by A. L. Davroe
He opens his eyes, glances at me. I see his mouth is bloody and as I approach, I see a pair of bloody false teeth sitting on the floor. I assume they weren’t willingly removed. “So, that’s how you hid what you are.”
Despondent, he turns over on the cot, faces the wall.
I pull the small chair close to the cot, sit down beside him. “I’m going to assume you’ve been planted as a spy here for quite a while. Clairen doesn’t trust easy. How long have you been running with the Disfavored?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Look, I know you have no reason to talk to me. But if you don’t cooperate it’s going to come out of that girl’s hide.”
He stiffens and I know I’ve gotten to him.
“What’s her name, Stormy?”
Haltingly, he nods.
“She your girl?”
He lifts a shoulder.
“She’s important, either way.”
He speaks so low I can barely hear him. “She’s Taurus’s daughter.”
“Taurus,” I repeat. “Who’s he?”
“Leader.”
“Ah.”
“Soon as he realizes she’s gone, he’s gonna come looking for her. He’ll kill all of you. She’s his treasure.”
“Well,” I say, and I’m glad he can’t see my face because his words rattle me. “Perhaps an agreement can be reached. He has some people we’d like back.”
“Taurus don’t do negotiations. Doesn’t need to. He could pound you to bone dust in an instant. ’Sides, even if he negotiated, he’d trade and just turn round and come after you. You don’t cross Taurus.”
“He seems very powerful.”
“He’s fuckin’ Satan incarnate.”
I glance at Quent and he narrows an eye. I know they can hear what we’re saying—there’s an arcane microphone wired into the ceiling of the cell. “Why hasn’t he crushed us in the past?”
“’Cause that would be bad for business.”
“What?”
The chuckle that comes from Faulk is so evil sounding that I can’t help but think the Satan analogy is pretty fitting, considering this Taurus person has demons working for him. “It’s amazing how gullible and stupid you people are. File your teeth, spread some rumors, and act a little wild and crazy, and suddenly everyone thinks you’re a fucking man-eater.”
I knit my brow. “You’re not?”
“No,” he says, like the idea disgusts him. “None of us are.”
“Then what do you do with the Disfavored you kidnap?”
“We sell them. As slaves.”
Creasing my brow, I say, “So the whole cannibal thing is a lie?”
He raises a hand and rings an imaginary bell as he says, “Ding, ding, ding, give the girl a prize!” He lowers his arm again. “We capture the Disfavored and Taurus sells them.”
“Where?”
“Annex.”
“That’s the Disfavored settlement just outside of Cadence, right?”
He nods. “He’ll sell them at market in Annex. Most likely, they’ll be spread all over Annex as slaves. Most of the men will go to the coliseum and the women will go to whore houses.”
“Coliseum? What’s that?”
“You ever read about the Romans?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ll train them up, turn them into gladiators. They’ll fight against each other. To the death.”
I gasp. “But, why?”
“To entertain the wealthier Domites. If you win, you can get into Cadence. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. People make journeys to Annex to try their hand at the games, but I wouldn’t want to try. It’s suicide.”
“And that’s what’s going to happen to the Aristocrats you sold out to the cannibals?”
He shrugs. “No.”
I stare at his back for a long time. If they aren’t going to be sold, then what’s the point in capturing them? “Why did you give them away? Why couldn’t you have just let them be?”
He finally glances over his shoulder. “Same reason you want them back so bad.”
My stomach drops. No…he couldn’t possibly.
Faulk sees my expression and grins at me, bloody, sharp teeth hideous and awful in their mockery. “Now she gets it.”
chapter twenty-three
Post-American Date: 7/8/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 2:22 a.m.
Location: Rebel Base, Kairos
I don’t bother zipping the cell up behind me as I rush out and round on Clairen. “I need to talk to that other prisoner. That girl, Stormy.”
“What?” Clairen squawks. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t have time, Clairen. Now.”
