Cogling (22 page)

The ogre guffawed. “He don’t hear.”

A few running steps would take her to his side. “Harrison, wake up!” How could she be so close, yet unable to reach? Tears burned her eyes. She would hold him against her, kiss his forehead, promise him safety.

Yet she was just as trapped as he was. Odds bobs to it all.

“Harry!” Her voice cracked on his name as the ogre yanked her down the hallway. “No, stop!”

The ogre dragged her around corners and down stairs until they exited the factory. He had to turn sideways to fit through the door. His bulk beneath his clothes jiggled, and his double chin swayed.

“Bloody humans,” her captor muttered. “World will be fine an’ dandy once the lot o’ you are out of our cities.”

Edna would run back into the factory and stab Mother Sambucus through the eye with her own needle. She would sweep Harrison away before they could sew him together.

The ogre shoved her forward and the rug tightened. Frustrated tears stabbed her eyes. Her foot sank into muck, making her stumble. Her heart beat so hard it ached. A young hag stepped out from behind a willow tree. Fog floated around the trunk. She wore a white dress with a silk robe overtop. It rippled in the breeze around her long legs. Something about her face reminded Edna of someone she’d seen, but before she could place where, the hag pointed at Edna and laughed.

“Love,” the young hag purred before darting into the mist.

If hags swarmed the factory, then Edna would have to get back to the Nix. They’d helped Ike’s mother. She could convince them to help now. First, she had to get away.

Through the trees, a three-story mansion drifted into view. Vines hung from the steeply sloping roof. Black-tinted glass glared in the windows. The hag in white, who’d before been beside the willow, stood on the veranda. She pointed again before running through the door.

Her giggle wafted into the damp air. “Love, hate.”

The rug, burning on the inside, kept Edna’s arms frozen. She couldn’t turn away from the mansion, couldn’t escape from the hags and ogres, or save anyone. She couldn’t go into the building; she might never escape. Only the Saints knew what awaited within.

The ogre dragged Edna up the stairs, his breathing labored. A soot demon crawled up a pillar to hang upside down from the veranda’s ceiling, hissing at them. It twitched its tail before winding it around its potbelly. Edna struggled harder against the rug, but it tightened. Her lungs throbbed, too constricted to breathe deep. The evil would break through her soon.

Once inside, they faced a wide staircase leading to the second story. The ogre tugged her up, each step creaking. Filth clung to the walls of peeling white paint, cobwebs in the corners and grime on the railing. A miserable place to wallow and perish.

He took her to a door covered in black mold and waved his hand. It opened before he could touch it, and he shoved Edna inside. The door shut and clicked; a key ground in the lock. The rug unwound from around her and she lay still. Freed, only to face a larger cell.

Edna sat up, rubbing the ache from her forehead. The room contained pictures of pressed flowers and gilded mirrors. A dresser stood against the left wall, a wardrobe on the right, and across the door, beneath the room’s only window, lay a bed. Faded blankets heaped around a young woman. She was curled into a ball with her back against the window. Dark hair fell in tangled curls around a sooty face. Dirt streaked her blue silk gown. She wasn’t gray, though.

“Are…” Edna coughed when her voice squeaked. “Are you the Hemlock?”

Tears made glossy trails on the young woman’s cheeks; her chin tipped downward. Matted hair hid her eyes.

“So you’re a human, like me,” Edna added, in case the girl thought she was a hag. Edna stepped on the hem of her dress when she stood and tore the material. The sound filled the room.

The young woman moved with what might have been a shake or a nod.

“Ike said the Hemlock’s a human girl meant to marry an ogre.” Edna paused beside the bed, afraid to touch the other female in case she hurt somewhere. She twirled her prayer beads for something to occupy her fingers.

“So I can have special babies.” The young woman’s voice croaked as if she hadn’t spoken in days. “She said I was a descendant of the first families. Father’s one of the king’s lords.”

“Ike told me that. About the first families. He’s a descendant too. Of the hag line.”

“Then he’s a bloody monster too.” She curled into a tighter ball.

Edna wrinkled her nose. The young woman might’ve been injured and scared, but she didn’t need to throw her anger at Ike. “He’s trying to help me save my brother.”

“Mother Sambucus tricked me,” the young woman snapped.

“We can work together to escape. We can save Ike and Harrison.”

“Give up your false hopes.” She sat up and squinted at Edna. “
You
. Did my father send you?”

Edna put her hand to her throat.

Lady Rachel.

Do not walk away from me.

hat are you doing here?” Edna pressed her hand over the pocket watch in her sash. She still had her clue for whenever she met the king, and her link to Harrison.

