ARC: Cracked (26 page)

“Are we going to die?” Uri whispers so faintly I can barely hear.

Chi is the only one who answers. “Not if I can help it.”

No one is reassured.

Jo chokes down her hatred of Armand enough to pepper him with questions. Her tone is a quarter-step above a sneer but he seems more amused by it than insulted. His tone in response is polite, but his eyes dance. It’s a joke to him, their trying to escape.

Chi tries wrapping his hands in his shirt to touch the bars and learns the painful way that doesn’t work. He tries wrapping the whole shirt around the bar and only holding the very ends. He learns the (slightly less) painful way that doesn’t work. He gets pissed and kicks the bars as hard as he can. That definitely doesn’t work and he flies across the cell.

Hours pass.

I pace the cell like the caged tiger I am. Armand tries to talk to me, but he’s only a distraction. I ignore him. Harder to ignore is the growing Hunger. It claws at my insides like a living thing. It was a rat, then a cat, now it is a crocodile, snapping at my innards and twisting. I smell chili-sprinkled mango, pot roast and, by far the most irresistible, popcorn – the sweet scents of my friends’ souls.

These thoughts are not helping. I squat and pull my hair, then look at Armand. He eyes my friends, wearing the alert look of a stalking lion. He catches me watching and relaxes with a chagrined smile.

I pace, Jo swears, Chi electrocutes himself again, this time with his shoes on his hands. The only one who is silent is Popcorn. I mean, Uri. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor tracing his face in the glassy floor tile.

“Dollar for your thoughts,” I say and he looks up.

“Not a penny?”

“You get what you pay for.”

Uri smiles, then idly taps the floor. “I was just thinking that there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Whoa – you were robbed, that’s worth at least a twenty. Can you tell me why?”

“Because there’s a plan.”

“You have a plan?” He’s sounding way too philosophical for the ol’ nail-file-in-a-cake type plan, but one can hope.

“No.” He half-smiles. “God has a plan.”

Blast. He’s got no reason to help me out.

Uri continues. “And I was thinking…”

“Yay, BOGOF,” I tease. Buy One, Get One Free.

He doesn’t laugh. “No matter how this ends, it was worth it.”

“What was worth it?”

“The adventure. Fighting demons. Meeting you. Being a part of it all.”

Jo starts paying attention. “Don’t talk like that, Uri,” she snaps. “We’re not dead yet.”

For once Uri isn’t afraid of Jo. “No, and I hope it stays that way, but if it doesn’t… well, it was enough.” His eyes meet mine. “I don’t regret anything. Better to die for something I believe in, than live for nothing at all.”

If that’s The Plan, frankly I’m underwhelmed. Uri would be too, if he knew the truth. That it’s all a lie. He thinks he’s going to die trying to save a Beacon, but in reality, it would just be for me.

I feel Armand’s eyes on me, because he knows. I don’t look at him, because I swear if he smirks I will rip his head from his shoulders, bars or no. Instead I force a weak smile for Uri.

“I don’t regret anything, either.”

That’s the biggest lie of all.

“Can we stop planning our own funerals and figure some way out of here?” Jo demands but her voice breaks.

And that’s when a door across the room slams open.

Cut into the side of the tallest wall, probably three storeys high, is a crookedly carved staircase with no banister. As it reaches the bottom, it twists away from the wall into a free-form spiral that disappears into the floor. We all watch with bated breath as in dances a collection of giddy demons. Six or seven of them, mixed men and women, darkly beautiful in shades of grey, red and black.

They giggle and squeal, and one of them laughingly shushes the others, as if they’re drunk high-schoolers sneaking home late. We all stand at alert, watching their erratic yet graceful descent. I uselessly hope they’ll continue down the stairs, to the floors below, but they don’t. When they step from the staircase, I shoot a look at Armand and he’s rigid. I wonder if they’re coming for him. No, I
hope
they’re coming for him. They look like they’re out for fun and I don’t want any of us to be their toy.

They sidle, twist and dance between the maze of bars and walls, running their hands along them as they pass. The bars in the empty cages must not be switched on. That might be good to know, later. They come to a decision point. Left takes them to the Templars, straight brings them to Armand and me.

