A beast of nine horns, p.4
A Beast of Nine Horns, page 4
part #3 of Into Vermilion Series
“Dinner? What dinner?”
Descoteaux rose from her seat, smoothed her dress with a practiced dip of a wrist. “Why, the Hyacinth is eager to meet its newest daughter! There will be a feast to honor your homecoming.”
Nervous shivers were already tickling her arms and neck. Coral was absolutely not a feast-in-her-honor kinda girl.
“Don’t worry. Wolde here will get you all patched up before it’s time for your fitting.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “F-fitting?”
A mischievous smile played across Descoteaux’s lips. “But of course! You will be the belle of the ball, as they say.”
She sucked down a calming breath that failed to do its only job. Belle of the ball. That sounded bad. Really bad.
“If you need anything, do not be afraid to ring. I’ve informed the servants that you are to be treated as a guest of utmost import.” Descoteaux smiled and turned majestically for the door.
“Wait,” Coral blurted. But she didn’t even know what it was she wanted to ask. She felt like she’d been dumped a hundred years in the future and nobody had bothered to explain a damned thing to her. “What… I mean, what’s even goin’ on? How did I get all these injuries? And what’s this about…did you say Sherbrooke?”
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you much more than I already have. But I’m certain your little friend can explain better than I.”
Coral blinked at her. “My little friend?”
Another mischievous smile. “Mademoiselle Vena.”
Everything went cold. “T-Tams…?” Oh no. Oh, God, no.
“She has been worried sick since arriving this morning, and will be most pleased to hear you’re awake.” A knowing, suggestive smile dimpled her cheeks. “Would you like me to send her in?”
“N-no! I…don’t think I want any visitors right now.”
“I understand. Get your rest, my treasure.” With that, Descoteaux waved daintily and showed herself out.
The salt breeze coming off the sea wrenched Coral’s lungs, twisted her around the realization. But it couldn’t be true. What cruel trick of fate would’ve brought her and Tamara together? What had transpired in that unlit gulf in her memory?
At just a thought of her best friend, warm, soothing memories flowed to fill the gaps in the fog. Garnet Cross Exalt. Kirakera. Just being with her, wasting the summer with energy drinks and circuitous inside jokes. Muting together, magnetic, the caramel run of Tamara’s neck as she lay on her bed, laughing euphorically no matter how stupid Coral’s jokes were.
Oh, God, Coral felt sick. Tamara’s voice still choked out those words of rejection through her lo-fi cellphone speaker at the Veil, before she’d given herself entirely to despair. Before she’d shirked the yoke of humanity and embraced the rage that flowed like the freshest spring water. She wanted to cling to her resentment. She wanted to feel the rage she’d felt when Tamara had hung up on her. But just the thought of her laid her weaknesses bare.
Strangled by tears of self-hatred, Coral curled into herself, ignoring the way her body screamed in reply. Three days until the dinner. It wouldn’t be enough. She wouldn’t be ready. She could never be ready. Not if being ready meant looking Tamara in the eyes and having to pretend she hadn’t spurned her, pretend Coral wasn’t a verm, pretend she hadn’t lied to her for the six years of their friendship.
Blanketed in despair, Coral’s tears soon gave way to sleep—and dreams tinged red with memories she could not recall.
Chapter 3
Everything had been a blur for Clive since Leblanc’s.
It had all happened so fast. One moment, he’d been imprisoned with Tamara beneath Leblanc’s Sherbrooke mansion. Then, before his brain had even caught up to the idea of escaping, the mansion was burning. Jase’s massacre. Lena’s rage. Tamara’s desperation. That horrible, unexplainable skip in reality that had stopped his breath, his heart, his thoughts, then sent them reeling to catch up a moment later. They all stuttered through his mind, incomplete frames of a story too disjointed to be reality.
It was only after they found Lena and those vans arrived that things started to resolve into something sickeningly stable like only reality can be.
Clive had seen Lena covered in blood before. Just never so much of her own. When they dragged her collapsed body from the burning mansion, she’d had only the faintest of pulses. But the woman who beckoned them into the rear-most van, Naya, had immediately opened her veins to Lena, giving her so much blood she nearly passed out. It was just enough to stabilize her, keep her heart beating while they moved her to intensive care in the labyrinthine facility they ended up in—which, as it happened, was absolutely not a hospital.
