Under: an Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector 5 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Conner Kressley

  “Are you going to apply the injection, or do I need to do it?” the woman asked, her words turning into a question that was equal part threat.

  “It’s my job,” he spat back. “I’ll do it.”

  I blinked hard, swallowing as I watched the surgeon with sea-green eyes near me with a large needle.

  Despite how sore and heavy my legs were, I kicked with everything I had. I tried to yank the rest of my body free, too, but the woman’s unearthly strength held me down tight.

  “Drop those legs,” she ordered. “Don’t make me drop them for you.”

  “Please,” the surgeon added, settling right near my face. “Just do as she says. I promise, this is the easy part.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, he jabbed the needle into my neck.

  An icy cold pumped through my insides and spread throughout my body.

  But he was right. It didn’t hurt.

  Instead, the cool sensation lulled me. My eyes got heavy. My vision blurry. The sleep that tried to claim me earlier was in full force. But I couldn’t rest. Not now. Not yet. Not until I knew Gemma was safe.

  But my body didn’t seem to care what my mind thought. The world tumbled around me, slowly at first, and then crashing completely, relentlessly, and forcefully down.

  I opened my mouth, trying to scream again, but it was no use.

  Sleep was taking me, and all I could do was let it happen.

  I woke on a mattress. The blinding light was gone, replaced by ambient sunlight that lit a sparse room consisting of four square brick walls, a flat tile floor, and an empty counter beside the bed I was now on.

  There was a handleless, slim door in the middle, and the only window in the room was a thin orb too far up the wall for me to look out, even if I was to stand on the bed.

  I leaned up, my body and head aching.

  It took a second for me to remember what had happened. The fire chasing Gemma and I out of my quarters. The magic man and his glowing net saving me only to be captured by a drone. The regretful surgeon and cold woman who held me down while they did who knew what to me while I was unconscious.

  It had all led me here—to the inside of an empty room I had no way of escaping. At least, not without magic.

  My mind went back to my quarters, to the door in the lobby I had frozen and shattered. If I could do that now—if I could muster enough of my energy to make an icicle of this thing—then I had a chance of getting out of here.

  It had worked with the fire, and it was my only shot now, as far as I could see.

  I stood, my body cold beneath a long, grey gown. I frowned, my fingertips plucking at the material. This was sector-issued wear for criminals and orphans.

  Was I a dependent of the sector?

  My body trembled. That didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t do all this without a hearing for simply being out past curfew. Would they? And what about my sister?

  I licked my lips and took a calming breath. I needed to just get out of here and find Gemma. The rest of it would work itself out.

  I took another, deeper breath, and pooled the energy brewing inside of me. Power settled in my chest, and I threw my hands forward, sending a cascade of blue energy from my palms toward the door.

  The magic slammed against the barrier, spreading out until its frosty tentacles covered every inch of the metal. I marched toward it, ready to kick the damn thing and watch it shatter.

  I wasn’t wearing shoes, but that didn’t matter. I’d have to chance a cut heel if it meant getting out of here.

  As I neared the door, I could feel the heat coming off it in sheets.

  In seconds, the heat reduced the ice to a glittering sheen of water on the floor. The door glowed hot and red. It swung open, revealing a tiny woman on the other side.

  As she shuffled in, a platter of food in her hands, I stepped back. I eyed the open entrance, marking a clear path from where I stood to out of here. When she started to set down the tray, I bolted, only to be blocked by another woman in the doorway, nearly a twin to the first. They both had the same basic height, build, and hairstyle. The same empty, unimpressed, unworried, and unaffected expressions.

  But instead of holding a plate of food, the second woman was holding a dress, a pair of hideous high heels, and the kind of powdered wig I had only ever seen when the circle televised its yearly “Togetherness Day” party throughout the sector.

  My body tensed. “Where am I?”

  “Eat and put these clothes on,” the second woman said.

  “In that order,” the first woman said. “We can’t have you spilling food on your dress. We don’t want you looking messy when you meet her.”

  “Meet who?” I asked. “Where am I?”

  “In the circle, dearie, of course,” the first woman said.

  “And you’ll be meeting the regent herself. Brula.” The second woman smiled, revealing a wide, toothless grin. “Do hurry now. She doesn’t take kindly to waiting.”

  Chapter 10

  My mouth went dry as the two diminutive women shuffled back out of the door.

  The door slammed shut behind them, and I heard the swish and thud of a bolt lock sliding into place. But I knew they’d be back soon. They told me as much. And the reason they were coming back for me was enough to knock me on my rump.

  I was in the center.

  What on the other side of the wall was I doing in the center?

  None of this made any sense. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, okay, I kind of did. I’d been out past curfew, running from magic flames that wanted to consume my little sister. But was that enough to get me thrown into a cell in the center? And, even if it were, why would that get me a meeting with Brula?

  I blew a thin breath between my lips, trying to calm my nerves. I wasn’t going to be any good at all in the condition I was in right now.