A growling noise escapes her but she turns and leads me down another tunnel.
Quentin catches my hand. “What’s going on?” He asks it low, low enough that Clairen can’t hear and I match his tone because I don’t want her to panic or upset the plan.
“Taurus is going to try and take Evanescence.”
“What?” he hisses.
“Shhh,” I glance at Clairen. “I’m almost positive that’s why he went after the Aristocrats.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“Rescue them and get them to do what he stole them for before he does. The good part is that they’ll definitely still be at his main camp, wherever that is. He’ll want to keep them close.”
“Yeah, but how are we gonna find the camp, let alone rescue them?”
We come to a stop at the door Clairen is currently unzipping. “That’s what I’m about to negotiate.”
Inside, Stormy’s cell looks much like Faulk’s did. Except she’s sitting in her chair, facing the door. When I come in, she looks up, grabs both sides of the bottom of the chair as if to brace herself.
This girl…she could be me.
“Hello, Stormy,” I say. “My name is Ella.”
She lifts her chin, stares at me with defiant black eyes.
“You don’t want to talk. That’s fine. You don’t need to. I can talk for us both.” I cross my arms, turn on my toe, and slowly pace the floor. “You’re the daughter of Taurus. Taurus is the leader of the group we’ve come to know as cannibals. But you’re not cannibals. You’re slavers. And Faulk gave away a location of a tunnel entrance so that you could kidnap the Aristocrats in the hopes to take over Evanescence.” I turn to her. “Did I leave anything out?”
She looks away. “Faulk spilled, then.”
“He did it to save you.”
She scoffs. “He did it because he’s afraid my father will string him up if he lets anything happen to me. Any one of my father’s men would do it.” She leans forward. “My father would do anything to save me.”
Unmoved, I lift a brow. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
This unsettles her; I can see it in the sudden unease in her face. I take my dominance and run with it. Grabbing the other chair, I swing it around and plop myself down in front of her so that I’m straddling the chair back. I rest my arms on the back of the chair, cool and confident even though I’m terrified. If I botch this, we’re screwed. Everything is riding on my ability to sway Stormy.
“Do you know who I am, Stormy?”
She shakes her head.
“My name is Ellani Drexel. I’m the daughter of Warren Drexel. The people of Kairos call me The Savior. Want to guess why they call me that?”
Her tongue darts out, moistening her lips and, swallowing, she offers me a less vigorous shake.
I lean forward a little bit. “They call me that because I’m the one who killed all the Aristocrats in the city you’re trying to steal. Any idea what I do to people who steal from me?”
She’s frightened now.
“Why don’t I show you then, huh?” I say, standing.
Yelping, she holds up her hands like she expects I’m going to attack her. I give her a look like she’s pathetic and stupid. Deep down, I’m so sorry for her and I feel awful for manipulating her like this. She�
�s terrified and alone and absolutely useless in her disability. I know what that feels like. But I can’t let that show. So I mock her with my eyes and my smirk as I lift a hand and call, “Clairen, bring me a knife.”
“No,” Stormy blubbers as the zipper opens behind me. “What are you gonna do?”
I feel the leather handle of the long knife Clairen wears at her belt enter my hand. I grip it, brandish it. I take one last moment to relish the terrified look in Stormy’s eyes before I look away and begin hacking at my pant leg.
I can hear Stormy’s heavy breathing as I slide the knife under the fabric and work it at an angle. I relish the tearing noise it makes, the suspense of the moment, and Stormy’s sudden gasp as I allow the pant leg to fall, revealing that I am just like her.
I chose the same leg as hers for a reason. A good one. And I’m glad that it’s my undamaged prosthetic, because it makes the impact on Stormy even stronger. I can see the surprise of our shared state, that warring with empathy and kinship. But it’s soon replaced with an expression that warms me to the core, because it’s just what I want her to show me. A sudden realization that her state isn’t something she has to live with. That there is a possibility to stand on two legs once again. And then I see the want. The jealousy. The envy.
