by A. W. Cross
Dedication, Duty, Defiance.
She sighed. Tomorrow would be a better day. It had to be.
As she poured steaming water over the chicory in the bottom of the mug, Father spoke again.
“There’s more.”
The uneasiness that had plagued Beauty throughout the day deepened, sinking into her very bones.
“Beauty, please sit down.”
Her mind rebelled. Don’t sit. If you do, whatever it is will become true. But her body, used to obeying commands, sat, the mug she’d prepared for him clutched in her hands.
“We have to replace what was…unacceptable.”
That’s it? Beauty breathed a sigh of relief. So why, then, did he look so tense? Artifacts like jewelry were difficult to come by, but not impossible. They could do it in a day if they all worked together.
“Beauty, the Beast has demanded you in reparation.”
The mug shattered. Scalding water gushed between her fingers, the pain so intense that, for a moment, she felt nothing. Then came a fire, hot and all-consuming, and the room spun before her eyes.
“Beauty!” Small hands wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her from the bench and over to the sink. Red. She turned the cold faucet on full blast and plunged Beauty’s hands all the way to the bottom, pressing them against the cold steel. “Breathe, Beauty.”
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. The Beast. Pain. They melded together in her mind, and somewhere, far away, someone screamed.
“Quick, give her this.” A new pain, a sting in her arm. And then…numbness. Her hands still hurt, but the fire had cooled to a low burn. Distant, no longer hers.
“Beauty, sit down.”
As the drugs coursed through her veins, the shapeless fire in her mind tempered, sharpening her wits.
“What do you mean you gave me to the Beast?” The sound came from her mouth, but the voice was too strong, too steady to be hers.
The Beast. The brute who’d beaten her father. Who held their future in his inhuman hands. The monster.
“I didn’t give you to him, Beauty. Of course not.” But his guilty expression said otherwise. “It’s just temporary, to make up for what happened. You’re just going to work as his assistant for a bit.”
“So I get to come home at night?” That wasn’t so bad. She would bear it, for his sake.
“Well, no. I— You have to stay there with him, for as long as he needs you.”
Stay there. For as long as he needs you. “So you sold me.”
“No, I—”
“Yes, you did! I thought— I thought—” What? That Father cared about you? That you were important? That he loved you? He’d said himself that love was dangerous. She’d just been too stupid to think that included her. But he’d never cared about her for anything more than what she could bring him.
Fine.
She struggled to her feet, weaving slightly, still lightheaded from the pain and the drugs. Her hands throbbed as she pushed him away when he tried to comfort her. “Get away from me. I’ll go.”
“You will?” The relief in his eyes was the final betrayal.
“Guess you’re not the favorite anymore.” But Kaitlin’s dark eyes were fixed on Father.
Beauty turned and ran. Blinded by tears, she found her way to her bed by painful touch. A few minutes later, the door opened softly. “Go away. I hate you.”
“It’s me, Beauty.” Red. He couldn’t even come after her. He was a coward. A traitor. A liar. He wasn’t her father. She would never call him that again. You told Violet that Arjun letting her go was the safest thing. What else was Fa—Raphael to do? But still it stung, even worse than her scalded hands.
The bed sank as Red sat next her and put a hand on her blanket-covered head. “Beauty, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to the Beast.”
“But you can’t. You—” Red sought her hand under the blanket and Beauty winced as her fingers brushed the scalded skin. “Oops. Sorry.”
“I can’t stay here. Not after what…Raphael did.” If Red noticed the change, she didn’t comment.
“But the Beast? What if he hurts you? Or worse?”
With a yelp, Beauty yanked the blanket off and glared at Red. “So what? I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do!” But Red was right, and they both knew it.
Red gave her a wan smile. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“You never were a good liar, either.”
Red bit her lip. “Beauty, promise me: if he does anything to hurt you, you’ll escape. You’ll come find me and we’ll…I don’t know, run away.”
“Where would we go?”
“I don’t know. Down to the sea? We can find a cave to hide in, and we’ll spend our days fishing.”
“And wear dresses made of seaweed.”
“And sleep in.”
They grinned at each other, and Beauty’s heart cracked. They would never run away. They would never live on the beach. Tomorrow, Red would get up and go on the hunt, as she did every day. She would think about Beauty, but nothing more. And each day she would think of her less and less, until she was like Rachael and Galen, little more than a memory and a whisper in the dark. And Raphael would take Beauty to the Beast, and leave her at his mercy, when they all knew he had none.
Red lay down next to Beauty, and they spent their final night as sisters did, side by side, their arms linked. A few hours before dawn, Beauty finally slept, her dreams haunted by a dark presence, black of heart and sharp of teeth. And yet, there was comfort in that darkness, a soothing voice, a gentle hand. In circles, she ran, away from the presence yet always back to it, around and around, until she was exhausted and woke, her body covered in sweat and the pain in her hands ignited.
Red stirred next to her, and Beauty remembered. The Beast.
Looked like today wouldn’t be a good day either.
