The Dawn of Dae (Dae Portals Book 1) (21 page)

The staircase was in worse shape than I thought. How had anyone managed to carry me down without the whole thing collapsing? The support beams were beyond salvation, riddled with holes from termites and caked in mold. I didn’t want to touch any of it, let alone use it as a weapon.

I had flitted from home to home in the fringe like everyone else, but at least working for Kenneth, I had avoided living in squalor for too long. I stared up at the ceiling. It wouldn’t take much to bring the entire structure down on my head or light it on fire sabotaging the wiring.

I probably wouldn’t even have to sabotage it. All I’d have to do was huff, puff, and blow the whole place down—and catch it on fire at the same time.

Destroying the place wouldn’t let me escape alive, but the thought tempted me. I sighed, wrapped the blanket around me and secured it like I would a bath towel, leaving my shoulders and arms exposed so I could work.

I looked worse than a burn victim. The only spot of unblemished skin was where Rob had touched me. It was also one of the few places that didn’t hurt like hell.

The thought of the dae depressed me. When I had met Rob, I had also met Colby, and I still had no idea what had happened to my roommate. Had it been incinerated by Arthur’s fire? I had a faint recollection of hearing its voice before I had knocked myself out.

Even if Colby had escaped, had it been picked up by one of the elite? I didn’t want my macaroni and cheese monstrosity to become a test subject.

I couldn’t afford to worry about Rob or Colby yet. I had to escape again. My anger at being a captive energized me, motivating me enough to get to work.

Under normal circumstances, dismantling a staircase was noisy work, but most of the boards were so rotted they crumbled apart in my hands, leaving the underlying structure beneath. It withstood my abuse a little better, and once I had every step I could reach dismantled, I sought out the most likely candidate for my weapon. Whoever had built the house had done a shoddy job with even shoddier materials. Instead of normal two-by-fours, they used one-by-threes for the frame of each step. The main beams weren’t any better.

A small board studded with rusty nails would still hurt, although the thinner, narrower planks meant I’d only get one or two solid hits before the damned thing broke apart from the abuse.

A shitty weapon was better than no weapon at all. Clenching my teeth, I went to work prying off one of the sturdier boards. I had to resort to digging out one of the metal elbow brackets so I could work it between the board and the main frame of the stairs. The wood creaked and protested the abuse, but after careful leveraging, I pulled it free.

One nail remained embedded in my makeshift club; the rest either snapped on the way out or had deteriorated inside the wood. There was something satisfying about the way the rust flaked off it. It didn’t look sharp, but it looked wicked enough to please me. I’d make up for its blunt, crooked state by swinging the damned thing as hard as I could.

When someone came down
 
the steps, I’d be ready to smack them in the face until they stopped moving. Then I’d take their clothes and leave.

Fair was fair, after all, and someone had taken my things. I wasn’t all that attached to what I wore, but I had earned it with my sweat, hard effort, and by dealing with the devil himself. I wanted to giggle, but afraid of drawing attention from upstairs, I clapped my hand over my mouth.

Indulging in a fit of hysterics wouldn’t help me. All I could do was rest and wait. Until someone came or I had the strength to make it out of the basement on my own, I was stuck.

Sitting beneath the staircase was likely the safest spot for me, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting in mold and rotten wood. I took my club to the other side of the basement to wait until someone came for me—or I figured out some way to bust out of my makeshift prison on my own.

While I had a plan, my traitorous body ruined my chances of success. The basement’s chill seeped into my bones and stiffened my muscles. Exhaustion fogged my head, and while I had a weapon, I lacked the strength and will to lift it, let alone club someone to death with it. I stared at my hand. What little of my skin wasn’t streaked with red had turned a washed-out gray.

I didn’t need to be a doctor to realize I was in a lot of trouble. Even though I knew it, I couldn’t force myself to care enough to try to do anything about it. What could I do? I doubted I could crawl across the basement let alone make my way up the steps I had so thoroughly trashed in my efforts to make a weapon I could no longer use.

Incredulous laughter drew my attention to the staircase as Arthur worked his way down, balancing on his toes. Four steps from the bottom, he hopped to the floor and dropped into a crouch. He remained still, his attention on the debris I had left scattered on the concrete.

With weary detachment, I recognized my chance to act, and sighing my resignation, I let it slip away from me. I should have done something other than lean against the wall and tremble.

At least I didn’t hurt; the chill brought with it a welcomed numbness.

Arthur strode towards me, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets and stared down at me with a smile. “Stubborn lass, aren’t you? Made a last stand before your spirit broke, did you? Still, you lasted longer than I thought you would. I thought an elite’s pet would break fast, but you surprise me.”

How long had I been in the warehouse? How long had I been languishing in the basement? I couldn’t tell from my burns and rashes; the allergies sometimes took two or three weeks to clear up when they were really bad.

I tightened my grip on my makeshift club, fixing my glare on Arthur’s steel-toed boots. The thick leather would protect him from the nail, but the denim covering his calves would be easier for me to penetrate.

It wouldn’t hurt him much.

“Don’t have anything to say? No questions?” At Arthur’s puzzled tone, I lifted my gaze. The dae frowned, and his eyes glowed fire bright.

I had questions, but instead of asking, I scraped together what strength I had, whipped my board in an arc, and cracked it into Arthur’s shins. The nail caught in his jeans, and anger over my captivity gave me the strength to yank until it tore through denim.