  My stomach churned when I looked over at the covered platter. Did those women really expect me to eat after what they’d just told me? Probably. And, moving toward the plate, I knew I would have to do it. No one inside the sector would dare defy Brula, even with something as seemingly insignificant and meaningless as whether to eat.

  She sent this food to me. She ordered I eat it, and then get dressed. If I didn’t do that, regardless of the current queasy state of my stomach, she would see it as defiance. And that was not something I wanted, especially not right now.

  I pulled the cover from the platter, revealing braised chicken, mushrooms, whipped red potatoes, and a thick slice of spoon bread.

  My heart sank. These things—every single one of them—were the foods of my youth. I grew up with all of this. They grew in abundance in the Dustlands, and, because of that, I’d eaten this exact meal a dozen times while sitting across from my family at the dining room table.

  Taking a deep breath, I picked up the utensils and dug into the plate. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started shoveling the food into my face. Something about running for my life and trying to keep my sister safe must have built an appetite. Because I made the food disappear, faster and faster. Soon enough, I was standing in front of an empty plate, stomach full and heart beating quickly.

  After wiping my mouth with the provided cloth napkin, I turned to the outfit. It was a long, red dress with a slit up the side. There were matching shoes, a necklace, an armband, and a woven band that read “head wrap.” To go with the white wig, I guessed.

  I shrugged off my gown and stepped into the overly form fitting dress. Back home, the most flattering outfit I owned was a sundress I used to wear on Harvest Day. But this—this hugged all of my curves, cupping my breasts and pushing them toward the sky. It left my right leg bare and draped off my shoulders.

  After getting dressed, I tied the band around the crown of my head, and then turned to look at myself in the reflection of the metal door. I looked just like one of those women I used to watch as they danced around the center.

  But I definitely didn’t feel like dancing.

 
; Although the idea of life in the center had always been something that appealed to me, I certainly hadn’t been thinking about it from the prisoner side of things.

  The idea of dressing up, of parading myself around the center for everyone—or anyone for that matter—to see, did much more to turn me off from this way of life than I ever thought possible. Call it the Dustlands girl in me, but the whole thing just stank of impropriety.

  Still, it wasn’t as if I had much of a choice. They had me. Presumably, they had Gemma, too. I’d have to play along with their little games. Even if they included huge and almost certainly painful high heels.

  I had never felt as naked in my entire life as I did when I slipped into the shoes.

  Instantly, I was a half a foot taller, and all I wanted to do was slouch down.

  The door swung open again as I finished clasping the jewelry around my neck and arm. They were the last of my decorative accompaniments. As I twisted the tips of my hair nervously, I felt like a completely different person than I had been just minutes ago.

  The two small women came back in, staying silent as they motioned for me to follow them. They turned on their heels, leading me out of the room and into a long hallway dotted on either side with dozens and dozens of metal doors, each one a carbon copy of the cell I had just woken up in.

  Were they all full? How many prisoners did the regent have here anyway?

  I struggled to keep up with the small women. Their heels were shorter, and they were certainly more adept on them than I was on mine.

  I moved slowly, careful not to get more momentum going than I could handle. Wouldn’t want to go tumbling face-first to the ground.

  Especially not in a dress like this.

  By the time they made the second left, the small women were little more than dots moving in the distance ahead. They disappeared behind the turn. When I finally caught up with them, the breath caught in my throat.

  This long, twisting tunnel had led me right to the throne room, the very heart of the center.

  Glorious sunlight poured through the large room, refracted by the near endless number of stained glass windows. Each and every window depicted another of Brula’s great accomplishments.

  Building the wall.

  Beating back the ravagers.

  Feeding the people of the sector after the great purging.

  These windows displayed her endless life, one decade after the next. And all of her bodies were represented here. Each of her vessels, the girls who sacrificed themselves so that our regent could live anew and keep the steady hand that made our survival possible, were exemplified and memorialized in this grand room.

  My eyes moved down each of them in chronological order, from Brula’s original body—burly and hard lined—all the way down to the petite redhead she took over right before my birth.

  And then my eyes fell on Brula herself.

  My breath left my body completely. She was right here, the woman responsible for every aspect about my life—the Immortal, the Everlasting.

  And she looked…well, she looked…old.

  The body she had taken over—a small redhead with bright green eyes and a thin frame—had aged the way all people do. Wrinkles carved her face, neck, and hands, and liver spots dotted nearly every inch of visible flesh on her arms.

  But she was still her. She was still the regent. And I was in awe of that.

  “Bring her closer,” Brula said. “Let me get a good look.”

  Her voice was shaky and weak, nothing like the commanding leader I built up in my head.

  Two large men dressed in armor lumbered toward me.

  “Let her walk,” a male voice said from in front of me. “She might be a farm girl, but I’m sure she knows what ‘come closer’ means.”

  Prince Park sat on a throne slightly lower than that of his mother. He held the woman’s current facial features, albeit in a much younger sense, and he draped across the throne as if he were lying on a folded mattress.

