Mark of Betrayal (22 page)

I wiped my face and ran forward, grabbing the bars, and shook them. But the door was stuck fast, trapping me in this cage with partially decomposed bodies, the scent enough to make me want to stick my fingers down my throat just be sure I hadn't swallowed any vestiges of rotten flesh. And somewhere under my fear of what was real, what was right outside this door, dangerous enough to rip me apart, I also wondered if the troubled ghosts of those who’d been killed so violently here haunted these cells.

But another thought occurred to me then; even if I did get this door open, how was I to know if the damned weren't just waiting for me—hoping I’d be smart enough to escape, so they could chase me, warm my blood with fear, then tear off my clothes too, and drink my blood. And maybe I wouldn't die from that; maybe I could be regenerated, but I wasn't too excited about being ripped apart.

Weighing options up in my thoughts, I paid no mind to the sound of a soft breeze, until it started to take shape, form into what I thought were words. I stopped thinking, my whole body going still as I listened. But the noise stopped, too.

Maybe it was just the wind. I had no way of knowing which sounds were normal down here, and which weren't. It made me think more about the Damned—how frightening it must be for new children to come here, be thrown away, out of sight, out of mind, never to be seen or heard of again.

I stopped thinking, my ears pricked; the sound of the whisper spreading through the darkness. I tried to focus on it, make out words, but it stopped. After a few seconds of silence, I walked slowly forward, seeing what I thought was an outline of a rock on the floor, and sunk to my knees in front of the bars. There hadn't been any rocks out there in corridor before. I wondered what that was, and as I looked closer, the object sharpened into a boot. A big, heavy, black boot. Mike’s boot.

The sound of my shock echoed around me in a breathy gasp; I covered my mouth, trying not to squeal, but the air came back into my throat in a quivering, high-pitched whimper. “Mike?”

I reached through the bars, my pale white arm stretching as far as it would go, yet not far enough.

“
Mike?” I said again, yanking my hand back, checking the space outside the bars for a small hand or set of teeth that might grab me.

All was still. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. But I could feel things around me—feel eyes on me, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. It didn't matter, though. Even if the Damned grabbed my hand and ripped my arm off as soon as I reached for Mike again, I still had to try—to see if I could wake him. Right now, with them out there and me in here, Mike was kind of my only hope.

After another few breaths, each one building confidence, I reached out slowly through the bars again, my shoulder pressing past the limits, my chin going with it, making my fingers longer. I held my breath, biting my teeth together, and finally touched the tip of his boot, celebrating a quiet moment of victory before getting up on my knees a little more. I sent my hand back out into enemy territory, the top of my arm sore, burning from the force of the metal, and this time, my nails caught the sole of his boot. I tugged a little, but my fingers slipped, falling to the ground as the shoe disappeared, leaving a trail behind in the dirt where something dragged Mike’s body deeper into the darkness.

I jerked my hand back, tucking it into my ribs as I landed against the wall, squeaking to myself. They were out there; the damned were out in the world, and they had Mike. I couldn't see him, or hear him breathing—tried to listen for the sound of vampires feeding, but it was like they’d just disappeared, locked me in and thrown away the key.

I rubbed a flat palm across my hairline, then looked up, eyes bright with new hope. That’s it. The key. Maybe it was still in the lock.

I got to my knees and sifted around in the dirt before heading to the door. It had to be there.

But my swift movement stirred something, woke something that had clearly been sleeping—something still in the cage, with me. It groaned, becoming a solid figure as it creeped out of the shadows, moving by its hands, like a dog with no legs, dragging them loosely behind it.

I sat very still, covering my mouth to block the scent of fresh vampire blood and urine coming off its body like heat.

Whatever it was hadn't seen me yet, but it would smell me soon enough.

My thoughts left my mouth in a whispering curse, and the thing turned its head, looking right this way; its dark eyes fixing on mine, growing wider inside its head as it hissed, shifting direction quickly, snaking toward me.

“
Shit!” I jumped to my feet, leaped for the bars and climbed, hooking my foot in a hold on the second rung. But it slipped, sending my body into a spin, my toes nearly touching the ground again. I quickly glanced back at the child, but it was gone, leaving only a trail where it’d dragged its limp little body through the dirt, toward me—its next meal. My eyes darted across the floor, the world freezing around me when I spotted it, less than an arms-length away.

“
No!” I squealed, pulling myself up higher, clutching the bars in a bone-white grip. “Mike! Get up. Please, Mike!” I grabbed the top of the cage, angling my head away from the stone roof, my shoulders hunched against it. When I looked back down, a small hand shot up at me, just missing my foot as I jerked away. The child growled in the back of its throat, the sound coming out through caged teeth, like it was smiling.

“
Mike! Please!” I screamed over at him, aiming my voice down, as if mere volume could wake the dead. But my breath stopped short of my lips when several heads lifted from the aura of his body, smearing blood across their mouths. And under the dead silence, as each eye turned to find me, every fear I ever had—every creature under the bed, every man in my closet, became apparent in that one breath.

If I stayed here, my fingers wrapped around the bars, toes edged out into their world, they’d grab me. But if I dropped down—back into the cage, the demon at my feet would own me—rip me apart.

My limbs went tight with tension. I’d never been good at decision-making. But they were closing in—slowly walking toward the cage, while the demon under me fastened its fingers around the bars, pulling itself closer, its legs dangling behind it like dead meat.

“
Get off!” I thrust my foot into its head, feeling its hair under my toes.

It went down, its tiny hand shooting up, catching my ankle.

“
Please. No.”

“
Get back in your cage!” A thunderous voice broke through the darkness, and like a dragon scorching the night sky, hunting for its young, the children shrieked, their entourage breaking apart, forcing the cage door open beside me.