Clive’s questions went unanswered, his exhaustion and worry unassuaged. He just wanted to go home and put this whirlwind of violence and terror behind him. But that didn’t seem to be on the table.
Surrounded by half a dozen armed guards, they were escorted through the massive facility. Between the confusion and the bustle, Clive had only caught glimpses on the way up. What he saw suggested it was a government building. Lots of cabinets and desks, suits, halls that smelled like paperwork. Seven levels up, the veneer of bureaucracy gave way to white coats, screens with numbers on them, and the inescapable scent of rubbing alcohol.
Papa was gone. The staff had peeled him away for medical treatment while they were being shunted back and forth between waiting rooms and hallways and closet-sized holding cells and more hallways and galleries of blinding white screens.
Now, Clive sat in a cramped, windowless waiting room with Mama. Overhead LED lighting gave everything the scald of hospital-cleanliness, and even the chairs were the sort he’d sat in a dozen times at the doctor’s. A plastic fern in the corner was the sole speck of color in the room, a skitter of green amid the white and brown. It was inadequate to the point of insult.
“So where do ya think we are?” Clive asked. He was surprised how loud his voice was in the enclosed space.
“You didn’t see the badges?” Mama was staring off at the opposite wall, hands in mid-wring, lips trembling. “We’re at the CSC.”
Clive shuddered. The Center for Scourge Control. “What? Mama, tell me you’re jokin’.”
Mama shook her head, and the quaking in her frame grew more apparent.
“What’re they gonna do with us?” As if he needed to ask. Hemomancers only ended up at the CSC for one reason: vivisection. Fear twined through Clive’s chest. Terror of imminent death came anew, a flame coursing through the ashes of the manor. Then the incongruence hit him. “Wait a minute, Mama. That woman in the van was…”
Mama nodded. “A hemo.”
“That means… If they’re hemos, and they’re treatin’ Lena and Papa, then that means they ain’t gonna kill us, right?”
Gaze still distant, Mama gave the smallest of nods.
At that, relief swooped through Clive like a spring breeze. But Mama’s aura tempered that relief. “But then, why’re you so afraid?”
She turned to him, face drawn and thin. His mother had never looked older than she did then. Holding his gaze, a rattle to her jaw, she opened her mouth to speak.
But before the words could form, the door clattered ajar. “The next two are here,” came a man’s voice.
Mama flinched, straightened in her seat, pointedly put her face toward Clive and shielded it with her hands.
“Wonderful,” a woman in a white lab coat said as she filled the doorway. She was tall and beautiful, almost regal in the eyes and cheeks, wavy chestnut hair pulled back into a long ponytail, rimless glasses sitting over a sharp, dignified nose. She held a clipboard lazily in one hand while the other was tucked deep into a pocket. Behind her, Clive recognized the woman named Naya from the van. She was the shorter of the two, with dark hair and eyes. She still seemed woozy from blood loss, her own lab coat streaked with crimson stains. Lena’s blood.
“Please accept my apology for the inconvenience,” the woman in front said, looking at the two of them like they were just a couple more unremarkable guests. “I’m Astrid Falk, director of the Center for Scourge Control. I’m sure ending up here is the last thing you folks wanted after your ordeal in Sherbrooke, but I promise we’ll take no more of your time than strictly necessary.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Clive asked, rising to his feet. “And where’s Lena and Papa? They’d better be safe.” All signs indicated they were, but a confirmation would make for good balm.
Falk squinted at him, like she was trying to recall his face. “Rest assured, your wounded are being taken care of. You’ll be permitted to visit them in short order. Naya, the cards.”
“Ma’am,” the woman from the van said, passing forward a pair of laminated cards on lanyards. They were stark white, emblazoned with blue shields with seemingly random identification numbers embossed on them.
Falk reached into her pocket and withdrew a small device like a hole-punch. “You two are both hemomancers, correct?”
Clive tensed. Neither he nor Mama said anything.