4
It was a huge mistake. What had he been thinking? How could he have let Cybel make him think this was a good idea, even for a second?
It’s not Cybel’s fault. He had to make an example of Quinn for the others. You also wanted to spite him. You have no one to blame but your pride.
Well, he might’ve made the mistake, but he didn’t have to prolong it any more than necessary. He’d keep this Beauty for a couple of days, just long enough to show Quinn and the others he meant business—for he knew damn well that if the other Guilds hadn’t heard about it already, they would soon—then he would send her back, and look merciful. It would keep the scavengers on their toes. Still, next time he was going to have to try harder to control his temper.
“What do you think she’s going to be like?” Cybel twirled on her wheels. If the Beast hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought she was excited.
She. He’d always thought of Cybel as a she.
That’s what the isolation does to you. Did robots even have a gender?
His loneliness was self-imposed, of course. He could easily make his presence in The Vault more obvious, like his counterparts in the other city sectors. But it would only put the truth—the truth only he knew—at risk.
Admit it, you actually have a conscience—not that it does you any good. You’re still a coward.
He pressed his fingers over his eyes, as though he could push the thoughts away. They’d been surfacing more and more lately, and they were dangerous.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Why?”
“You know damn well why. Next time, do me a favor and don’t make suggestions that my pride can’t ignore.”
“I think it’s a good idea. It’s lonely down here, just the two of us.”
“Lonely? You’re a robot. How can you be lonely? Besides, what about me?” For some reason, her loneliness bothered him. Wasn’t he good enough company?
Cybel gave a tinny laugh. “You’re not exactly a great conversationalist. Be
sides, all your brooding and angst can be a bit of a downer.”
“A downer? What could you possibly know about—” The security alert sounded.
“Ooh, they’re here!” Cybel spun in a circle then sped toward the door.
The Beast braced himself. Let’s get this over with. Just let her in, be the Beast for a few minutes then hand her over to Cybel and get the hell out.
“Remember, Cybel, she’s your responsibility.”
“I know.” The little robot’s voice was thrilled.
He stared at the couple on the screen. The expression on Quinn’s face was a mix of emotions—anger, shame, regret. Well, he should’ve been more careful.
His protégé’s feelings were more difficult to read. She stood straight, her shoulders back and chin up. Her fists, wrapped in white bandages, were clenched at her sides.
Is she fantasizing about using them on me?
She looked younger than he’d expected, uncommon in The Vault. Living under the constant threat of war tended to prematurely age a person, instilling an unconscious awareness that was eternally exhausting, even if you weren’t aware of it. That he knew firsthand. Besides, she’d probably been up all night wondering about the cruelties the horrible Beast was going to subject her to.
She raised a bandaged hand and tugged it through her hair then smoothed the homespun coat she wore, as though concerned about how she looked. Then she seemed to realize what she was doing and snatched her hands away. Did she think that would make a difference? Horror struck him. Did she think he would…
Well, he wouldn’t. He would never. Was that something she had to worry about in The Vault? The thought of vicious hands knotting themselves in that glossy brown hair, bringing fear to her delicate face, filled him with a rage he hadn’t felt since the battlefield. If he ever heard of such a thing going on in his sector…they would come to know the real meaning of his nickname. And what the hell had happened to her hands? Had she tried to do something to herself, hoping to sour the deal?
He opened the door. In watching her, he’d forgotten himself. Forgotten the effect he had on people.
She clapped both hands over her mouth, but it did little to stifle her scream. Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes and she swayed where she stood.
Any gentle feelings he’d had toward her vanished. To her, he was nothing but a monster. Like every other person he’d met, she couldn’t see past the way he looked.
Why did you expect her to be any different? And more importantly, why does it bother you? You only brought her here to prove a point to Quinn.
He peered down at her through the mask, grateful, as always, that his expression was hidden. “Are you done?” He kept his voice neutral.
She started at the sound, as though she’d expected something less human.
“Well?”
She took a deep breath and raised her chin. “Yes.”
“Good. Come inside.” As she stepped through the doorway, he began to close the door behind her. “Goodbye, Quinn.”
Quinn took a step forward, his face contorting in surprise. Had he still thought it all a bluff? That he could show up and the Beast would simply take it as a sign of his loyalty and dismiss them both with a warning? In truth, the Beast was sorely tempted, but no, he had to see this through. He splayed a hand on Quinn’s chest, the soft flesh yielding under the metal, and stopped him in his tracks. “Go.”
“But I—”
“Relinquished her to my care.”
“Not that you gave him a choice.” Her voice shook slightly as she spoke to Cillian, but her eyes were dry. Her composure was admirable.
Quinn, on the other hand, looked like she’d slapped him. “Beauty, I— I’m sorry.” He grasped for her. “I’m sorry.”
She stepped out of reach. “Go. Before he decides I’m not high quality enough either and demands even more.”
Quinn looked away.
He didn’t tell her the truth.
