Mark of Betrayal (20 page)

He tapped the brick wall. “Through here—this leads back out to the other passage.”

“
There’s no door, though.”

“
Not all is what it seems.” He winked, then walked to one end of the wall and slipped his hand through it.

“
What the hell?” I ran over and traced the length of his arm, following it through the wall. “It’s an illusion?”

“
Yes.” He pulled his hand back; he hadn’t put it through the wall at all—there was no wall there. It ended short on that side, but it was so dark in here that, from the way the bricks were lined up, no one would know there was an opening. “Pretty cool, hey?”

“
Hell yeah.”

“
They say de la Mort is pretty much made up of walls just like this.” He tapped the bricks with a flat palm.

“
And that’s why you want the map.”

He looked back at me, lifting the lantern a little to see my face. “Yes.”

“
Fine. But I'm telling Arthur you have it.”

“
Fine. Then I’ll tell David you drank Arthur’s blood the other day.”

I grumbled to myself. “Fine. I won't tell Arthur you have the map.”

“
I knew you’d come to your senses.” He wandered over and shone the lantern into the cage; “Can you see them?”

“
No. Are they even in there?”

“
They cluster in the back corner.” A man popped up suddenly.

“
Oh, God!” I touched a hand to my racing heart. “You scared me.”

“
Sorry, Majesty.” His ghastly old face showed in the dim light; the folds in his skin made deep shadows along his jaw and under his eyes, while his crooked nose darkened the gaps in his teeth behind a curt smile. He walked with a hunched gait, as if he’d trolled these low-roofed tunnels for too many centuries and now lacked the ability to stand tall.

“
Who are you?” I asked.

“
Caretaker. Folks call me Mr. Keeper.” He turned away and nodded into the cell. “Strange, really, how they all bunch together like that.” He held his own lantern up to the bars, and I saw them then—little faces, about twenty of them—all huddling against each other like puppies in a small box.

“
Oh, my God.” I covered my mouth.

“
Yerp. No feelings, no sense, yet they all seem to bunch up, like they’re scared.”

“
They
are
scared.” I grabbed the set of keys from the caretaker’s dirt-covered hands. “They’re children.”

“
I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the hideous old man warned. “It’s feeding day—you’ll get ripped to shreds.”

“
I'm willing to take the risk,” I said, and as I jammed the key in the lock, Mike grabbed my hand.

“
Okay, Ara, you’ve had your fun. It stops there.”

“
But, Mike?”

“
No buts.” He took the keys and hooked them over a nail on the magic wall. “Baby, even if they were capable of humanity, which they’re not, they’re hungry. Look how unreasonable you get when
you’re
hungry.”

My heart grew bigger and split open inside, filling my chest with a tight ache when I saw the gaze of the few who dared to look up; sad black eyes, like opals, set deeply into pale faces absent of innocence and animation. “How often do you feed them?”

“
Couple of humans a month,” the caretaker said.

I spun around quickly to face him. “What? That's not enough for that many children.”

“
Ara—” Mike stepped forward, reaching. “Move away from the cage.”

I sidestepped quickly, looking behind me, catching a glimpse of a grey hand stretching through the bars, just out of reach of my hair. The child hissed at me, his mouth gaping like a hollow cave; his eyes completely black and empty.

“
That was close.” I chuckled.

“
Too close. Now, move a few more steps away,” Mike said, but his eyes went wide, the world going cold all around his soul as my head jerked awkwardly to one side, my feet leaving the ground as my spine hit the bars, the wind bursting from my lungs in a short squeal. Solid little hands circled my face, ripping at my hair; I reached up to pry them away as Mike darted forward, driving his elbow between my neck and the bars. But there were too many—grabbing my skin, scratching it, their dry, sour-tasting fingers slipping into the corner of my mouth, yanking my head against the metal.

They refused to give up, fighting so hard against Mike that I felt like a sack of beans on the backseat of a minivan driving off-road. I couldn't even scream, couldn’t get a breath past the thumping in my throat.