Falk sighed, her tedium apparent. “It’s a procedural question. You’re not in any danger. But I’ll take your silence as confirmation in any case.” She maneuvered her device over the first card and clamped it down. The card came away with a blood-red mark beside the ID number, and then she stamped the second one.
“And there we have it,” Falk said as she passed the first lanyard to Clive. “Now, you are required to keep these badges with you at all times. They will give you access to the common facilities and your assigned room. Memorize your number. When you hear it called, obey the instructions that follow.”
Clive inspected his card. Subject of Interest #7043, it read. The stamped red circle beside the CSC coat of arms was already dry, and it didn’t smudge as he ran his thumb over it. “What kind of instructions?”
“Don’t worry. We just need to collect some information about what happened at the mansion in Sherbrooke. You’ll be free to go afterward. Ma’am, your card.”
Mama didn’t look up. She kept her face hidden in her fingers, even as Falk’s attention fell heavy on her.
“Ma’am.” Falk said again, this time pushing the card more aggressively toward her.
Mama hesitated, her whole body shaking. Then, slowly, she turned and reached for the badge with unsteady fingers.
And at the moment she did, something invisible and unspoken passed between her and the director—something like the explosion of a planet.
The card clattered to the floor. A glint of fury flared in Falk’s eyes, and then vanished. The corners of her lips crept into a savage grin. “You.”
Clive looked between the two of them, heart suddenly pounding. “Mama?”
Naya blinked at them. “Director Falk?”
“Well, well, well,” Falk said, a bluster of rage filling the room like a gust from the mouth of hell. “Isn’t this a surprise. I thought I caught the scent of blood and brimstone. Now I know at last whence it flowed.”
Mama sat stock-still for an interminable moment. Then, excruciatingly slowly, she raised her face to the director. She took a deep breath, found composure, and dipped her chin. “Lady Falk.”
Falk rumbled with a malicious chuckle. “What ill fortune. Tell me, to what do I owe the honor of the Lady Eskell til Nakskov’s presence?” Her tone left no question: no honor was due nor given. The words were weapons, carving skin and muscle with each deliberate twist.
“Eskell to what?” Clive asked.
But the two ignored him. The tension in the room was focused, electrical. A storm was prepared to break at the slightest trigger.
“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize Lord Randall’s voulge?” Falk seethed. “Even without your mask, I would know those eyes anywhere. I’ve longed for this reunion like you wouldn’t believe, Love-Lies-Bleeding.”
The name sent a bolt of ice through Clive. “Love-Lies…?”
“No,” Mama said, though the word lacked conviction. “I’m not Love-Lies-Bleeding anymore.”
At that, Falk laughed humorlessly. The sound swept like a swarm of spiders through the waiting room. “Oh, no?”
Mama shook her head, breath steadying. “I haven’t been for a long time. I left Lord Randall’s court twenty-five years ago.”
“Left Lord Randall’s court,” Falk repeated. “As if that changes a damned thing you’ve done. Naya.”
The other woman snapped to attention, her glare glued to Mama. “Ma’am?”
“I want the voulge’s daughter taken off life support, immediately.”
Mama shot to her feet. “What?!”
In the blink of an eye, the guard racked the bolt of his rifle and levelled the barrel at Mama’s head.
Falk’s grin widened. “If the bitch holds on to life, finish her off yourself.”
Mama’s whole body rumbled with fury as she stepped face to face with the director, ignoring the warnings from the guard. “You can’t do that!”
“I’m the director of the CSC. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“I won’t let you take her from me.”
“Come now, it’s not so unfair. One life for the fifty you stole from us on Cedar Island. You should be on your knees thanking me for my generosity.”
“You coward,” Mama snarled. “Your grudge is with me. That girl’s innocent.”
“And just when has innocence ever earned your mercy, Love-Lies-Bleeding?” She spoke the name like a curse, like the name of an intestinal parasite.
Silence thrummed between them. Nobody dared speak. Gradually, the tension melted from Mama’s shoulders. “Please,” she muttered.
“Hm? What was that?”
“Please.” She lowered herself to her knees, cheeks damp with freshly escaped tears. She bowed her head, her hair hiding her face from Clive’s view. “Please, Lady Falk. Don’t hurt my daughter. I’ll do anything.”