Arthur howled, jerking out of my reach. The plank slipped out of my hands. I probably had moldy splinters to show for my effort, but if I did, I couldn’t feel them.

I couldn’t feel much of anything at all. The stench of sulfur intensified and choked me. I wheezed in my effort to breathe. My hand fell limp onto my lap, and I was aware of my fingers twitching.

“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” Arthur knelt down and rolled his jeans up. I hadn’t done anything to his right leg, but his left had a bloody gash stretching from his calf across his shin. His blood was orange, and when it dripped to the concrete, it smoked.

Life really wasn’t fair. His blood could scorch concrete. I scowled at the spot. All my blood did was leak out, leaving me helpless.

I must have said something, because Arthur’s eyes widened. Either he didn’t care I still had my stick or realized I wasn’t much of a threat, because he stepped to me and knelt. When he reached for my neck, I recoiled.

“It really does hurt like hell when I touch you, doesn’t it?”

The satisfaction in Arthur’s voice pissed me off. He was
happy
it hurt?

“Fuck you,” I hissed.

“You’re a tough woman. I like wild spirits, reminds me of home. Nothing is quite as beautiful as a well-earned scar, and you have a lifetime of them branded on you. I had no idea you’d be such a prize when I took you.” Arthur rested his arms on his knees and smiled at me. “Yes, I’d like to fuck you, ma’am.”

I blushed, grateful for my rashes and burns since he probably wouldn’t notice his words had an affect on me. I couldn’t exactly tell him sleeping with him would probably be the last thing I ever did. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Pity. We could have had a lot of fun together, you and I. Perhaps I can change your mind.”

“In your dreams, maybe. It’s not happening in this life, that’s for sure.”

Arthur pouted. “Don’t be like that, ma’am.”

“You kidnapped me. Twice.” Flexing my hands, I considered whether or not I had enough left in me to grab the plank and tear another hole in him.

I underestimated the number of brain cells rattling around in Arthur’s head; he was on his feet in a blur, and with a soft laugh, he kicked my plan and its rusty nail far out of my reach. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you want with me? I’m a nobody.” If I wasn’t one by now, I would be if the elite believed, even for a moment, I had anything to do with Arthur’s outburst at the college. I didn’t have much faith in them assuming my innocence.

To them, I was smart, ambitious, and had plenty of reasons to turn against them.

“Would’ve been a shame to kill a sweet girl like you. Couldn’t let them keep you, seein’ what you know and all that work you’ve been doin’ for them. It’s not your fault you’ve been brainwashed. We’ll fix you, don’t you worry none. Come along all nice and quiet, and we’ll take good care of you. Get you into some nice, comfortable clothes—pretty clothes, better than those cast-offs they had you in. It’s a nice deal.”

Arthur thought I was brainwashed? My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t force a single sound out. In a way, he was right. I had used the system to my advantage to escape the fringe and to build a future without Kenneth Smith and his drugs.

If all of my effort was the result of brainwashing, I’d accept it readily enough. I closed my mouth with a clack of my teeth. The fact I couldn’t feel anything when I should’ve been in pain—and a lot of it—was a sign my ticket was already half-punched. Fighting Arthur would speed the process up with little chance of my survival.

The thought of cooperating with him, however, left me queasy.

I really couldn’t do anything the easy way, could I? I sighed, and knowing I was making a fatal error, I snapped, “Take your offer and shove it up your ass.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I spared your life.”

Maybe he had spared me, but I had been responsible for Colby, and the thought of my macaroni-and-cheese roommate steeled my resolve. “You expect me to be grateful? You’re the psycho who lit the place on fire.”

“I couldn’t let them take the kids.”

“Well, you’ve probably gotten them all killed now. Did you really think the elite would let those who can stand up against them actually live? All you did was ensure the elite know every last one of you is a risk to them. Those kids? They could be useful. You? If you aren’t with them, you’re against them, and you’re a threat now.” I wasn’t all that cold, but I shivered as though I had taken a dunking in the Chesapeake during the winter.

Death came to everyone, and I’d meet mine with defiance.

“What would you know about the fringe?” he snapped back at me.

“Where do you think I came from? Not too bright, are you? I was one of those kids, once. I got lucky—or not, as the case is. Bach studies student until you came around. Thanks for ruining that for me. Couldn’t just let yourself take the fall, could you?”

Venting my anger didn’t help; despair swept in and took its place.

Giving up would save me a lot of misery, at least in the short term. It’d buy me some time. But would the elite believe me when I claimed I was a victim to Arthur’s scheme?

Probably not.

“You sure have a nasty mouth. Am I really supposed to think you’re one of us?” Arthur laughed. “You talk too pretty to be one of us.”

“Think what you want. Take your offer and shove it.”

“You’ll rot down here.”

“Then let me rot in peace.” Maybe with some time, I could recover enough to make my escape.

Arthur leaned towards me, reaching out to take hold of my chin. Although the sensation was faint, his touch burned. He lifted my head and forced me to look him in the eyes. “What makes you think you can refuse?”

“I’d rather die than help you.”

“You will,” he promised.

Chapter Fourteen

My persistent refusal to cooperate infuriated Arthur enough he burned the staircase to a crisp. He made it halfway up the steps before his temper ignited the rotten wood and himself. Unlike Claudia, when the flames consumed him, he retained his life and his human shape for all he was fire and fire alone. He floated through the blackened hole where the steps had once been.