I fell to the floor with a thud so hard my teeth knocked together inside my mouth, and the child’s hand locked around my foot. There was nothing to grab—no time to roll over and crawl away; it pulled me closer as the chaos of bodies moved past us, and opened its mouth, its tongue rolling out over my toes.

But my foot came loose suddenly, sending me, with all my fight, tumbling back on my hands—the keeper’s stick coming down, spearing the demon’s shoulder. It screeched, cupping its neck, scrambling around to find ground with its hands.

I couldn’t watch. I didn't want to see this again; I curled up on the floor, hands over my head, knees tucked to my chest, and cried.

“
You foolish little girl.” The keeper grabbed my wrist and dragged me across the dirt—hooking his toes around the cage door to close it as he shoved me into the bloody heap that was my best friend.

“
Mike?” I whimpered, rising up on my hands to touch his face. “Mike. Please be okay.”

But he wasn't okay. His chest, his neck, his whole shirt was drenched in the sticky, thick paste of redness they’d drained from his veins. I shook his shoulders, slapping his cheek, listening for breath.

“
Do something!” I yelled at the keeper.

“
Nuttin’ to be done now, missy. You got what you came ‘ere for.”

“
And what’s that?” I spun around to look at him, spite littering my upturned lip.

“
A lesson.” He turned away.

I was about to find the nearest rock and ditch it at his head, but Mike grumbled, his hand moving to grasp his neck.

“
Mike?” I sat back on my heels, giving him space.

“
Argh. You—” he groaned, rolling up. “Never. Listen.”

“
I'm so sorry, Mike. Are you okay?”

“
Is that a joke?” he said, thumbing a massive gash on his elbow. “I’ve just attended a three-course meal, Ara, and I was the bloody main.”

“
I'm so, so sorry.”

I was about to say
I should’ve listened to you
, but Mike cut in with “No, you’re not” and stumbled to his feet, leaving me on the ground to look up at him. “You’re bloody lucky those Damned were just fed, or I’d be in the regeneration chamber right now.” He winced, wiping his jaw. “That really freakin hurts.”

“
So?” The keeper looked down at me, leaning on his metal stick. “Learned any valuable lessons today, Your Royal Pain in the Arse?”

“
Hey!” I scoffed. “You can't call me that.”

“
I’ll allow it this time,” Mike said, shaking his obviously very irritating sore arm. “After all, he was right about you.”

“
Right?”

“
Yes, right—that you’d come back down here and let those Damned out,” Mike said.

“
Why do you think I left the keys on the hook?” The caretaker pointed to the wall.

“
You set me up?”

“
Baby, I'm sorry, but you always have to learn the hard way.”

“
You mean…?” I clambered to my feet, using the wall to steady myself. “You knew they’d do that?”

“
Of course, Ara. Did you think I was stupid?” Mike shook his head and clapped the keeper on the shoulder, like they were best buds. “We had you figured before you even came down here today. The doors were barricaded at the other end so the Damned wouldn’t get out.”

“
And, what, you were just gonna let them rip me apart?”

He shrugged, half laughing, half folding over in agony, propping his hands to his knees. “If that’s what it takes.”

“
Hu!”

“
What? You’d heal.”

“
Unless they ate my heart or took my head off!”

He stood up, wiping a hand across his nose. “I was watching for that.”

“
What, you mean you were conscious?”

“
Yep. Ate onion this morning and everything, just to make my blood less appealing.” He rubbed the gaping wound on his neck. “Had extra blood, too, so I’d heal faster.”

“
You asshole.”

“
You’ll thank me one day,” he said smugly and picked up a lantern. “You needed to see that people generally do things for a reason, Ara. Just because you don't agree, doesn't make it wrong.”

Mute with bewilderment and disappointment, I looked back at the children. “I really thought they were—”

“
I know what you thought.” Mike wrapped a heavy arm over my neck; he smelled of blood mixed with dirt and sweat, and, now I thought about it—onion. “Exactly what the last person who talked to them thought, too—and now she’s dead.”

“
I thought you were making that up—to scare me.”

“
Why would I do that, Ara? Honestly.” He shook his head again—his new favourite move when it came to me. “She was all too real, baby. Human. Not lucky enough to be like us. She didn’t even get a
chance
to heal.”

I looked at the bloodied mess of Mike’s face, and felt absolutely no pity for him. “Well, you deserve every scratch you got.” I folded my arms and stormed past him. “Jerk!”

“
It was worth it,” he called after me.

I stopped. “Why? So you and your pal there had another chance to beat those children.”

Mike grabbed my arm, appearing beside me at vamp speed. “No, Ara—it was the only way to teach you a lesson. Maybe now you might start to realise that, sometimes, what your heart tells you, and what’s right, are two different things.”

“
My heart tells me they wouldn’t have hurt me if
you
weren’t here.” I poked his chest. “It’s you and that…that
thing
they’re afraid of.” I pointed at the keeper. I meant the stick, but calling him a
thing
served my point, too.

Mike huffed loudly and dropped his arms to his sides. “There’s just no getting through to you, is there?”

“
Not when it comes to what I believe is right and wrong, Mike.”

“
Ara, you’re a little girl, for God’s sake. You wouldn’t know the complexities of right and wrong if they came up and ripped your hair out.”

“
There are no complexities, Michael! Black and white. That’s it. And the black of it is, those
Damned
are
children
.” I pointed a straight arm at their cage. “And the white of it is, I'm going to help them.”

“
And what are you gonna do?” He leaned forward, towering over me. “Let them loose? Give them a bedroom and a dolly to play with?”

“
I don't know. But one way or another, I will find a way to make their lives better. I know what they’re capable of now, but that changes nothing.”