Clive could only stare dumbly as horror and confusion clashed through him.
Falk stepped over to Mama, footsteps clacking loudly against the tile. “Hm. I must admit, this does feel nice. After all the years you’ve reigned and all the blood you’ve shed, to see you reduced to something resembling human is refreshing. Almost makes you believe in justice.” She paused, and in that silence the whole universe revolved around her. “Very well. I will spare your daughter’s life.”
The room itself seemed to slacken.
“But make no mistake. I am going to savor your supplication. I am going to watch you bleed and sweat for every life you snuffed out on Cedar Island. But you will bleed and sweat as I command it. As it would have been, had we stood on the same side when it mattered. Disgraced or not, you are my voulge now. Do you understand me?”
Mouth flattened to a quavering line, Mama gave a perfunctory nod.
“Fantastic. I look forward to putting your talents to use.” Falk waved Naya and the guard out, then sidled a step back into the doorway. She leveled a razor-sharp grin at Clive and Mama. “Have a wonderful day.” With that, the door shut, sealing them in the uncomfortable silence that followed.
Clive swallowed hard. “Love-Lies-Bleeding.” The words were foul vinegar on his tongue. “You’re shittin’ me. Tell me this is a joke, Mama.” The still-fresh revelation that he was of Amaranth stock was bad enough, but the thought he was kin to the most bloodthirsty assassin that bloodline had ever known…
Mama sighed, rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Clive. I… I never wanted you to have to know. It was a different time and a different life. I left all that behind when your father and I…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be apologizin’ to Lena,” Clive spat.
“Clive—”
“Christ, I feel like I’m surrounded by freakin’ titles! Love-Lies-Bleeding above, the Sonora Ripper to my left! Why didn’t you kill Tyler Lamm, then? How could you leave it to your daughter, and then disavow her for doing what you yourself should’ve done, knowin’ where she came from? And why give a damn about her now?”
Something changed in her face, then. She looked older. Sadder. More tired than anyone should ever be. “You don’t know how hard it was to not kill that bastard. When he murdered Rebecca, I wanted to butcher everyone in that goddamn town!” Rage, barely tethered, tightened her jaw and darkened her glare. “But…I swore those days were long gone. Love-Lies-Bleeding is dead. When Rebecca died, I had to choose between the past and the future. I made the choice I felt I had to.”
Clive couldn’t swallow it. Indignation welled from some dark place. He was angry, not only at her, but at the fact of her. He was mad at the secrets, and at the need for secrets. “You’re such a damn hypocrite.”
“Clive—”
“How many people have ya killed, Mama?”
She stammered, shook her head. “Clive, that doesn’t—”
“How many?!”
Resigned, she half-shrugged. “I don’t know. Hundreds.”
“Hundreds,” he repeated flatly. “After all that talk about fittin’ in, bein’ a good person, bein’ kind no matter if a person’s a verm or a human—”
“Clive, listen to me—”
“No, to hell with you! I’m surrounded by killers. I feel sick. Sick of all this.” He stomped past her, toward the door.
Mama was on her feet. “Clive!”
He didn’t stop for her. He stormed out of the waiting room and into the clinical hallway beyond.
He needed air. His mind kept circling the whirlpool of Lena and their mother. His understanding of their family had changed completely in a matter of hours. This, having only just learned of Rebecca’s existence and death a week or so earlier. And while he knew he couldn’t fault Mama entirely, it turned his stomach to think of how venomously she’d spoken to Lena before, as if she hadn’t taken so many more lives herself.
What I can’t stand is that you are exactly the same as me.
The legendary voulge of Lord Randall, the phantom of blood, Love-Lies-Bleeding. His own mother. Guess that explains why Lena’s so goddamn strong.
Fuming, he walked down the hall, scanning his surroundings, taking deep breaths to clear his head. People in white coats made up the bulk of the foot traffic on the floor. Large windows lined one wall, looking out onto a tangle of vast structures making up the CSC complex. Speakers hidden in the walls and ceilings droned on with inflectionless announcements and calls to staff. Some people glanced at him as he rushed by, but he wasn’t concerned. Falk had said they could go anywhere on the floor, after all. He was going to use that right to get as far from everything as he could.
