Lifeblood
Page 49
Dior screams and tries to wrench from my hold.
She’s in pain? How? We’re not touching.
The oven mitt allows a slippery grip, and I almost panic. If we’re separated, she’ll be flung from the jellyair, and she’ll die. I yank Clay against me and spin toward her, using him as a shield between us.
“Grab her,” I shout.
He obeys, and we land in the Urals...in Prynne Asylum. Together. Success!
Dior collapses, and Gingerbread licks her face, offering comfort. She whimpers, Penumbra writhing under her skin. I suck in a breath. Penumbra. Of course! It reacted to the Light used to transport us.
The same Light inside of me.
“I’m so sorry.” I wonder if manna will help her or make her worse. After the way she reacted to me? Probably worse. “Penum—you had a bad reaction to the Light.” If we have to move her again, we’ll knock her out first.
“Are you all right?” Clay pats her back.
“I’m fine,” she rasps. “I’ll be fine. The pain is fading.”
He straightens and looks around. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Ten.”
“No one will ever believe we’d come back here.” Too many people avoid their fears. I face them. Only by looking fear in the eye do we see it for what it really is: a coward afraid of us. When we fight back, fear flees.
“What is this place? It’s creepy.” Dior eases up. “And freezing.”
The fortress once used to torture kids into doing whatever their guardians desired is now a skeleton of its former self. The walls are cracked, the floors bloodstained.
“It’ll warm up once we get you settled in the staff’s quarters, where you’ll have all the comforts of home. As for what it is...it’s a nut house. Or a whack shack, according to Killian. Happiness once came here to die.”
She shudders and leans into Gingerbread, seeking more comfort and warmth. “Did you live here?”
“Clay and I both did for well over a year.”
“Is this where you died, then?” she asks softly.
“Close,” Clay says, but he doesn’t sound upset. “I escaped and fell off a cliff a few miles away.”
He’s clearly satisfied with his new life, and with his words, a weight lifts from my shoulders. The burden I’d carried for choosing to save Sloan first.
“I died in LA,” I tell her, and leave it at that. No reason to outline all the gory details.
“So...what happened here?” Dior asks, her features pinched. “Exactly.”
“Torture, and a lot of it,” Clay says. “Whips. Chains. There’s even a rack.”
“That’s it. Get me out of here!” she demands.
“We are horrible salesmen,” I mumble to Clay. To Dior, I say, “Don’t worry. You’re going to make this place a sanctuary, where victory begins. Besides, the asylum’s reputation gives you an extra layer of protection. No one will visit the place.”
“True.” She breathes a weary sigh. “All right. I’ll stay.”
“Excellent.” I should probably feel something as I look around. There are the tables where I ate slop. The halls where I was stripped and whipped and dragged, leered at by guards.
There, Archer chatted me up about Troika. There, Killian winked at me.
Those boys...they were the catalyst I desperately needed, helping me transition from victim to victor.
Dior stands on unsteady legs, and we make our way to the staff quarters. Thanks to Meredith, there are no dead, rotting bodies along the way.
As predicted, the staff quarters contain everything Dior will need. Plush couches and chairs, different-sized beds, holoscreen TVs still in working order, since they use batteries made by the realms, and cabinets stocked with food. There’s a bathroom with a door—a luxury the inmates were never provided.
Gingerbread inspects every inch.
“I’ll visit as often as I can,” I promise. “Clay will stay here. He’ll contact me if anyone approaches, and of course, you can tell him to summon me if you need me. Oh! And whatever you do, fight your fear. Apparently fear draws Myriadians like flies.”
“I can’t help how I feel,” she says, clearly offended by my instructions.
“Actually, you can. You can help what you think about. Focus on the positive rather than the negative. Remember you aren’t alone. You’ve got all of Troika on your side.”
“All right.” She flattens a hand over her heart. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
A pretty smile blooms. “I know only eleven percent of people win their court case, but I do feel better about my chances now that you’re here.”
I turn away before she can see the color drain from my cheeks. So much trust...so much pressure!
How many times have I cracked under pressure in the past? Too many!
Buck up! I’m stronger every day. I won’t crack this time. Not again. Never again.
—We don’t know a lot about Penumbra.—I send my voice to Clay through the Grid. —Keep your hands to yourself at all times, just in case. And watch her closely. Report anything unusual. Absolutely anything!—
—Will do.—
She comes up behind me, and though I stiffen, I don’t protest. I don’t like having people at my back. Abhor it, in fact. Too many have struck at me while my head was turned.
“Elizabeth’s team tried to get Gingerbread back from Killian for over a week. You did it in fifteen minutes. If he aided you—and I suspect that he did—he’s setting you up or he cares for you.”
