ARC: Cracked (25 page)

I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye and spin, but no one is there. While spinning I see another, but it is a reflection of my reflection. I hold perfectly still and nothing moves.

Uri, Chi, Jo. They might be in here somewhere. If they’re alive. I rush to the bars.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice rumbles through the black shadows.

I spin, but I don’t see anyone. “Who’s there?” I demand.

“Do you have to be so loud?” he asks, a wince in his voice. I notice he has an accent, but I can’t place it. I find him in the darkness. His cell wraps weirdly around a misshapen corner and I see him sitting in the darkest shadows, leaning against a wall with his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees. His head is tilted back but I can’t make out any specifics of his face. A human-shaped shadow.

Another prisoner and bars between us. Not a threat. I turn back to searching for my friends, hands out to test the bars.

“I’m telling you, that’s a mistake.” His warning is a half-taunt.

“What’s it to you?” I say, but my hands hesitate. It’s not like it would be out of character for the demons to rig the cell with nasty surprises. I look back at him.

“Oh, usually I enjoy a stranger’s pain as much as the next child of darkness, but right now I’m trying to enjoy my misery in peace.” His teasing tone says he’s doing no such thing.

Still, I pull my hands away from the bars. Better not to risk it. “How long have I been out?”

“About an hour.”

“Where are my friends?” I demand.

“Do I look like your tour guide?” I hear a smile in his voice. His eyes pop open now, the faintest slash of white in the shadows of his face. “Because I am not.”

I’d like to hit him, but he doesn’t have to fear me any more than I him. I turn my back on him and squint into the uneven darkness, webbed with bars. I avoid the sconces which blind me, searching the shadows for my friends.

“Jo,” I hiss into the darkness. “Chi, Uri.” No answer. I whisper again, louder this time. Still no response. Screw it. I open my mouth to yell.

“Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“My peaceful misery, remember?”

“Do I look like someone who cares?” I say, mimicking him from earlier. “Because I’m not.”

“The guards will come. They won’t be happy.” It’s a warning, but his tone seems to suggest he doesn’t really care.

“Ah, well, you should know, I don’t live to make other people happy.”

I see a flash of teeth. He’s smiling. “I’m beginning to get that impression.”

“If you just tell me where my friends are, I won’t scream,” I suggest.

“There are the negotiation skills our kind are famous for.” He rises to his feet, abandoning peaceful misery for my charming company. He moves with compressed-spring energy, as if he’s ready to pounce. My unwilling tour guide is about my age, maybe a year or so older, as he has managed a manly stubble. He’s good-looking in a bad-boy kind of way – downright hot, really, not that I’m in a position to care. Impending death has a way of focusing your priorities.

Smooth skin, longish tangled dark hair, full lips, girly-long lashes, black eyes, black T-shirt, black jeans tucked into black combat boots. No wonder I couldn’t find him in the dark. He looks like he’s taken a beating recently, as a bloody cut splits the side of his lip and his left eye is swollen and discolored in the corner. A smirk teases the corner of his mouth and his eyes have a twinkle even in this dark hellhole that suggests he never takes anything seriously.

It dawns on me, what he just said.
Our kind
.

I crouch and snarl. “You’re a demon!”

He kicks up the uninjured side of his mouth into a slight smile, unconcerned by my violence. Why should he be? I’m caged. “A halfling,” he says, blasé. “So, yes, as much a demon as you are.”

A halfling. The first like me I’ve ever met. A dozen questions come to mind, but I bite them back. Now really isn’t the time.

The boy’s smile stretches a little further. “Maybe more than you, actually, as I’ve already sided with the demons.” He takes his smile too far and winces. I smell blood. “And I definitely don’t hang out with Templars.”

My eyes narrow. “How do you know my friends are Templars?”

“Because I’m undercover in an elaborate scheme to trick you.” I glare at him, and he holds up his hands. “Relax. Because they’re in the Crusader cells.” He lifts his hand to point, and I twist to follow his finger. “They were awake when they were brought in, but then they made the guards unhappy. They’re not up yet.”

“How many?” I demand as I peer into the shadows. “How many did they bring in?” My heart races, afraid of what I will, or maybe
won’t,
see.