“
Snap her neck!” the caretaker yelled over the chaos. “Snap her neck, and they’ll back off.”

My eyes shot to Mike’s; a split second passed as he played that thought out in his mind.

“
No,” I breathed.

“
Sorry, Ar—” His hands moved in slow motion; one cupping my chin, the other firmly grasping the back of my head.

I screamed, jolting forward as tiny talons dragged my feet backward through the bars. Mike dropped me, reaching out quick, catching my hair as I went down. I heard it rip as my elbows hit the dirt—felt it come lose from my scalp in a big clump that he threw to the floor by my hand.

“
It’s okay, baby. I got you.” His feet parted, his hand coming down to grab my arm, just as my body spun, slipping forward at full speed toward the cage until I wore the bars like a metal pair of underwear, driving into my flesh, threatening to rip me apart from the middle, up. I screamed out as my shoes came away, then the legs of my jeans, leaving my shins and ankles bare, cold. I couldn't kick, couldn't drag myself away from the cage. And Mike pulled, lifting my arms above my head, fighting a battle of tug-of-war with starving immortals.

“
Get back!” a thunderous voice sent a shockwave of fear over the tunnels.

Mike and I flew backward into the wall, landing in a tangled heap as my legs suddenly came free. High-pitched shrieks wailed through the air, circling around and disappearing like a banshee’s echo, the children retreating to the rear of the cell.

I struggled to my feet, with a little help from Mike, clutching the base of my neck where my hair was missing, and hobbled over to the cage.

“
You. Know! The. Rules!” the caretaker jammed his metal stick into the floor on each word.

My eyes strained against the darkness, with the torch lamps dim, lying sideways on the ground. But as I peered through the bars, wrapping my fingers around them, saw something shift under the caretaker’s stick—something no bigger than a pillow.

“
You rotten little maggot!” he growled.

“
Ah!” A boy howled, tucking himself into a ball as his ribs wore the brunt of the caretaker’s fury. He sounded like any other child, not some demonic immortal; his small voice quivered, laden with panic, calling through his hands for his mother—an instinct so human it broke my heart.

“
Stop it,” I screeched, dropping to my knees, reaching in through the bars. “Stop hurting him.”

Mike landed in the dirt beside me, grabbing my shoulders. “Baby, stay back.”

“
No.” I tried to get up—to go to them. “Let me help them.”

“
Baby, you can't. It’s okay. It’s all right.”

“
No. It’s not.” I grabbed his shirt, hearing the desperate shrieks of that child became nothing but a whimper. “He’s just a little boy.”

“
Mate,” Mike called out. “That’s enough!”

“
I decide when it’s enough.” The caretaker jammed the stick down again, and this time, the child didn’t even move.

My throat trapped my breath, tears coating my eyes. I felt Mike shift, felt him go to stand but stop. Then, he took a larger breath and yelled in his thunderous cop voice, “I said that’s enough. Leave the boy alone!”

The caretaker stopped mid-thrust and groaned. “As you wish.”

From the border of the shadows, a hand came out and grabbed the limp boy’s wrist, dragging him into the darkest corner of the cell, leaving a trail of blood behind in the last dregs of light from the lantern.

Mike hauled me away from the bars, and I heard the great, groaning creak of the door slamming shut.

“
How could you?” I wiped my face, looking up at the haggard old man, sobbing so hard I had hiccups.

“
How could
I
?” he said. “My lady, if I had not, you would have no scalp.”

I jumped to my feet. “There are other ways to deal with children! This is
not
acceptable.”

“
Baby—”

“
No.” I shoved Mike off me. “I won’t stand for this.”

“
The boy will heal, Ara. He’s immortal, remember?”

“
How can you say that, Mike?” I clenched my teeth tight enough to taste blood. “How can you think this is okay?”

“
I don't. Not even a little bit. But there’s nothing you can do for them, baby. They can't be taught. They live by instinct—like animals.”

