by Rob Cornell
Her face flushed under the cover of her hands.
You blew that harder than a porn queen, dude.
Besides the chalky scent, Jessie smelled a fake floweriness coming off of her body. A stark contrast to the garbage stink that had permeated her clothes. And speaking of clothes…
The pants she wore were made of a soft but scratchy fabric. Her shirt made of the same material. And she wasn’t wearing a bra or underwear.
Oh, ewe!
She uncovered her face and sat up—too fast, the blood rushing to her head and feeding her headache.
She sat on the edge of a metal-framed cot. The thin mattress didn’t keep the frame from cutting into the bottom of her thighs. She was dressed in what looked like scrubs except made from bright orange fabric.
Like a fucking prison uniform.
A quick look around told her why the ceiling had seemed familiar. She had been here before, or a place just like it.
A cell.
The grey walls pressed in on her, stirring up an uncharacteristic bout of claustrophobia. Even with one of the four walls made of bars, she might as well have been lying in a buried coffin.
She patted at her chest, touching her breasts through the thin shirt that did nothing to quell her feeling of nakedness. She sniffed herself, taking in the faux lilac that they had used to wash her with.
They had washed her.
Stripped her in her sleep, touched her, seen her.
Not since the vampire king of New Orleans had regurgitated her own blood back into her mouth as part of the ritual for turning her into one of them had Jessie felt so violated.
This was almost worse.
These were humans, not monsters.
Only they were monsters.
Ignoring the pounding in her head, Jessie shot off the cot and charged the cell bars. She gripped a bars in either hand and shook as if she could tear them free, but she only managed to shake herself. Her clean, soft hair flew in her face. Had the bastards actually used conditioner?
“Let me out of here, you sons of bitches.”
Her voice echoed down the hall outside her cell that had the same concrete walls as inside.
Emptiness swallowed her shout.
The silence that followed pressed against Jessie like a solid fourth wall in her cell.
The cell shrunk around her. Any second and it would crush her.
Tears ran hot down her cheeks.
She couldn’t do this. Not again. She had honestly thought her days of imprisonment were over. She had earned the Agency’s trust. No matter their occasional spats, they had come to work together.
At least, that had been the case with Wertz in charge.
But everything had changed.
And she had totally screwed up her last chance at freedom.
She pressed her face between the bars and screamed until she ran out of breath. The lack of oxygen made her head spin and darkened the edges of her vision. She staggered away from the bars toward the cot, thought better of it, and crossed to the sink by the toilet in the opposite corner.
The sink had rust stains down the back of it and around the drain. The sight made her queasy, which was all she freaking needed on top of her headache. She turned the single metal knob on the faucet. It squeaked as granules of brown rust crackled off the pipe it spun on. Brown water coughed out in a splutter before simmering into a crooked stream.
Jessie waited for the water to clear, but it never did. Cocksuckers probably designed the cell this way, from the rust stains to the cracked seat on the toilet to the barely there mattress on the cot. She knew the Agency could provide a more comfortable prison, but they didn’t want contented prisoners. They wanted them tired, disgusted, and all around desperate enough to do anything to get out, including divulge any information the Agency wanted to drag out of them.
Under Wertz’s command—and with a whole bunch of nagging from Jessie—some of the Agency’s historically dark and cruel practices had been retired.
Looked like General Horseradish meant to bring back the good old days.
To hell with it. Jessie splashed her face with the ice cold, brown water. It smelled a lot like the river had, only with a stronger mineral tang. Some of it slipped between her lips. It tasted like a penny in her mouth.
She spat into the sink, then wrenched the faucet off, the sharp squeak from the rusted knob buzzing against the close walls. It sounded like a scream.
A glance at the toilet tripped her bladder like a switch. All of a sudden Jessie had to pee something fierce. The last thing she wanted to do was stick her bare ass on that cracked and soot-colored toilet seat. She also felt pretty confident the cell had a hidden camera somewhere to keep an eye on her. She could imagine Kinga-Roo staring at the monitor, her perky little nose tipped up so that she stared down in all her superior glory.