“Three,” he says. I can breathe.

Finally, I spot uneven lumps in a cell about twenty feet away, shadows slightly different from those around them. I can’t be sure it’s them, but there’s no point shouting if they’re knocked out.

“You sure that’s them?”

“You have trust issues.”

I ignore that. “Are you sure?”

“Two boys and a girl.” He winces, “A really loud girl.”

That’s them. My breath is so big I have to tilt my head back to let it all out.

Now that my greatest fear has been allayed, I can pay more attention to the boy. I don’t have a lot of weapons down here – might as well cultivate what resources there are. At the very least, he could be another body to toss to the bears. I take in his athletic build – unlike Jo, I’d probably have to trip this one. “So what are you doing here? You don’t happen to be a good guy in disguise, do you?” I pause. “A really good disguise?”

He chuckles. “Hardly. Bad as they come, I’m afraid.”

“Why, then?”

“Why should I answer?” He comes as close to the bars as he can without actually touching them.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll have to talk to myself.” I pause, then add ominously, “Or sing.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“You have no idea. You’ll wish I was screaming.”

That full mouth twists into a decidedly sensual smile. Trust a boy to turn it dirty. We’re standing far too close, only a foot away from each other with only bars in the middle. Pain-inducing bars, but still. I take a step back and clear my throat. His smile stretches even further at my discomfort.

I decide to resume my spot on the offensive. “So why are you here?”

“I’m not such a good rule-follower.”

“Like what kind of rules?”

He pauses, studying my face. “‘Never, ever kill your own’.”

“Own what?”

“It means other demons.”

“Why not?”

“We’re evil and violent with ferocious tempers. If we were allowed to kill each other, we’d be extinct in a week.”

I can see that. So far, I’ve certainly wanted to kill every demon I’ve met.

“So you killed another demon?”

He smiles, white teeth dance in the dark. “A few.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t like their attitude,” he says shortly. Apparently, he is done sharing. I’m not done being curious.

“If you hate them so much, why do you play for their team?”

He cocks his head sideways. “Because it’s what I am.” That wicked smile is back. “Evil.”

“No, if you’re a halfling, then you’re only half evil.”

“Half evil, half human.” He raises an eyebrow. “But humans aren’t exactly good, are they?”

No, they aren’t. Even my friends are borderline delinquents.

“I decided a long time ago not to fight it.” His eyes drift off to something I can’t see. “There’s no point. In the end…” He snaps back to the present and the smile is back. “It’s more fun to be bad, anyway.” He leans closer to the bars and I catch his dark spicy scent, chocolate and cinnamon.

“Even if you periodically end up in a demon dungeon?”

He laughs. “I hardly think you can judge, Good Girl – how’s that working out for you?”

Touché. I stick out my tongue. He chuckles and the sound dances down my spine.

“So what’s your name?”

“Not Good Girl.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Bad Girl, then.”

I roll my eyes.

“Pretty Girl,” he suggests and I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it. “No, not pretty.” Ouch. “Flowers are pretty, sunsets are pretty. No, you’re not pretty. You’re…”

I don’t think I want to hear what I am. “Meda. Meda Melange.”

He laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Melange. It’s French for mixed – so appropriate.”

Mom, you’re hilarious
. “What’s your name?”

“Armand Delacroix.” Before I can move, he snatches my hand from between the bars. I try to tug away, but it’s too dangerous. He bends over my hand like he’s going to kiss it, but then pauses and looks up at me through his eyelashes. “At your service,” he murmurs and presses his too big, too soft lips to the little joint. I flush and jerk my hand back the instant he loosens his grip.

“French?” I ask and he tips his head in acquiescence. I wipe my hand on my jeans. “So, Armand, what happens now? Do I get a trial or something?”

His eyes laugh at me. “You’re a captive of Hell. They’re not big on justice here.”

“So, what happens?” I’m not sure I want to know.

“If you’re lucky, they’ll let you sell your soul and become one of us.”

“I’m not that easy to boss around.”

He shrugs. “That’s only if you’re lucky anyway. If you aren’t… well, it’s safer for them to just eliminate the problem.”

Maybe I’m easier to boss around than I thought.