I shoved him again when he tried to hug me. “Even animals deserve better than this.”

“
And what do you propose we do?” asked the caretaker.

“
Try. I don't know. But we have to try.”

“
Come here.” Mike took my shoulders and turned me to face him. “You're shaking.”

Of course I was, but I couldn’t feel it. I felt only numb—the beating of that boy repeating itself in my mind—blending with the horrible thought that it probably wasn’t the first time. And for what? Probably to satiate the caretaker’s own wicked needs to feel like a master.

Hatred for him burned through me, coming out in a piercing gaze. “How often are you in charge of these children?”

“
Only during feeding times,” the caretaker said. “Then, they’re on their own.”

“
How long have you been their keeper?”

“’
Bout—” the man paused, taking a breath, “—two hundred years, give or take.”

“
Well—” I walked away from Mike, rubbing the ache of torn hair at the back of my neck. “As of now, you're fired.”

“
What?” both Mike and the man said at the same time.

“
You heard me,” I said. “Mike? See Mr. Keeper to a new position in the manor, would you? Perhaps toilet cleaning.”

“
Ar, come back, baby,” he called after me.

“
No!” I walked away, barely aware that Mike hadn’t followed, unable to see but in no state to care. I felt my way along the wall in the darkness, tripping when I found the stairs suddenly, then clambered up, using my hands to feel the curves of each one. I have no idea how long I climbed those stairs for, but it felt like forever, moving inch by inch, one at a time, on my hands and knees until my head hit a wooden panel—the door.

I looked back into the darkness behind me; Mike’s torch was nowhere to be seen. He probably went the other way.

When I pushed the door open and landed in an exhausted heap in the calming but dim light, I’d never been so happy to breathe warm air in all of my life. I laid on the slightly turned-up rug, my arms out wide, letting my heart beat its erratic tale until it eventually calmed and my breathing finally slowed—allowing me to feel the pain of my broken flesh from the scratches the children left.

“
Okay, I’ll go check on her.” Mike’s scuffing steps came up the stairs; I jumped to my feet and darted behind the curtain. “Okay, mate. See ya later.” He slipped his phone in his pocket as he surfaced, then stood for a second and looked around; I stayed hidden, peering out through a small gap. “Ar?”

I held my breath.

“
Ar, you here, baby?” He shrugged, then walked away, closing the throne room door behind him, but left the secret passage open.

Two decisions weighed on me; I looked at the light coming in through a crack under the Throne Room doors, then back at the drafty depths of the cellblock. And despite everything that hurt, I pushed the curtains aside and ran into the darkness again, closing the door behind me.

I needed to make sure the children were all right.

Navigating downward through the dark was trickier than it had been upward. I sat down and felt for the ledge of each step with my toes, then slid my bottom onto it, using my hands to acknowledge the step behind me.

When I finally reached the base again, I let out the breath I’d been holding; the gentle vocalisation of that relief sat in the cool air like a helium balloon—no echo, not even a light acoustic reverberation—just a dense, flat sound, lingering right in front of me. And I know it should have scared me—all of it; the dark, the chill, the feel of…something down here—something that was lurking like a creep walking behind me on a dark, empty street, matching my footsteps exactly. I felt like, at any minute, I’d turn around and see his face. And screaming wouldn’t be enough. Running wouldn’t save me. I’d reach the end of the tunnel, feel for the gap in that brick wall, and it would be gone. I would have to face him, alone—not knowing what he wanted or what terrors he had lived through that made him compassionless—able to do…unspeakable things to young girls. But none of those fears were enough to stop me planting my hand to the wall and following it along—toward those children. They needed me more than I needed to feel to safe. I just kept imagining them in that cell, hugging themselves for comfort after being beaten for trying to eat. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. I just wanted to wrap them all up in my arms and tell them it would be all right. Then
make
it all right. Words weren't enough. Promises, no good. It was time to take action.