping inside, he wondered if he were about to inevitably confront his own entombment.
His life away from this place, his days spent with Aleister felt like a dream, a diversion, like the real purpose of his life was put on hold.
He was meant to return, to free his soul from the oppressive bondage this nightmare exerted upon him through time and space; there was no other choice.
He would pick up where he left off—older, stronger, wiser, with a steeped desire for vengeance.
Ninkasi rounded the fifth flight of stairs, caught a glimpse of the silver-haired twin, and thundered after him. “Hey!”
The boy paused, turning around to study her curiously.
“Hey.” She stopped beside him, placing her hands on her thighs and leaning forward to catch her breath.
The boy narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one that was hiding downstairs.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“You’re not from around here.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.
“No, I’m not.” She swept fingers through her hair.
He slouched against the wall. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yeah.” Ninkasi nodded. “They kept me locked away.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Ninkasi.”
The boy hesitantly accepted her hand. “Deimos.”
She widened her eyes. “Deimos, I could really use your help.”
He crossed his arms. “What for?”
“I’m thinking, the best way to. . .” Ninkasi stared at the floor and tapped her foot. “Can you open the trunk to Aleister’s vahan?”
“Of course.” Deimos nodded. “But why?”
“I need to go with him.” She glanced out the window. “It’s direly important, but Aleister would never agree to it.” She sighed. “He thinks I’m still locked in my room, if you know what I mean.”
He knit his brow. “But that mission is—”
“They’re looking for Orion, right?” Ninkasi blushed.
“Yeah.” The boy scratched his head. “In addition to blowing stuff up.”
She drew in a big breath and stared at the ceiling, eyes wide with worry.
Deimos pointed a finger. “Do you like him?”
“Orion?” She touched her face. “Umm. . .”
“That’s good.” He turned around, and trotted down the hall, heading for the stairs. “We’d better hurry, they’ll leave any minute.” He scratched the back of his head. “I think everybody should have at least one person that likes them. . .”
It was an endless walk through the facility to reach the elevator in the back, the first passage into the world below. The difficulty of his journey would increase with the depth of his descent—right now, things were simple.
He was uncertain if he would leave alive: he could think of nothing beyond the mission he intended to accomplish.
In the event that he couldn't leave alive, he required Aleister to blow the place behind him. In a way, he would use Aleister; he'd use him for cleanup, in the event that he failed.
Orion harbored the rotten suspicion he may fail; then again, this place filled him with a myriad of rotten suspicions.
Rotten because he had lived here long enough to know they were all invariably true—true, or even worse than he imagined.
He never should have left in the first place. He didn’t deserve to live: he left her to die, in the most gruesome of ways, too powerless to stop them.
Nothing could save her; nothing could bring her back; nothing could absolve him of this sin. But he would absolutely revel in the destruction of those who had robbed him, those that harmed her.
The pain was inescapable and rocked him from head to toe, a rolling boil of disgust, a black seething mass of regret lodged inside his stomach that corroded him, twisted him, made him unable to clearly see anything in his life—friendship, lovers, happiness—except for That Which Must Be Done.
He blew invisibly through the halls, like a biting gale from the north, passing the fourth intersection of corridors when he heard the first echoes of approaching personnel.
Orion sensed a group of three. They spoke in low voices, calm, intellectually engaged in the work at hand.
Darting to the nearest doorway, he paused, closing his eyes; he sensed no one inside. Sticking his hand into the identification box, he waited for the doors to roll open, and zipped inside.
He stood with his back pressed against the wall, taking steady, quiet breaths, in a vacant lab with microscopes, beakers, binders left open, spewing information all over the work area.
This place made him sick.
Orion heard the din of voices, the scuff of low-heeled shoes.
All the personnel on these floors were average people. They had no conception of the powers for whom they slaved. They had no idea what vile machinations their support enab
led.
Useful idiots.
He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of their bodies, the beat of their hearts, the wind of their breath in passing.
When he sensed they were gone, he crept into the hall.
Orion hastened his step, racing through a maze of corridors, impatient to reach the back of the facility. It made him anxious, being so estranged from the arena of his revenge; under no circumstances could he forfeit the element of surprise.
The trunk of the vahan popped open, revealing a thick forest and the music of birds, its rugged splendor spoiled only by the twisted, sour grimace of indignation on Aleister’s face.
“What the fuck!” He pointed at the trunk, and glowered at Ninkasi, eyes huge, like saucers, teeth bared and disapproving. He spun around and screamed to his cohorts. “What the fuck is this?!” He slammed the lid shut and stormed away. “Who the fuck packed my trunk?!”
Ninkasi sat up, crouching, her head pressed against the ceiling of the trunk. She crawled to the door, and punched the inside of the compartment. “Hello!” She knocked steadily. “Can someone please let me out?”
There was a moment of silence; then, Aleister popped the hatch, and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Let you out?! Why the hell should I let you out when you weren’t even supposed to be here in the first place?”
“We don’t have time to take her back, Sir.”
Ninkasi peered over Aleister’s massive shoulder: Nero stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest, lips curled in a contemptuous pout.
“This is grand.” Aleister lowered the hatch on the trunk.
“Hey, hey!” Ninkasi caught it with her hands, and forced the trunk open, standing up.
“You’re a liability.” Aleister adjusted the denim straps on an ill-fitted electrician’s uniform. A cursive embroidered nametag proclaimed the name, ‘Steven.’ “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?” He seized her wrist. “Where’s your bracelet?!”
She snapped her wrist away. “I’m free.”
Aleister poked a finger in her forehead. “You are my property until I say otherwise!”