“Anyway, if they do decide to convince you, I recommend you don’t fight it.” The bitterness is back. “There’s no point, especially not for someone with your… nature.”

That doesn’t sound good. “Will they torture me?”
Was that puny thing my voice?

“In a fashion.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s torturous, but… they only remind you of your own nature. They’ll starve you – these cages suck the life out of you. In a few hours, it will be like you haven’t eaten in weeks. In a few days, you will be starving. By next week, you will be insane. Then, they tempt you with what you will always want most. Freedom from the Hunger, freedom from the constraints of humanity.” His voice gets husky, seductive. “We’re really not so bad, you know. We’re you, if you let yourself be who you were born to be. We’re creatures of temptation, not torture.”

“I’m not like them. Like you.”

“Aren’t you?” His voice is a taunting caress. “You look like temptation to me.”

I open my mouth, but he continues. “Don’t you dream of violence? Of power?” His voice casts a spell. I can see it, a life draining in my hands, the soul billowing free. “You don’t dream of that perfect moment when a brilliant soul filters through you like cascading rainbows, that moment of absolute freedom when you need nothing?” His accent thickens as he talks.

I shake myself free. “Pshaw – who would want that?” I say shakily and he laughs, the spell broken. “But anyway, they can’t be so great, you just told me you kill them regularly.”

“Not regularly and not because they were demons. Because they pissed me off.” That annoying eyebrow quirks again, “Or have you never met any humans the world would be better off without?”

I don’t want to talk about that. “My friends will never turn.”

His eyes meet mine, his tone is flat. “Then, they will die.”

“But–”

“You can’t save them; you can just not die with them.”

“But–”

“They can’t just let demon-hunters walk out of here. Do you think your friends would react any differently if they had a demon hostage?”

I remember the Crusaders butchering the frozen demons.

He laughs again, a bitter sound. “At least the Templars have a choice – they can stop being Crusaders at any time. But there’s no choice for demons, not after you sell your soul, and there is never any real choice for halflings. We’re born evil. We are what we are and yet they slaughter us.” He cocks his head and it appears he can be serious. “How do you do it? Be friends with them? Don’t you ever get tired of pretending to be someone else? Of all the restraints?”

Yes. “No.”

“It’s like trying to put a leash on a wolf.”

It was. “It’s not so bad.”

“So a wolf can be housebroken. Who knew?”

I hiss at him.

“Meda? Is that you?” A weak voice whispers. My dark companion ceases to exist for me, I’m at the bars and just barely catch myself from touching them.

“Uri?”

“Meda? Where are we?” I squint into the darkness. A shadowed lump is upright.

“A demon dungeon – don’t touch the bars.” Uri doesn’t answer, but I hear panicked panting, so I add calmly, “Pretty cool, hey?”

“Cool?” he squeaks.

“Just wait till you tell the other kids. They’ll be so jealous.”

“Jealous,” he repeats but his voice is steadier. “Why are you all the way over there?”

I dodge the question. Armand notices and smirks. “Are Jo and Chi in there with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, wake them up.” I hear Uri move around shaking them and saying their names.

“Meda?” It’s Jo this time.

“Hey Jo, Chi, I’m over here.”

“Meda.” Jo’s voice is panicked. “I didn’t finish the spell. I need a few more seconds–” I shoot a look at Armand and cut her off.

“I noticed.” No new superpowers here. They are about twenty feet away, and there’s another cell between us and a jutting wall blocking part of their cell from my view – and Armand from them.

“Don’t touch the bars,” I add, in case Uri forgot. I hear Jo talking to Chi.

“We’ll get out of here,” I hear Chi say. I notice he doesn’t say how.

“Meda, how long have you been awake?” Jo asks.

“Just a few minutes. There’s another prisoner down here.”

“There is?”

“Yes,” Armand says.

“A halfling,” I warn. Jo makes a disgusted noise, filled with enough hate to make me wince. “He’s the one who told me not to touch the bars. I haven’t actually tried it.” I add.

There’s a miniature explosion and Chi curses. So Armand wasn’t lying. Good to know, especially since I didn’t have to risk my skin to find out.

“Definitely don’t touch the bars,” says Jo. “What are we going to do?”

“What can we do?” I return. Nothing, but the word hangs unsaid.