She’s in pain? How? We’re not touching.
The oven mitt allows a slippery grip, and I almost panic. If we’re separated, she’ll be flung from the jellyair, and she’ll die. I yank Clay against me and spin toward her, using him as a shield between us.
“Grab her,” I shout.
He obeys, and we land in the Urals...in Prynne Asylum. Together. Success!
Dior collapses, and Gingerbread licks her face, offering comfort. She whimpers, Penumbra writhing under her skin. I suck in a breath. Penumbra. Of course! It reacted to the Light used to transport us.
The same Light inside of me.
“I’m so sorry.” I wonder if manna will help her or make her worse. After the way she reacted to me? Probably worse. “Penum—you had a bad reaction to the Light.” If we have to move her again, we’ll knock her out first.
“Are you all right?” Clay pats her back.
“I’m fine,” she rasps. “I’ll be fine. The pain is fading.”
He straightens and looks around. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Ten.”
“No one will ever believe we’d come back here.” Too many people avoid their fears. I face them. Only by looking fear in the eye do we see it for what it really is: a coward afraid of us. When we fight back, fear flees.
“What is this place? It’s creepy.” Dior eases up. “And freezing.”
The fortress once used to torture kids into doing whatever their guardians desired is now a skeleton of its former self. The walls are cracked, the floors bloodstained.
“It’ll warm up once we get you settled in the staff’s quarters, where you’ll have all the comforts of home. As for what it is...it’s a nut house. Or a whack shack, according to Killian. Happiness once came here to die.”
She shudders and leans into Gingerbread, seeking more comfort and warmth. “Did you live here?”
“Clay and I both did for well over a year.”
“Is this where you died, then?” she asks softly.
“Close,” Clay says, but he doesn’t sound upset. “I escaped and fell off a cliff a few miles away.”
He’s clearly satisfied with his new life, and with his words, a weight lifts from my shoulders. The burden I’d carried for choosing to save Sloan first.
“I died in LA,” I tell her, and leave it at that. No reason to outline all the gory details.
“So...what happened here?” Dior asks, her features pinched. “Exactly.”
“Torture, and a lot of it,” Clay says. “Whips. Chains. There’s even a rack.”
“That’s it. Get me out of here!” she demands.
“We are horrible salesmen,” I mumble to Clay. To Dior, I say, “Don’t worry. You’re going to make this place a sanctuary, where victory begins. Besides, the asylum’s reputation gives you an extra layer of protection. No one will visit the place.”
“True.” She breathes a weary sigh. “All right. I’ll stay.”
“Excellent.” I should probably feel something as I look around. There are the tables where I ate slop. The halls where I was stripped and whipped and dragged, leered at by guards.
There, Archer chatted me up about Troika. There, Killian winked at me.
Those boys...they were the catalyst I desperately needed, helping me transition from victim to victor.
Dior stands on unsteady legs, and we make our way to the staff quarters. Thanks to Meredith, there are no dead, rotting bodies along the way.
As predicted, the staff quarters contain everything Dior will need. Plush couches and chairs, different-sized beds, holoscreen TVs still in working order, since they use batteries made by the realms, and cabinets stocked with food. There’s a bathroom with a door—a luxury the inmates were never provided.
Gingerbread inspects every inch.
“I’ll visit as often as I can,” I promise. “Clay will stay here. He’ll contact me if anyone approaches, and of course, you can tell him to summon me if you need me. Oh! And whatever you do, fight your fear. Apparently fear draws Myriadians like flies.”
“I can’t help how I feel,” she says, clearly offended by my instructions.
“Actually, you can. You can help what you think about. Focus on the positive rather than the negative. Remember you aren’t alone. You’ve got all of Troika on your side.”
“All right.” She flattens a hand over her heart. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
A pretty smile blooms. “I know only eleven percent of people win their court case, but I do feel better about my chances now that you’re here.”
I turn away before she can see the color drain from my cheeks. So much trust...so much pressure!
How many times have I cracked under pressure in the past? Too many!
Buck up! I’m stronger every day. I won’t crack this time. Not again. Never again.
—We don’t know a lot about Penumbra.—I send my voice to Clay through the Grid. —Keep your hands to yourself at all times, just in case. And watch her closely. Report anything unusual. Absolutely anything!—
—Will do.—
She comes up behind me, and though I stiffen, I don’t protest. I don’t like having people at my back. Abhor it, in fact. Too many have struck at me while my head was turned.
“Elizabeth’s team tried to get Gingerbread back from Killian for over a week. You did it in fifteen minutes. If he aided you—and I suspect that he did—he’s setting you up or he cares for you.”