A pinch low in her gut nearly doubled her over.
When was the last time she’d peed? Not since before riding out of headquarters in the trash bin. Or maybe she had pissed herself while she was knocked out from the dart. Wouldn’t that be a nice topper to her already humiliating sleepy-time bath?
Whenever she peed last didn’t mean a thing right now. She had to go or risk piddling like an excited puppy.
She stared at the toilet, lip curled.
She looked up and scanned the ceiling for any sign of the camera (or cameras). Even with the plain cement walls, they had hidden them well. Maybe some of those cracks in the corners weren’t as natural as they looked.
Fine. They wanted to continue to degrade her, Jessie would do it her own way.
She raised her middle finger in the air and yelled, “Enjoy the show, motherfuckers.”
Then she dropped her pants and hoisted herself up onto the sink and, legs dangling like a kid on a too-tall chair, she relieved herself down the sink’s drain.
But the last laugh was on her.
They hadn’t left her with anything to wipe with.
Chapter Thirty-Four
ELKA AND KIT FOUND ANOTHER suitable room for them to sleep in—though Elka no longer planned to stay long enough for sleep—only a couple doors down from the one Earl had taken claim on. Fine by her. If she had planned staying, there was no way she could have fallen asleep under the creepy gaze of that portrait of Gabriel Dolan. She was pretty sure Kit felt the same.
This room had two sets of bunks with a single pressboard dresser between them. Just as much dust as everywhere else in the underground complex covered all surfaces. Only this room didn’t have the shag rug, just a tile floor matching the floor out in the corridors.
Kit frowned the second they walked in the door. “How…utilitarian.”
Elka was on too much of a time crunch to banter with Kit on the lacking merits of her sleeping quarters. She gripped Kit’s arm—too tightly based on the grimace on Kit’s face.
“I need to find Whisper.”
Kit drew back. “First off, easy on the arm. Secondly, what in tarnation would you want with that prick?” She raised her eyebrows. “Unless you’re planning to kick his ass for me.”
That was as good an excuse as any. She hated lying to Kit, but she hadn’t known her long enough to trust her. Besides, she didn’t want to implicate Kit in Earl’s eyes if he found out she knew Elka’s plans to leave.
“I want to have a talk with him, yes.”
“And by talk, you mean rip him a new one for putting the moves on a minor?” Before Elka could respond, Kit held up a hand to stop her. “Look, I appreciate the momma bear instincts. And I can tell you’ve got your own issues with creepers like Whisper. But Uncle Eee already had his way with the freak. Your best bet is to keep clear of him.”
Freak or not, Elka needed to get to him before Earl and his boys put together their bone altar. She didn’t have time to dance with Kit. Sometimes, Elka had learned the hard way, the best lie held a piece of the truth.
“It’s more than that,” Elka said. “I need him for something else.”
Until now, Kit had let Elka keep her hold on her arm. But now she jerked free and stared at Elka, her eyebrows knit together, lip curled. For a girl so young, she sure could conjure up a look of darkness in her stare.
“What do you mean, you need him for something else?” Her words came slow and in an angry monotone.
“I don’t really want to get into it. It’s personal.”
Kit tilted her head as if listening to a faraway sound. Her bleak stare seemed to push into Elka’s eyes and chill her brain with its touch. “I thought we were friends, Elka. Remember?”
The coolness from Kit’s gaze seeped down into Elka’s throat and into her chest where it curled icy fingers around her heart. When she tried to speak, she gasped, finding herself out of breath. What she felt wasn’t exactly fear, though fear played a part. An unexplainable sorrow filled her, a sorrow she had only once before felt so deeply.
The blood against his white flank.
The electric blue mist.
