Chapter Sixteen
Maggie stood over her baby—the same baby who hadn’t supplied her with relief for days.
Her hands trembled as she gripped onto the side of the crib, staring at him, hoping he would see in her desperate gaze that Mommy needed another hit.
Her bones and muscles felt like they were tearing apart. She wanted the pain to end, yet considering how long she’d mentally and verbally pleaded with her child for help, she doubted relief would come soon.
“If only you knew what you were doing to Mommy,” she whispered softly as another jolt of crippling pain rippled through her.
She looked at her wrinkled hands. They appeared to have aged decades in the short amount of time that she’d been there. They matched the withering appearance of her face, which she had noticed aging just as quickly, surely a consequence of whatever immortal substance her body was now being deprived of.
“Maggie.”
She turned, like an animal that had just realized it was being watched. Veylo stood in the doorway, beside Trento. Since her escape attempt, Trento hadn’t left Jeroda’s side and called to his fellow higherling guards whenever he needed assistance.
Veylo wore a suit and bow tie. His hair appeared slicker than usual, presumably from product he’d lathered in it.
“Were you going to put on the dress I gave you for the party?”
A servant had brought her a blue dress, excessively revealing with a dip to just above her navel and a slit at the top of her thigh. It was the sort of dress her mother would have beat her for trying to wear. She never could have worn a dress like that, and now that she was in such a weak, declining state, using what strength she had just to stand beside her baby’s crib, it was even more impossible, but more importantly, she had no reason or desire to attend any party Veylo hosted. She was a prisoner, not a guest.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I… I can’t.”
Just speaking those words took so much out of her that she decided she needed to sit. She abandoned the crib and hobbled to the recliner surrounded by stuffed animals.
Veylo rushed to her side, wrapped his arm around her, and escorted her to the chair like an elderly woman in need of assistance.
Each step hurt more than the last, and as they came to the chair, Maggie fell into it.
Veylo walked over to the closet door, where Veylo’s servant had hung her dress. He held it before him, displaying it for his prisoner.
“Come on, Maggie. Please. You’re my guest. You must. You’ve been so instrumental in all this. I wouldn’t feel right if you weren’t there.”
Another sharp pain, like nails driving into her back, swept through her.
“Ah!”
Veylo pouted.
“I see whatever delight Jeroda gave you has withered. It’s a shame. Perhaps he doesn’t understand the way these bodies work. So young. So much to learn. It’s a good thing he has us to show him the way. The creator has put him in capable hands.”
Another cruel reminder that her baby was nothing more than a weapon to these immortals.
“Please,” Veylo said. “Just for a moment. Come, stop by, dance with me for one dance, and you may come back here and sleep the night away. I’ll even give you some pain relievers. What do you think about that?”
I think that should have been in order a long time ago.
She nodded. The notion of painkillers was too compelling to deny.
“There, there. Let me go get that for you and you just put that pretty dress on and be ready for me to sweep you off your feet.”
He set the dress on the back of the recliner and left the room.
She lifted the dress. Turning to the floor mirror, she assessed herself.
Black bags hung under her eyes. Her face was covered in lines and wrinkles. Gray streaks covered her scalp. Even those that weren’t gray looked wiry and worn.
Though she knew she was only in her twenties, she appeared to be in her late fifties. What had happened? What sort of power that her child possessed could have brought her to this state?
