I heard my brother.
“You are drawing attention to us,” Niklaus says. Bored. Cruel. Pissed. “Like an idiot.”
Up until now, I’d forgotten how much I hate him. How deep that hatred is embedded into my skin and bones and fibers after what he said by the creek. Pushing me to the ground like a coward. And sadly, that’s not even the worst he’s done to hurt me.
“What’re you talking about?”
Footsteps creak above our heads. Muffled voices. A hushed conversation.
“He said he was bringing friends to meet us,” Niklaus says quietly. “I don’t think it’s in our favor.”
I try to stretch out my stiff arms and legs, take deep breaths to ground myself, and shake the sleep out of my head. The heavy aroma of a leaky drainpipe sticks to the inside of my nose, though it seems the smell has become worse since the last time I was awake—like something curled up in the corner of the room and surrendered to death long ago.
“Get us to travel again,” my insufferable cellmate commands.
The locks clink and shift on the door at the top of the stairs. The muffled voices are silenced at a quickshhh.
“Now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to summon those strange feelings I get right before that cosmic ecosystem swallows me up. The disruption of my equilibrium. The stardust and pure, endless shadow of nightfall.
“Spitfire, this is one thing you can do to start repenting and not be entirely useless. Get us out of here!” Niklaus growls under his breath.
The urge to put any more effort into trying to leave this place is as good as dead, even though I don’t want to find out what our captor has planned.
“You sure you want to talk to me like that? Considering I could just leave without you,” I reply, trying to stay calm and focused.
Niklaus goes quiet.
“Don’t be rude to our guests. They came a long way to meet the two of you,” Niles announces from the top of the stairs. He whispers to someone behind him. “I told you they were at each other’s throats. Thank goodness I found them when I did.”
Three figures walk down the stairs carefully, holding golden globes that illuminate the room with flickering firelight. Antique lanterns to reveal Niklaus and I restrained and unclothed.
Behind Niles, there’s a woman taking shape. Short, half his size, poor posture with a hunched back, and a low bun on the back of her head. Her black mourning dress has drooping sleeves, a corseted throat, and a solemn old-world elegance. The cinched waist and rough sash remind me of the pictures of the lady-doll regimen in our history books.
She’s an old woman judging by her shaky descent down the steps, and the deep-set wrinkles on her face, coming to life as she gets closer.
The spindly man trailing behind her is two inches shorter than Niles with long, thin arms and legs. As the light ignites the room, his gaunt features are made vivid. Spidery shadows casting across his long nose and pointy chin. The prominent freckles splattered across his face. The carrot-red hair slicked back…
What the fuck is that?
In the low, glimmering light, the bones of his face jut out—and his forehead screams at us, pleading for our sole focus to fall on the writing. The pink scars. Thename.
Dessin.
My father’s name is carved into his flesh. We learned about this growing up… About the grandmother and her son who helped run the experimentations on my father. How they tortured him to split new alters to protect himself. How they abducted my mother and tried to run similar tormenting tests on her.
“This the girl?” the old woman asks, voice hard and callous yet raspy with age.
She takes rigid steps up to my mattress and metal bedframe, examining my body with a judgmental, scorning glare. The corners of her mouth pulled downward with a sneer of disapproval and disgust.
“Does she think she’s above the law? Not keeping up with the Lady-Doll Regimen?” The old crone jabs at my ribs. “She’sfat.”
Fat?!
First of all, my breasts are above average in size. My thighs are slightly thicker, and I have a little bit of squish on my lower belly…but I’m tall, lean, and my body is far from fat. Does this old bitch want me to look like her? Knobby shoulders, bladed collarbones, and a stomach so starved you can practically see the outline of her vital organs?
I hiss as she jabs me again.