The demons pause, giggling, whispering and pointing. Three women in twisted ball gowns and four men in macabre suits, all appearing to be in their twenties. Jo and I meet each other’s eyes. She’s pale and fear adds more chili to her mango scent. Chi subtly steps between the others and the door. I hold my breath; the thud of my heart keeps time. One beat passes, two.

I don’t know what I want the demons to decide.

Their smiles shine whitely in the dark, mixing with the spots in my vision. I need to breathe, but I can’t, their decision is too important. Finally, finally, they come straight. Me or Armand. My knees tremble; fear and relief – a contradictory cocktail threatens their stability. My eyes meet Jo’s again and she’s at the bars of her cage. Chi’s hands are on her shoulders, holding her back. Uri’s eyes are wide in his very young face and, even from here, I can see him shake. The stiffer he tries to hold himself, the more the tremors rock his frame. Jo reaches out and pulls him to her side in a fiercely protective hug. Uri, the oldest child I have ever met, who tries so hard to be the brave hero, curls into her side like a toddler, burying his face in her shoulder.

The weirdly beautiful procession enters the corner of my vision. Me or Armand.

It stops in front of my cage.

Me.

I lock my knees and turn my attention to my guests. They return my regard, cocking their heads curiously, like crows. The one in front, a woman with sharp features and silky curls, eyes me. Black rhinestones, stuck to her skin, climb across her cheekbones in swirling designs. Her gown clings and plunges, stark black against ivory.

“So you’re what all the fuss is about.” Her voice is beautiful and cultured. It rains down softly. Acid rain. My response is a drought; I say nothing.

“What are you doing here, Serena?” Armand asks blandly.

She cocks her head sharply towards him. “Ah! Armand.” She sidles over. “How are you liking your cage?” She smirks and dances her fingers close to the bars, but doesn’t touch them.

Armand bares his teeth.

“That’s unfortunate,” she fake-sympathizes, her eyes dancing in delight at his predicament. “Maybe if you were a good boy they’d let you out to play more often.” The others giggle and cackle, hiding sharp-toothed smiles behind hands.

“You’re not supposed to be down here,” Armand says coldly.

Her eyebrow arches. “Yes, Armand,
you
should give
me
pointers on what I should and should not do.” The others don’t bother to try to hide their glee any more, the laughter bubbles free.

“If zi-Hilo finds out–”

She lets out a trilling laugh. “Why don’t you tell him then? Oh wait, you can’t get out, can you?” She smiles meanly. “Pity.” She sashays back over to me. Armand takes a step forward, but stops. There’s nothing he can do.

She stares, contemplating my face. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Not surprising really, your father…” She sighs in ecstasy and holds her hand to her chest. “But I see your mother in there too.” She slides a slender white hand between the bars and tries to caress my face. I move like lightning and almost bite her finger off. She pulls back and eyes me sourly. I smile and bat my eyes.

“How do you like your accommodations? These dungeons are a sort of a hand-me-down of hers, from mother to daughter. How sweet.” She pauses as though to think, exaggeratedly cocking her head and tapping a shiny black fingernail on her chin. “Though she was over there, with your friends.” She waves in their direction. I hold still but she doesn’t elaborate why.

I don’t want the others to know what I am, even if we never escape. Even if we die. I don’t want to watch their expressions change, horror and hate replacing the friendship. Fear
for
me replaced by fear
of
me.

If I die, I want someone to mourn.

“Speaking of your friends…” She trails off and her smile is full of things I’m afraid of. My blood turns to ice, my heartbeat races, my knees rebel. A flood of fear douses my desert; I can’t stay silent.

“If you touch them…” I growl, but no threat has ever been emptier. Her smile says she knows it. Wild fantasies of ripping the bars free, then ripping her smile free of her face, dance through my brain. Kicking, biting, pulling, twisting, ripping, ripping and ripping.
Fighting
. But I can do nothing. I am trapped, helpless.

Her smile spreads wider and she wiggles her fingers at me. “Too-da-loo.”

I pant in my hate. In my fear.

They stroll, painfully slowly, towards my friends’ cage, taunting us all, giving us time to think about what’s going to happen. Serena tosses smiling glances over her shoulder, at me, drinking in my hate, my fear, my helplessness. Armand says my name, but I ignore him. His tone hasn’t the urgency of a plan, just soft notes of attempted comfort. Those are useless to me.