Before I lose her too far down the hole, I toss the knife to the ground at my feet. It hits point first between my toes. I knew those nights of practicing knife throwing with Opus back in Nexis would come in handy one day. Stormy’s eyes snap up.
“They took my legs. They took my freedom and my father,” I say, drawing close to her, leaning into her face. “So you know what I did?”
Her eyes are wide as I lift my hand, make a gun shape with my fingers and hold it to her head. She flinches as I pull an imaginary trigger and make a shooting noise. I smile at her, letting a little bit of madness show. It’s not hard. There is so much riding on this that I feel a little like I’m going mad.
“Now,” I say, squatting down in front of her and gripping her good knee. “Do you love your father, Stormy?”
Mouth tight, she nods her head.
“He’d do anything for his little girl. Spoils her rotten, doesn’t he? Even lets her go out on raids when she’s nothing but a burden to his men. Isn’t that right?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. Even if she had a crutch, which I assume she did at one point, she’d still be slower than everyone. And because of who she is, everyone would be worrying about her. But Taurus must humor her, despite the risk. He must rely on his men’s ability to protect her. On their fear of him and his wrath. Every man has a chink in his chain.
“How pathetic,” I spit, standing and turning away. “You rely on Daddy for everything. You’re nothing but a burden. You wouldn’t even make a decent slave,” I rail as I swoop down and pull the blade out of the floor. I turn and point it in her face. “I’d be doing him a favor if I put you out of his misery right here.”
“Th-that’s not true,” she whimpers, tears brimming on her lids. “He-he loves me. He’ll do anything to save me. You’ll see, you’ll regret saying these things to me.”
I lift my chin, scoff a breath at her as I pull the knife away and tuck it into my belt. “And then what? You’d still be just as useless, wouldn’t you? You’d still be legless Stormy having to be rescued by Daddy, putting everyone else at risk because you can’t help yourself. When’s it gonna stop? When are you going to prove you’re actually worth the blood and bones you inhabit?”
I leave the question hanging between us, examining her expectantly.
Her face grows pink and she looks away.
“Look,” I say, trying to make myself sound softer, but still authoritative. “I’ve been where you are. I’ve felt those feelings, hated having to be taken care of. I thought of killing myself a lot. I bet you have, too.”
Her shoulders fold as she sinks into herself.
“What if I gave you a chance to do something all on your own?” I ask. Her chin jerks and I take it as a good sign. “What if I gave you the power to save yourself? What if I gave you a choice that could save the lives of your people and your father?”
Her gaze shoots sideways. “You don’t have that kind of power.”
“Don’t I?” I bluff. “I destroyed a city no one else could get into. I took it over. The Disfavored love me. They’d jump the first second I told them to. It wouldn’t be hard, they hate your father and your people. I could bring a hundred thousand of them down on your heads. A whole army. I can do all that.” I hold out my hands. “And I’m only a Natural.”
Casually, I walk back to the chair. I take a moment to grin and wink at Quent, who’s staring at me with wide eyes, before turning around and taking a relaxed seat on the chair once more. “I have all the power, Stormy. I could show you how to have some of it. I could give a little to you. The chance to stand. How would you like that?”
Her eyes go to my leg again.
“You don’t have things like this back home, do you?” It’s clear that they don’t. Taurus must make a decent bit of coin on his slaving, and he’d have gotten her the best prosthetic if his money could buy it. “Maybe something more rudimentary? Daddy probably had someone make you a pretty bit of clockwork. It’s gone now, though.”
She looks close to tears again.
“Do you want what I have?” I demand.
Stormy closes her eyes and two tears slip free. “Yes,” she breathes. I want to go to her, wrap her in my arms, but I grip my leg instead.
“Do you want power? Do you want to be called Stormy the Savior, like me?”
She nods.
