“Teach her to fight or she’s useless in this world,” I hummed just as the door to the room opened.
“You become more unhinged with each passing year,” he stated bitterly. “One of these days, you won’t be able to come back, Azrael. Ever. Your mind will be lost to the insanity you gained in that fucking asylum all those years ago.”
I angled my chin, allowing the smile to grow.“Maybe you never should have let me go to that asylum.”I shoved the thought away and sharpened my smile as much as I could. “They opened me up in ways Malachi never could.”
His hands tightened into fists. “Leave her alone. Better yet, have Everett take your place. I’m sure those three wouldn’t mind jumping headfirst into whatever shitshow you’ve been brewing these last few years.”
“No. Thanks for the advice, Mr. and Mrs. Mouse, I’ll see you when I come back from Wonderland.” I turned on my heel, finding Red standing just inside the door, her arms crossed over her chest, her red dyed brows pulled together.
I took her in, the anger clear in her blue eyes. “Your dreads are longer since the last time I saw you,” I commented. The top half of her dreads had been dyed a blood red, the bottom half a deep black, and they all fell to her waist. She often wore them up in some sort of bun, but today they were only half up.
She dropped her hands to her sides. “That happens when you run for months on end.”
I grinned. “I don’t run.” I continued for the door. It had taken her almost two weeks to find me after she landed the day of the church event, so I had to leave for a week, lure her back out of Washington before returning again. I was impressed she trailed me back here so efficiently.
“Azrael,” the mouse called, “if you allow her to slide,shewon’t return. You have to push her to grow. Don’t allow her to stay locked in her own mind, she will lose herself, andpleasedon’t kill her. You can let one live. If she’s just a cache to you, let her be a free cache.”
I pushed through the door into the hall. I didn’t need unsolicited advice from bleeding hearts. What they didn’t understand was that I was already pushing her. I was already trying to break her out of her own prison so that I could lock her away in mine where the clocks sang and the smiles were sharp and covered in blood. I didn’t need them ordering me around as if I were nothing but a lowly Initiate. I was more than they would ever be. More volatile, more intelligent, more cunning, more brutal. I would do the things that would stain their souls for all eternity.Thatis why I always received the brutal assignments. The ones they would never survive. The ones they would never know about.
I wasbetter.
And yet they always had to shove their noses where they didn’t belong, putting themselves in danger that I had to protect themfromagain and again. I didn’t need the purity of souls that couldn’t handle the nightmares I survived.
2011
Time didn’t exist here. In the wilds of Russia where snowstorm after snowstorm turned the outside world into a blinding white. There was just the brightness of the day and the brightness of the night laced in the daffodils and thorn covered roses they had planted along the windowsill to bring light to my life. There were towering white mountains and rolling hills behind the small window. The only things that survived in this dead world besides those flowers were the three animals they had trapped in cages down the way.
They squeaked and chirped and howled. The only noise to be heard for miles other than the screams of the other patients.
I had scratched a clock into the wall, staring at it, rocking slightly on my feet to try and relieve myself of the paint that constantly coursed through my body. I think I was infected, but then again, infections don’t thrive in places this cold.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Why were there no clocks? Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Why were there no clocks?
A knock sounded at my door.
I stared at the clock for several more seconds before slowly turning to the door. I know time didn’t exist but I also knew it wasn’t time for food, for prayers, or for the daily sermon.
Who is at my door? Who is at my door? Who is at—
I turned and crossed the small room to my door. I opened it and let it swing open, preparing myself for whatever Lady Elise had decided I deserved.
But Lady Elise wasn’t waiting for me, nor were either of the orderlies. There was a small box sitting on the floor. Black with a red ribbon.
I studied it carefully before I crouched down, inspecting all around it, under it. Lifting up one tail of the ribbon and then the other.
I finally picked it up and brought it to my nose, sniffing and feeling for any sort of device. I wouldn’t put it past them to make a small bomb filled with holy water. Jesus was a carpenter after all, building things was what He did.
When I was certain nothing was there, I finally stood, shut the door, and walked over to the rag they had given me to sleep with.
I sank to the floor, sitting in the very corner, and carefully pulled the ribbon, holding my breath just in case there was a small click I might miss.
The ribbon fell away, next the lid. No triggers, no explosion.
Interesting. What was their game in this then? Preachers didn’t give gifts, the people were supposed to give them gifts and money and everything we owned. That’s what Lady Elise’s book claimed.
I carefully pulled the tissue paper off the top and found a small note.
To pass the time