The demons sniff the air, murmuring appreciatively, and their movements become more energetic. A pack of bloodhounds, excited by the scent. They begin to dance and circle the cage, and, to my surprise, touch it. I look to Armand.

“Templar cages are for Templars, not demons.” His voice is tight.

The bars won’t keep my friends safe. My breath comes in horrified pants. Shallow and fast.

The giggling demons lean into the bars, reaching out to pinch, grab and claw. It’s a game to them. The cage must also weaken my friends because they can’t keep up, can’t dodge all the hands. Nails slash across Jo’s arm and I scream with her. Something inside me snaps and I scream and rant and rage – but I can do nothing but add to the cacophony. I shut my eyes and drop to my knees, only to open them again and crawl forward. I can’t watch, but I can’t do anything else.

Blood splashes on the black glass floor and the demons become frenzied. They yip and jump and dance. One grabs hold of Chi and jerks him into the bars. Jo tries to rescue him and she’s caught as well. The demons pin them to the electrified bars where Chi and Jo can do nothing but seize and bleed.

A demon with a too-bright grin twists on the prison door handle and it opens under his hands. Three demons slide into the small space. Uri fights and scrambles, but there’s nowhere to go.

They drag Uri out. I stop breathing.

They lock the door behind them. They have no plans to put him back.

The demons release Jo and Chi and they collapse on the ground, but not for long. They jump to their feet and lunge and scream, slamming into the fence, taking shock after shock. All my shocks are internal. An unseen hand creeps into my chest and mangles my heart. Squeezes it like a chew toy, ringing out warped sounds of protest. Rubs it raw, beats it soft – into a squishy pulp. It was so tender and young, it didn’t stand a chance.

Uri stops struggling long enough to look to me. His ancient eyes lock me into place and I stand frozen as he mouths. “No regrets.”

My heart starts beating again, in painful lurches. It’s crippled, twisted and weak, but it will beat for him, for his last minutes alive.

“Give ‘em hell,” I mouth back. Uri grins and then goes berserk, clawing and kicking and fighting. A demon screams in pain and drops from the herd not to move again. Still, they pull him down the stairs, scuttling with their small prize like a herd of ants carrying their catch below.

It is horrific to listen to Uri scream.

But it is worse when he stops.

EIGHTEEN

The world is dim and my ears are filled with the limitless sound of the ocean. I am painted in black; a hole gapes where my heart should be. I try to put my hand in it, but it feels solid.

“Meda!” hisses a voice, snapping the world into focus. “Meda!” I blink and the room sharpens. A shattered version of myself stares back, my reflection on the shiny ceiling. “I told you not to touch the bars!” I turn. Armand.

I vaguely remember now, throwing myself at the bars, to get to Uri.

Violent sobs fill my ears, but they aren’t mine. I’m numb. I push myself up until I’m sitting, shaking my head to drain out the sea. The sobs are Jo’s. She’s bent double on the floor of her cell, rocking in rhythm to the sad soundtrack of her own making. Chi has checked out. Even from here I can see the dead look in his eyes, the shiny tracks of tears.

Jo screams as loud as she can into the ground and that snaps Chi out of his trance. He crouches to curl his arm around Jo. She shoves him off violently, knocking him to the floor and jumps to her feet.

“Have you had enough
adventure
yet?” she screams at him.

“Jo.” He stands and reaches for her but she shoves him away, then she hits him. A wild swing he easily could have dodged.

She takes two staggering steps away from him, her palms pressed into her eyes. Then she whirls to face him again. “Is this what you wanted?” Violent tears course down her face. “He was just a kid. He never should have been here –
we
never should have been here!” She flies at him but her leg gives out and she collapses against his chest. Still, she tries to hit him again, but he wraps his arms around her – not to hold her back, but just to hold her. Her rage dissolves into tears. They run down her face, little rivulets of sadness that escape from the raging torrent flooding through her heart.

I can’t see Chi’s face; it’s buried in her hair. His broad shoulders shake. He holds her while they cry.

I stand in my cell, alone.

“He could still be alive,” Chi whispers brokenly, his arms wrapped so far around her he nearly hugs himself as well.

“He’s not,” Jo says, her voice as dead as Uri’s. Even now, she’s willing to face the hard truth.