Thankful that the guards seemed preoccupied with the Weavers below, Kit crept towards the door-sized entrance of the inner tunnels and entered the darkness, his mind tracing through Gentry's map. They needed to reach the center first to get a true heading. Then they’d find the kids.
The mission had officially begun.
fifty-one
Gentry
Adrienne and Wren arrived early for their final appointment, their countenances appropriately sober for such a momentous occasion in Gentry’s life. The ever-colorful Wren had even chosen to forgo her usual fuzzy pink sweaters for a flowy black dress, her long locks pulled into an updo that would’ve been fancy if it weren’t for several escaped curly strands. Adrienne looked the same as she ever did with her black leather pants and loose t-shirt.
“You, uh, didn’t have to dress up for the occasion, Wren,” Gentry said as she shut the door. “I get that this isn’t such a big deal for you two.” No matter the night’s outcome, the two women would return to their bed and normal lives the next day. Perhaps Gentry would learn just what normal for a Weaver was if she died and followed Wren around.
The necromancer clutched a hand to her chest like she was offended by the comment. “I’ll have you know that I think of you as a friend!” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I don’t get out much, being a necromancer and all.”
“I’m not sure it has much to do with that,” Adrienne muttered.
Gentry smiled wanly at their attempt to keep things light. She wished she could pretend too, that she didn’t hear the proverbial clock ticking. They’d only arrived fifteen minutes before Wren needed to make the final snip. “Where do you want me?” she asked the necromancer, aware that it always took her a while to poke and prod to distinguish between her and Drayer’s soul.
Wren frowned, and, to Gentry’s alarm, looked a bit worried. “Your bed should do fine. That way Adrienne can hold you down if you start to struggle.”
Holy shit. Gentry hadn’t associated a soul excision like something akin to an exorcism.
“—I’m not saying you’llhaveto be held down,” Wren said quickly as she read her panicked expression, “because I don’t really know. I haven’t done this before. It’s just what some of the texts say.”
Adrienne choked back a laugh. “Just be quiet and let the girl get comfortable, Wren. It’ll either work out or won’t.” The woman then stood by the bed like Gentry’s own personal impersonal grim reaper, her gaunt, sophisticated beauty looking decisively bored.
Gentry followed her and lay down as Wren pulled up a chair. As per usual, the little blonde grabbed her hands. The necromancer’s hands felt even icier than usual, and she wondered if that was a sign that Wren was already using more of her power.
“Do you want Merle to lie down with you?” Wren asked nervously. “He can be a real cuddle bug.”
A chill passed through Gentry’s leg and she just knew that the ghost fox was near, likely ready to torment her at a moment’s notice. But at least the little sadist wouldn’t be able to chill her if he was trapped in one of his stuffed animal husks. “Yeah, uh, could you see if he’ll go into his bunny?” she asked, naming theleast offensive stuffed animal she’d spotted in the necromancer’s bag.
Wren nodded, and soon Gentry held a tattered stuffed rabbit in the crook of her arm like a child, its buttoned eyes tilted towards her face in an intense stare. Gentry was just thankful that Merle was staying still. Oddly enough, his presence did make her feel less alone as Wren began her poking and prodding.
It felt far harsher than all of their practice sessions, as if the necromancer had stopped using the metaphorical kids’ gloves.
An icy cold, sharp pinch deep on the inside of her chest did have Gentry try to jolt out of the bed, but Adrienne stopped her momentum with a well-placed shove. She let out a shocked squeak from how fast she’d been put down, but then locked her muscles as Wren’s prods grew sharper and sharper to the point where Adrienne’s physical corrections were vitally necessary.
“I’m going to start using my magic on you,” the taller Weaver snarled, her voice tight with frustration. “I’m sorry,” she then snapped at her girlfriend, “hurry up. We have five minutes to make the cut. She won’t be happy with you if her boyfriend and friends die because you want to be gentle.”
An immense physical pressure then pinned Gentry’s arms and feet, and she doggedly fought the visages of panic as Wren picked up the pace. Soon, each prod felt like a freezing iron pressed into her insides. Gentry almost screamed but then a cloth was shoved into her mouth and she bit down as she was told by a persistent Adrienne.
All the while, Wren kept a death grip on her hands as she said, “Sorry, sorry,sorry. I’m almost done. I swear,” as the pressure eased to something bearable, and then, “Adrienne, take her gag out. I need to ask her a question before I finish.”
Adrienne complied and Gentry gasped at her newfound freedom. Wren leaned over the bed to look her in the eye.“What’s her name, Gentry? I’m trying to coax out any last remaining bits of her soul. I can’t tell if I have it all or not. If I don’t, this excision might as well never have happened.”
And there it was, the opportunity for all her uncertain research into the Cobalts to come to fruition. Mind racing, Gentry had no choice but to guess which of her two candidates had been Made into a vampyre by her sister, and then subsequently had stolen a young Drayer Netherton’s body five years ago in that awful warehouse.
As it had turned out, on the worst day of her life, she’d been luckier than the rich, privileged boy.
Gentry made the guess which could make or break her soul. “Enid,” she gasped, and then Adrienne promptly gagged her again as Wren made her final pokes into her soul.
“I’m making the cut,” the necromancer announced, and then pure, unadulterated ice invaded every corner of Gentry’s soul. It burned frightfully.
She blacked out from the horrific sensation for all of two seconds, and then she felt the instant Wren began to stitch. By then, it was only because it tickled that she knew it was happening. It felt far better than the excision had.
“She’s still breathing,” Adrienne answered a question she hadn’t heard asked, “she just looks like a drowned rat with all that sweat.”
“Almost done,” Wren panted, “I just… Wait.”