  Prince Park wasn’t the first of Brula’s children. But he was the first—and only—of this current incarnation. And he was the only royal offspring still counted among the living.

  He looked at me, blinking hard, and then turning away once he saw I was doing as I was asked.

  “Y-Your Regency,” I said as I settled in front of Brula. “I apologize for my shortcomings. I know I was out after curfew. But there was a—”

  “She has a good voice, does she not?” Brula asked, pretty much ignoring me and speaking to the people who circled the outskirts of the room. “Deep and throaty, but stable. And her hair. It’s quite impressive for a peasant girl.”

  “A-a peasant?” I asked, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “Your Regency, I’m afraid that my sister seems to have gotten away from me.”

  “From you, yes,” she said finally, but she didn’t bother to look at me. “But not from me, farm girl. She, along with the rest of this sector, is exactly where I want her.”

  Her eyebrows arched and her gaze settled behind me as the large door at the end of the room whooshed open.

  Turning back, I saw Gemma being escorted in. She was dressed up as well, though it looked more natural on her somehow.

  She darted toward me, and I ran to bridge the gap. I half-expected to be snatched up, but that never came to pass. For whatever reason, the regent allowed us to embrace.

  I pulled her into my arms, wincing as I felt the heat of her tears pool on my nearly bare shoulders.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered into her ear. “Just keep it together. I’ll take care of this. I promise.”

  “That’s enough,” Brula said, and the armored men finally intervened, pulling us apart. “There’s entirely too much feeling going on here.”

  As I watched Gemma being pulled away from me, I realized what this must be about.

  This wasn’t about being out after curfew. That didn’t make any sense.

  This was about Henrick.

  He had been spouting that nonsense at me, tricked me into going to his cult of traitors, and then followed me home. It was only then that all of this started.

  Henrick had brought the nightmare to my door.

  I had to explain. I had to let the regent know I didn’t believe all the things that Henrick and his people seemed to.

  I was different. I was loyal. I was good.

  “Your Reg—”

  Brula snapped her fingers, and the voice left my throat. I could no longer speak as she shakily stood and looked me over.

  Prince Park remained spread lazily across his throne. “I’m not so sure, Mother. They both look so plain…so…without.”

  “Appearance is the first line of deception, you fool,” she answered, practically hissing at her son. “The surface doesn’t matter. It never has. Only what is under. Only what is beyond.”

  “And how do you suggest we get under, Mother?” Prince Park asked.

  “The old-fashioned way, dear.” She smiled widely, but there was no warmth to it. “Painfully.”

  She snapped her fingers. Gemma and I were pulled from the room. Pulled in different directions.

  No! They were separating us again!

  I opened my mouth, but I still couldn’t speak. What the hell was the regent doing? I wanted, more than anything, to tell Gemma not to worry, to tell her I would make this right. But I couldn’t, and, even if I could, how was I going to back that up?

  I caught Park’s gaze, and something familiar flickered in his eyes right before I was pulled out of view.

  Chapter 11

  They pushed me back into that damn cell, and that was where I stayed.

  I knocked against the door for hours, hoping for my voice to come back, praying to anyone or anything that might be up there listening to bring my sister back to me.

  I could scarcely imagine what she must have been going through. She was so afraid, so damn scared of everything that was going on. And who could blame her? She w
as just a child—a child who had already been through more than any one person should ever have to.

  I shot my energy against the door again and again. But over and over, it just kept heating up, reducing my frost to water, and leaving my abilities in a puddle on the floor.

  Why was this happening? Brula obviously didn’t care what I had to say. She didn’t even let me apologize for being out after curfew or explain what was going on with Henrick and his ridiculous views.

  But then it hit me. What if they weren’t ridiculous? What if Henrick and his room full of radicals weren’t so radical after all?

  He told me that the center was targeting people—that witches were disappearing. He led me to believe it was Brula herself, that she wanted them for some reason, like she was collecting witches.

  But why?

  Sure. She was aged, so old that she was almost certainly looking for a new body to inhabit. But that wasn’t difficult. As strange as it seemed to me, the regent always had more than enough people willing to throw themselves at her to be considered as the next vessel. They couldn’t wait to sacrifice themselves for what they saw as the good of the sector.

  And, after seeing the inside of the throne room, I understood that reaction more.

  To be the vessel meant to be a part of a legend, a piece of that which made up the history of the sector itself. It was, in some ways, a way to ensure that your life would stretch on much further than you could ever take it yourself.

  Though it also meant your soul would be hollowed out and discarded to make room for the spirit of the regent.

  But what did any of that have to do with my sister or me?

  I spent the entire night on the floor of the cell, looking up at the cylinder window and thinking of every possible scenario that might come from this.

  When morning broke over the wall, I had come to one conclusion. That even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t ever imagine what would happen next.

  The door swung open, and I threw myself against the back wall. Half-expecting one or both of the small women to return, I gasped as Prince Park himself walked in to greet me. He had a tray of food in his hand, which he sat on the counter beside my obviously unslept-in mattress.