“Then I’ll make you a deal. Your father has royally pissed me off, Stormy. I’m not feeling terribly forgiving toward him, but I might be persuaded not to kill him or completely squash your people if you make this a little less taxing. I’ll give you a leg that’s just as good as the real thing, and you give me information.” I stand then, turn away. “You’ve got two hours to make the decision.”
I remain straight backed and quiet as I walk out the door.
Quentin flanks me as I walk down the corridor. When we’re far enough away, he finally speaks. “That was crazy.”
“Yes.”
“It was also brilliant.”
“I thought so.”
“Should I assume the worst case scenario for this deal your hashing with her?”
“You got it, Prince Charming.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I wasn’t too keen on ripping fiber-optics out of your skin, but I did it for you because I love you.”
“We did that for you,” he reasons.
“I’m doing this for you.” I turn on him. “And all these people. So you better not hesitate to disconnect it or hook her up to it when she comes back in an hour and five minutes saying she wants my damn leg.”
Quent looks like he’s about to argue. But I say, “My body. My choice. Greater good and all that. Don’t try and talk me out of it, because I’m liable to turn yellow,” I say, borrowing a line from Morden, one of our teammates from Nexis. I reach out and grasp his hand. “Just do this for me. Please.”
His gaze begs me not to expect this of him, but he doesn’t argue. Clairen appears the next moment, following us. I turn to her, hand her back the knife. “I’m sure you get my plan by now.”
“That you’re a lying sack of shit?” She sheaths the knife. “Yeah.”
I laugh. “I’m not lying, Clairen. You’re all going to help me get the Aristocrats back.”
Her nostrils flare at that. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Because I can’t restart Evanescence without them.”
chapter twenty-four
Post-American Date: 7/8/232
Longitudinal Timestamp: 2:40
Location: Rebel Base, Kairos
The little girl, Ani, comes in with a tray and sets it down on the table between Quent and me.
“Thank you,” I say.
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She only ducks her head and runs away.
“You have a way with kids,” he teases.
Half starved, I pick up my bowl, tuck into my gruel. “Shut up.” I shovel in a few bites before I realize that Quent isn’t eating with me. Looking up, I see he’s watching me with an expression that I assume he’d make if I were peeling off sections of my flesh. I swallow what’s in my mouth. “What?”
“How are you eating that?”
Looking into the bowl so he can’t see my annoyance, I say, “Because it’s what was put in front of me and I’m hungry. I suggest you eat, too. You need your strength.”
“I can’t eat this.”
I let my hands slip off the table, ball my fists on my knees. “Quentin, you’re being a spoiled brat. This is all they have because it’s all you fed them, so just eat it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he slowly says, “Okay. Okay. I’m gonna ignore the implication that I’m the one who personally packs and ships the aid containers that come down the tracks for these people. I’m being spoiled, I’m sure I am. I’m only being that way because I honestly don’t know how to cope with eating salty cement, but”—he takes a deep breath—“I’ll try my best.”
“Good.” I go back to eating.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lift his spoon and take a bite. It takes him a long time to chew. I can hear him swallow and he takes a large gulp of water afterward. “Can I just ask you something?” he says, voice light. “How are you managing? I mean, you’ve always loved food. I could never fathom why or how you managed to eat so much in Nexis. It’s always seemed like you could eat anything. Maybe you can hand me a few pointers.”
“Practice,” I hedge, mouth full.
“Practice? Who would wanna do that? I mean, you don’t eat stuff like this unless you have to.” He lifts a spoonful of it and lets it fall back into the bowl with a splat. Then he turns and grins at me in that playful, mysterious way that lets me know he’s joking.
But something inside breaks and I look away, unable to keep eye contact. I don’t want to admit I developed a tolerance for gruel out of necessity. I don’t want Quent to learn what happened to me while I was being held captive, or how I suffered. I don’t want him to know the depths of my shame and desperation, that I resorted to theft and trickery—things he taught me in Nexis—to survive in Real World. But Quent can tell when something is up with me, and it’s clear in his tone as he says, “Ella?”