“You thought you could get a guard to fuck my friend’s cunt for your entertainment,” I whisper. “This is the price.”
I give the crank one final, savage twist, the bands closing another finger’s breadth. Maude’s scream fractures into a wet gurgle, her eyes protruding, bloodshot and staring, a ribbon of drool, thick with clots, hangs from her chin. Her chest hitches once, twice—shallow, desperate sips of air through a throat narrowed to a straw.
I hold the crank steady and watch her pulse flutter in her neck, like a trapped bird. She is close—so close—but not dead.
Beautiful,He purrs. My perfect blade.
Pleasure coils tight, then snaps and I shudder, biting my lip until I taste blood.
Let her go now, my love. It’s time for our friends to return. And they’re very satisfied with you. Good girl.
I undo all my hard work with the torture device and free Maude. Her body turns completely black and I hear her suck in a breath as her bones snap, crack and pop back into place, no more blood escaping her and she manages to look at me.
“I’ll remember this forever. You’re next on my list.” She spits at me and I give her my most cunning grin.
“I enjoyed that, Maude.” I grab my blade and cut off some of her hair for Ada’s mane. “I’ll be seeing you real soon.” I wink at her as I put my blade away and sniff her hair while making eye contact with her. With a haunting laugh, I turn to leave the dungeon.
I reach the top of the stairs and go to Bernie’s office; he stands there, white as a ghost.
“Bernie?” I call to shake him from his trance.
He shakes his head and looks at me. “Tomorrow night, Maude burns,” he tells me, before coming to close his door on me.
This has turned out to be the most perfect day.
Let’s go, my killer. You need to rest.
I listen and I obey.
Chapter Eleven
I leavethe dungeons and walk to collect Ada from De-Vil’s, all the while the city still snores, and the stink of Maude’s blood clings to me like perfume. The hour is late when I reach the brothel, but its lamps burn bright and the punters queue outside. I don’t go in as there’s no need to disturb the girls at their busiest. Ada is tied up behind the building as arranged by Sirena, and I smile as I stroke her nose and let myself up on her back to start the journey home.
The horse’s hooves strike sparks on the cobbles as we leave the reek of gin and sweat behind.
Home.
I brush down Ada, adding in my new lock of hair to her mane and then forking hay.
I sleep like the dead, limbs heavy with the sweet ache of justice. After folding Mad Maude into the Scavenger’s Daughter and watching Sirena slip free of the Tower’s shadow, something has settled inside me. I’d managed to guard my girls at De-Vil’s; no one will touch them again whilst breath still rattles in my lungs.
My mind drifts to Sparrow wondering if she’s fled the brothel yet? The memory of her abuser’s blood, warm on my hands, still makes me smile and the purse of gold I had pressed into her palm was a fresh set of wings. Maude had tried to barter Sirena’s body for entertainment and crushing her until her ribs sang had tasted like divinity.
I can torture and I can kill.
Today, my routine comes easy. Hair still damp from this morning's bath, I eat cold mutton and bread straight from the cloth. No fuss, no lingering.
The stake waits in the square and tonight, Mad Maude will burn.
I plan to go to work early and make sure my stage is prepared for tonight, I don't want any mistakes. I built it pretty sturdy the other day but I need to collect hay piles and get torches made. On goes my hat and mask, along with my cape.
The sun hangs high when we clatter into town, midday bells clanging from the steeple. I ease my mare to a halt and slide from the saddle, boots striking dust. Ada—my sweet, snorting Ada—nuzzles my shoulder, impatient for freedom. I’ve never had anyone to spoil before, so as always, she gets the lot: a mad gallop across the heath, apples taken from a nearby apple tree and lots of neck strokes; she’s earnt every treat.
I lead her into the neighbourhood stables, the familiar reek of straw and warm horseflesh greeting me like an old friend. The stableboy appears, freckled and gap-toothed, and I press a coin into his palm.
He nods and Ada whickers, butting my chest. I wrap arms round her neck, burying my face in the coarse warmth of her coat. “Be good, love.”
Turning to start the walk to work, I immediately freeze.
