Schwint gaped exaggeratedly down the spiral staircase we’d just ascended. “You’re the crazy one for not using magic. I’d die if I had to actually walk up all those damn things. They’re, hands down, the most torturous devices in the whole Vampire Cathedral. I’m willing to bet they have a torture chamber somewhere under this fortress, but it’s these towers that are gonna kill ya.”
“It’s good to do something without magic. Plus, it’s not like they have a gym here. The last thing I need is to let my body get out of shape. Who knows what we’ll have to do to escape from here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I can think of a lot of things we could do to keep you in shape.”
I rolled my eyes at him. My breath was finally evening out.
Schwint continued, letting his wings disappear and come to rest on the stone floor. “And when it’s time for us to make our move, I don’t think it’s going to be brute force that makes the difference.”
“You never know.” As if to prove my point, I didn’t use my power like I normally did to help open the heavy door, and I grunted as I shoved against it.
“Need some help with that?”
“Shut up.” With another heave, I moved the door enough to squeeze through.
Behind me, I heard the door groan as it swung the rest of the way open, Schwint using some of his fairy magic to move it as if it were nothing more substantial than a fabric curtain.
“As I have told you countless times, there is no reason to consider leaving the Vampire Cathedral. You belong to them.” The old man glowered at me, hate reverberating simultaneously through both his voice and his eyes. “I’ve been telling you that since the first time I spoke to you. You are nothing more than a slave. Albeit a weak and pathetic one.”
Schwint and I both ignored him. It was the same every day. Omar continued the steady stream of insults and taunts he had used since he’d sensed me as I searched for the Square all those months ago.
I’d been so certain he was a demon or some monstrous creature from Hell. The pain he’d put me through. Making me feel like every particle of my being was on fire. Like my brain was being shredded inside my skull. Even when I’d learned the voice had been nothing more than a powerful warlock, I’d expected some man who emanated power and evil.
Instead, Omar was nothing more than a tiny old man—wasted and sagging. He looked like someone’s grandfather. A homeless, sickly grandfather, but a grandfather nonetheless.
We’d considered not coming to see him every day. It was clear he was never going to help, but it seemed wisest to keep up the illusion that we were doing what Gwala wanted, since I wasn’t willing to take the risk of telling Gwala the lessons weren’t going as he desired. Instead, I poured every ounce of myself into practices with Schwint, my desperation turning our training into an obsession.
Schwint and I took our normal seats against the wall and simply waited. We forced ourselves to stay with Omar for at least an hour, sometimes much longer. If our comings and goings were being observed, and we had to assume they were, it wouldn’t do to have it be too scheduled.
Sometimes I came by myself. Schwint was hesitant to send me on my own. If Omar was as powerful as Gwala said, he would be able to kill me with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t following any of Gwala’s other orders, so I wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t tried to kill me. His hate was intense and palpable. Even so, when Schwint wasn’t in the room, Omar did nothing more than glare and insult.
As Schwint and I spoke, I kept my eyes on the old man. He never stopped shuffling around the small turret, never paused to look out the huge arched window that was open to the elements. Constantly moving. In that sense, he reminded me uncomfortably of Cynthia, pacing alone in her room somewhere far below us.
While it could be easy at first glance to mistake Cynthia for one of the Royals, if you only paid attention to her finery, no such misconception would ever be made about Omar. He was dirty and disheveled. The room was spotless and pristine, like everywhere else I’d seen, so I assumed he chose to not bathe, but I couldn’t be sure. The chains connecting him to the wall also ruined the illusion. One heavy golden cuff on each wrist and large links connected him to secured hoops embedded in the wall. As he paced, the chains adjusted to meet the distance he needed. The individual links seemed to stretch and shrink as he moved around the room. He’d never confirmed it, but I assumed their accommodating structure ceased at the door.
The room was a small, simple cylinder. The floor, a smooth tarnished copper, curved up to form half the wall and doorway. The other half of the room was enclosed by tree trunks and branches that grew out from the Cathedral. The branches curved to form the large window that looked out over the Costa Rican rainforest. Like Cynthia’s room, if a person didn’t know they were prisons, they would be the most expensive hotel rooms in the world. The view from Omar’s chamber was breathtaking—looking over the tops of the trees, able to see the ocean in the distance. Occasionally when we were in here, parrots and other small animals came into the room through the window. Omar seemed neither irritated nor intrigued by them. Neither did he seem bothered by the frequent rainstorms that poured into the room. It was the rainy season in Costa Rica, so thunderstorms were a daily occurrence. All the moisture only added to the humidity.
The only thing, besides the chains, that hinted the room wasn’t part of an elite resort was the golden toilet that rose from the floor against the wall. I hadn’t figured out how the waste system worked in the Cathedral, as the toilets didn’t have running water. Nor did they look like toilets, for that matter. More like pails set upside down with a hole on the top. Twenty-four karat pails. There weren’t many, as vampires apparently didn’t require such accommodations.
Once in a while, I would practice communicating to Schwint using my mind while we were with Omar, but never anything important in case he was still able to hear. The majority of the time, Schwint and I talked about benign topics. Actually, when I was able to let the stress slide away, I looked forward to these times in Omar’s room. It was the only time Schwint and I really allowed ourselves to just chat for the fun of it. The rest was spent planning or speculating about Caitlin and Newton—either from what I’d been able to glean from my sketchy telepathy or from one of Schwint’s visits to see them.
Most of the time, Omar paced in silence, ignoring us. He’d lessened the harassing when we didn’t rise to the bait. It didn’t stop him from trying every time we arrived, however.
I’d done nothing but sweat since we arrived in Costa Rica, but it was always worse up in Omar’s quarters. It was sweltering and stuffy. The sweat I built up climbing the countless stairs was just the precursor to the streams of perspiration coursing over my skin as we sat against the wall. Typically, a breeze came in from the window, which helped. On days like this, when the room only continued to get hotter and hotter, I was barely able to make myself stay the entire hour.
“Why don’t you try to conjure fire again? You’re getting a lot better with air and earth, and even with some parts of water. It’s the fire that’s still tripping you up.”
I gave Schwint ayou’ve got to be kidding meglare. “Even if I could, the last thing I would do right now is add more heat to this room.” I glanced out the window, imagining I could see the spot where Caitlin and Newton were hiding. “Besides, Cate is the only one of us who has any control of fire, and even she can barely make enough to singe the fuzz off a dandelion.” A picture of her tossing a small fireball at Brett the first night she met him flashed through my mind.
“And again I am proven right about your weakness and worthlessness.” Omar didn’t even bother looking back at me as he continued his meandering around the room. “All the bother… all the pain over you, and for what? A self-absorbed weakling.”
Schwint continued as if Omar hadn’t spoken. He leaned forward, his wings reappearing. They beat swiftly, stirring up the muggy air. “Better?”
I sank back against the bark of the wall. “I think it’s spreading the hot air around, but yeah, actually. Thanks.”
I was fairly certain Omar muttered something about faggots. Although it could have just been in regards to fairies. Either way, I was certain it wasn’t anything we hadn’t heard before.
“Okay, then. No fire. Make me something.” Schwint’s voice lowered, allowing him to achieve a gravelly tone. “You know, as payment for last night.”