Cillian narrowed his eyes at the other man, and Quinn shook himself. “I—” He raised his hands again then let them fall as she ignored him. “Take care of yourself.”
She nodded curtly then spun and marched past Cillian, taking obvious care not to touch him.
As Cillian moved to close the door behind them, Quinn put his foot in the gap. “Look—”
The Beast kicked his boot free and shut the door in his face.
He found Beauty at the end of the hall.
“The door is locked.” Her eyes burned into him.
“Yes. Security.”
“Have a lot of enemies, do you?” Her tone was sharp, but as he glanced at her, she dropped her eyes.
“Something like that.” He paused. She’d brought a scent with her, something familiar. Something soothing and distracting at the same time.
She mumbled something under her breath, but he didn’t catch it. He pressed his palm to the pad on the wall and the door slid open.
She stayed in the hallway, wary. “Where are we going?”
He ignored her and went into the next room, leaving her to trail behind him. Best just to give her a quick tour then leave her to Cybel.
The robot waited on the other side of the door, practically vibrating with excitement.
The Beast gestured to her. “Beauty, this is—”
Cybel rolled forward, pushing past him. “Cybel. Pleased to meet you.”
Beauty looked down at the little robot and broke into a smile. It transformed her face, as though a layer of grime had washed away.
How long had it been since he’d seen someone smile? People didn’t usually smile at him in his line of work, unless you counted nervous grins. When was the last time he’d smiled, for that matter? Could he even remember how?
“It’s nice to meet you. I—”
“You’ll be working with Cybel while you’re here. She’ll show you where everything is, explain what we do. Mostly, you’ll be sorting and archiving deliveries then preparing items for shipment when and as they’re needed.”
The smile dropped from her face, a shadow falling over it once more. “Whatever helps the cause. That’s the only reason I agreed to come.”
The cause. Damn the cause. “Quinn gave you a choice, did he?”
She colored. “No, but—”
“He must’ve been very distraught, having to give up one of his wards to the Beast.”
Her lip trembled, but still she didn’t cry.
He was relentless. “That’s the reason you’re here, Beauty, because of him. Not for the cause. He gave you up to save his own ass.” The words were like salt in his mouth. I’m so tired of being the enemy.
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to.” He turned away from her. “Cybel will also show you where you can and can’t go. You do as you’re told, and everything will be fine.”
“Or what? You’ll beat me? Kill me?” Her voice trembled.
A bitter laugh forced its way from his throat.
At the sound, the self-control that had carried her so far finally slipped. “Like you killed Stiles? Like you beat Raphael, just because you didn’t like what he’d brought you, what you’d ordered him to bring you?” She took a step toward him, her body quivering with anger. Impressive, but futile. He was made of metal and towered over her by more than a foot and a half.
But what the hell was she talking about? Stiles? The man had been ill for a year, though he’d hidden it well. And as for Quinn… It came together in his mind suddenly. “You think I killed Stiles? And beat Quinn?”
Her hands curled into fists. “Don’t try to deny it.”
“I don’t need to try. I’m flat-out denying it.”
“Then what happened to them?”
“Stiles was killed by residual damage from the sickness. His lungs finally gave out. As for Quinn…” He hesitated. Exposing Quinn for the coward he was suddenly felt wrong. But he couldn’t let her think that he— What? Really are a monster? Pride and frustration
bit at him again.
“I didn’t beat him. He’d already been attacked when he got here.”
“You’re a liar. Why wouldn’t he tell us that? Why would he let us think you hurt him?”
“Because it makes him look better than the truth?”
“I don’t know what that means. All I know is that he came home, battered and bloody, and the next thing I know I have to come here and—” She flew at him suddenly, her hands raised to strike him. What did she think she was doing?
There was a sharp crack as her bandaged fist connected with the metal plate of his chest. Agony flashed across her face and yet she drew her fist back again, preparing to land another blow.
Cillian grabbed her wrists, holding them in an unyielding vise.
She struggled against him for a moment then settled for screaming up into his face instead. “You’re a monster. A horrible monster, and I hate you. I hate—”
“Why don’t you show her the truth?” Cybel’s voice was soft, but it cut through Beauty’s rage like a knife. She screamed wordlessly at him one more time then sagged to the floor.
“What’s the truth?” Her voice broke over the last word, and Cillian wished he could go back in time to yesterday and punch the Beast that had demanded Quinn bring her here. The situation just kept getting worse.
“Nothing. It’s—”
“Show her, C—”
“Cybel. Stop. It’s not important.”
“How can you say that? I won’t have her thinking such things about you. If you don’t show her, I will.”
He would’ve laughed at the prim disapproval of her tone if there hadn’t been a young woman shaking around his ankles. “Fine.” There was no point arguing with Cybel. If he didn’t show Beauty the truth, the robot would eventually. He had to expose Quinn or send her home now. He sighed. The truth would be painful to her, but it was better than living a lie.
You’re a hypocrite of the worst kind.
He ignored the voice. “Get up.”
She glared at him from the floor. Was she going to be contrary about everything?