Rachel scowled. “Having a tea party. Don’t be stupid, Ellie.”

Edna recoiled. “You were home at your birthday.”

“Seems Mother Sambucus was waiting for me. Apparently they want to keep me here breathing swamp gas and magic until I mate with a bloody monster.”

She hadn’t joined the hags then, but Rachel sounded too resigned.

Edna grabbed a lamp off the dresser and threw it at the window. The glass case shattered, raining over the bed, and the brass base bounced off the glass. Oil trickled into the mattress.

“Oh, good, we’re free,” Rachel sneered.

“Hush, you’re not helping.”

A board creaked in the hallway. Edna held her breath. Then the footsteps trailed away. Edna ran to the door and pounded on it. “Let me out! You can’t keep us in here.”

“You radiate with your brilliant ideas,” Rachel muttered.

“The hags won’t free us; they want us trapped.” She rested her forehead against the wood, her chest heaving with pants. “If they don’t want to listen, we will have to outsmart them.”
Edna stomped to the bed and climbed up beside Rachel to peer out the window.

“Mother Sambucus told me she’d replaced my body with a cogling.” Rachel shrugged. “Whatever that means.”

Edna clasped her shaking hands in her lap. She pictured Harrison huddled around the machinery, hope fading as the powers ate through his mind, like what had happened to the little girl with glazed eyes who was forced to grow wings. “My brother was only a little gray. I still have time to save him.”

Rachel lay down. “I’ve tried everything to get out of here. Nothing works.”

“There’s
always
something else.” Edna climbed off the bed to study the door. She ran her fingertip over the keyhole. “Maybe we can find something to poke in there, like a nail.”

“You were never outspoken before.”

“My brother’s in danger. I’m not going to bow to you,” Edna snapped. “I never even liked you.”

Rachel sat up, her bloodshot eyes wide. “What do you mean, Ellie?”

“You were my mistress, but you were always stuck-up and rude. It doesn’t matter if you fire me.” She’d be fired anyway for shirking her duties at Waxman Estate. “And my
name
is Edna!”

“You’re a cruel, wretched thing. You belong on the streets,” Rachel spat.

Of all the people Edna could be stuck with, it had to be her. Even Teddy, the butler, would be preferable. He would try to fight back instead of whining.

Edna studied the hinges on the door. She pried her fingernail beneath one, but it didn’t loosen. The evil tickled her skin; it could destroy everything, but she might not be able to hold it back if it went that far. Did she dare risk it for Harrison? Untamed, it might hurt him. Edna picked at the lock. “Maybe I can break the knob and reach inside. Odds bobs, I don’t know how it works.”

Edna pictured Ike slumped in a dungeon, soot demons running across his damp legs as he rocked, moaning.

“It’s my fault Ike’s trapped. I couldn’t save Harrison and I can’t save Ike.”

Ike sagged against the wall; blackness swarmed the corners of his vision as dizziness overpowered his mind. He reprimanded himself for using too much energy to create a key out of wood chips. His head lolled to the side, resting against his shoulder while his heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears.

The door to his cell opened.

A foot crunched on the broken slivers of wood on the floor. Adrenaline fought against his fatigue enough for his eyelids to lift. Light drifted into the room from gas lamps in the hall, illuminating a woman.

“I’m here to question you.” Her hands rested behind her back. He dragged his eyes away from her naked bosom.

“The Confident uniform hasn’t changed.” Ike blinked in the light.

She stopped in front of him. The gold bands on her forearms glistened. “You could have been one of us. A Confident.”

Ike shut his eyes, too weary to keep his head lifted. “I could never be an assassin.”

“You had training.”

He sighed. “I don’t work well with blood.”

“Pity.”

He opened his eyes to see her crouch, and she lifted one hand to him. A dagger glistened against her leather glove. He recognized the runes engraved on the silver blade.

“That’s to kill a traitor,” he said.

“Are you one of them?”

He tried to see her expression, but the upper half of her face hid behind a white mask. “That depends on which side you’re on.”

“You’ve had enough training to answer well.” She smoothed her other hand across her white silk skirt. The customary outfit of the Confident ranks included only the skirt, mask, armbands, and leather gloves. Armor runes were tattooed across her bronze skin in blue ink.

“What do you want?”

“To question you. Perhaps you weren’t paying attention.”

“You’re going to torture me for answers?” He nodded at the dagger. “Confidents don’t question. You assassinate.”

She shoved the dagger into the wooden floor between his legs and picked up his makeshift key. “Did you do this?”

“The questions begin.” Ike leaned against the wall. He couldn’t feel his hands anymore, his arms shackled above his head.