“Talk to me, Elka,” Kit whispered and closed in. She touched Elka’s arm. Elka’s skin prickled and felt like the hairs on her arm under Kit’s touch had turned to ice crystals. “Tell me what you’re really after.”
An overwhelming urge to do what Kit asked filled Elka. She felt…hungry. Starving, in fact. And sharing her deepest secrets with Kit was the only thing that could feed her. Her stomach even growled.
Some kind of magic.
Was Kit really a mortal? Or a pretender like Elka?
She pulled up the last of her will and fought Kit’s strange influence. “I can’t.”
Undeterred, Kit brushed up and down Elka’s arm with the backs of her fingers, drawing cool streaks across Elka’s skin. Elka shivered.
“Friends share,” Kit said. “Share with me, Elka.”
Cold zapped the back of Elka’s brain. Sprinkles of lights flickered across her vision. The remains of her self-control tore apart. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Your uncle. He’s going to…use me.”
The cold emanating from Kit’s touch spread into Elka’s mouth and tasted like mint ice cream.
Kit’s eyes narrowed. She glanced toward the room’s open door, a heavy beige metal like the kind that belonged to a janitor’s closet or a boiler room. She left Elka to close the door. The latch’s snap echoed through the room.
Elka, frozen in place, watched Kit move. For the few seconds she was away from Elka, Elka felt as if a piece of her skin had been torn off, leaving a part of her exposed and raw. She almost begged Kit to come back, but she didn’t need to. Kit returned to her and touched her arm again.
A wave of relief pushed a sigh from Elka’s lungs.
Her breath came out in a cloud as if she stood in a freezer.
What kind of magic does this girl have?
Elka had never seen anything like it.
Kit smirked. “You have questions.”
Elka nodded. For some reason she was afraid to speak, worried her words would come out in a jumble. Whatever power Kit had, she had laid it on Elka so thick, Elka hardly understood her own emotions. Her mood could turn in any direction at any second, all depending on Kit’s whim.
“Like I said, friends share. I’ll tell you what you want to know about me if you tell me what I want to know.”
Elka nodded again. That hunger to please Kit rumbled deep inside.
“What does Uncle Eee want from you?”
When she spoke, Elka’s mouth felt numb. It took a great deal of concentration not to mumble or stutter. “My horn. He’s going to grind it for dust. It’s extremely powerful.”
Kit’s eyes widened. She licked her bright pink lipsticked lips. “Your horn? What are you, Elka?”
“I’m a unicorn.”
Kit gasped. For what seemed an eternity, she stared at Elka as if seeing her for the first time. Then she lifted her hand from Elka’s arm and pressed her palm against Elka’s cheek.
“Show me.”
Every muscle in Elka’s body locked. A small coil of heat in her chest pushed back against Kit’s oppressive cold. “No.”
Kit’s wide-eyed expression wrinkled into a disappointed frown. “What do you mean, no?” She pressed her palm more firmly against Elka’s face, as if trying to force a thought into her mind. “Friends sh—”
“No,” Elka shouted. “I won’t.”
Now Kit pouted. Elka wouldn’t have been surprised if she had stomped her foot, throwing a little girl tantrum.
“Why not?”
Elka didn’t have to think before answering. “That part of me doesn’t take commands. Not even from something like you. Whatever you are.”
“You think you can fight me?”
Elka lifted her chin, staring down her nose at Kit. That heat inside grew. “I’m warning you. If you force me to shift, my true form will be the last thing you ever see.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Kit pressed her other hand against Elka’s opposite cheek. Elka’s heat shrunk against a stronger wave of cold. Suddenly, Kit looked so beautiful, like an angel, practically glowing.
Elka would do anything to make this angel happy.
Everything around her disappeared except for the sight of Kit’s precious face and the smell of peaches. It made her think of that time her father took her to the orchard, the basket heavy with peaches, how she had tried to carry it by herself, a five-year-old convinced she could do anything a girl three times her age could. Her father had taken the basket’s handle in one hand while she gripped it with both of hers, and together they carried it out of the orchard to the car. They had driven home. Auntie Velka had made pie that same night.
Kit’s pulling from my memories.
This didn’t frighten her. It comforted her. Kit was touching Elka’s mind in the most intimate way. Not even a lover could penetrate so deeply.
“Friends share, Elka,” Kit said, her voice like the sound of wind chimes in the breeze of a summer day. “And we are friends. Forever.”
Elka didn’t feel cold anymore. She felt numb, disembodied even. As if she could float away. Or merge her essence with Kit, become a part of her.
Kit smiled. Elka had never seen a smile so beautiful.
“Show me,” Kit said.
A tear ran down alongside Elka’s nose. This was…wrong.
No. It was so very, very, very right.
Show her your true self, Elka. Can’t you see she wants to be a part of your life, accepting of who you are?
Elka stepped back to give herself room. Kit’s hands slipped off of Elka’s face, leaving behind a painful emptiness that brought on more tears. But Kit’s angelic smile assured her. Soon Kit would be stroking Elka’s flank, rubbing up and down the length of her face, scratching behind her ear. Elka could even take her outside, let her straddle her, take her for the ride of her life, galloping away from Earl and his wicked crew.
They could be free.
Together.
Kit nodded encouragement.
Elka shifted.
And the shift, as it should, broke Kit’s spell.
Clarity crashed down on Elka as if she had dropped off the far side of a sugar high. She chuffed, glaring at Kit, that thing pretending to be a girl.
Like another girl who Elka hated.
Kit’s mouth hung open, her smile still lighting her eyes. But it didn’t look so beautiful anymore. It made her look vacuous and dumb.
“Oh, Elka, you are beaut—”
The girl-thing choked on her words as Elka stabbed her horn into its heart. The sound of its breast bone cracking echoed like the door latch had. A spray of blood shot from the thing’s dumb mouth. The smile drained out of its eyes.
Elka yanked free and watched the thing drop to the floor where it curled up and continued to cough blood that glistened against the tile under the room’s harsh fluorescent glaze.
In the last seconds of its life—whatever it was; Elka might never know—its face quivered with gorgeous fear.
&nbs
p; A kill.
Elka had forgotten how much she needed that.
But she had severely shortened her window to get to Whisper and get the Chosen One’s location. For as satisfying as killing the creature that lay at Elka’s hooves had been, Elka still had one more death to deliver before she could finally rest.
Chapter Thirty-Five
JESSIE HAD NO IDEA HOW long they let her stew in her cell. Felt like a week, but was probably closer to twenty-four hours. In that time, no one had brought her food. The only water she had came from the nasty sink and tasted like gravel.
Without anything more to do, she napped fitfully, her growling stomach and the cot’s hard frame keeping her from reaching any depth of sleep.
She had just come out of a half-dream half-memory of the day she found the soul artifact that had let Gabriel Dolan’s spirit enter her body and nearly take over. She could vividly feel the cool metal cube and the engravings on all sides. The artifact even had a smell—like the cup full of change Mom used to keep on her dresser (that Jessie used to pilfer to support her black makeup habit).
Then she heard her father’s voice.
It’s going to happen again.
The tock-tock of heels on the hard floor down the corridor from her cell roused her from the dream. But her father’s words echoed on her way out.
It’s going to happen again.
She shook off the ragged excuse for sleep and climbed off the cot, crossed to the bars. The distinct sound of the shoes behind those footsteps told Jessie who was coming.
Sure enough, Kinga came into view, a manila folder tucked under her arm, at least two inches thick with papers. When she saw Jessie peering out at her from behind the bars, Kinga lifted an eyebrow while an almost invisible smirk touched her lips.
“I see you’re awake,” she said.
Jessie cleared the sleep out of her throat, rolled her eyes. “You can see all you want of me through the cameras in here.”
Kinga reached Jessie’s cell and made a show of scanning the inside. “I don’t see any cameras.”