I know I don’t have time. Moments, maybe, before he makes the kill. He is on the hunt. I can almost feel him circling me, assessing how best to strike.
I drop to my knees in the freezing mud and crawl under my ship. My feet snag in my dress as it drags against the mud. But I manage to twist around until I’ve found it, the one access point to my ship’s internal mechanism that can be opened manually. I dig my fingernails under the hatch. I’d usually use a screwdriver for this, at the very least, or a crowbar if I had one. But I don’t. I wince as one of my nails breaks, as I try to gain a proper hold on the metal. The mud has made me slippery; the cold has made me clumsy.
The gloom around the ship seems to grow thicker. Electricity bites the air. I can almost feel him reaching for me, his claws of solid smoke readying themselves to drag along my skin.
At last, with a strangled cry, I wrench open the hatch.
Something small, a loose screw maybe, tumbles out and onto the ground. My throat tightens. I don’t leave loose fucking screws lying around inside my ship. Someonehasbeen here. I can’t see anything but darkness through the hatch, but I would know my way around my ship’s engine blind. Deftly, gingerly, I feel around with shaking fingers. And …
‘Fuck.’
Where the power coil should be is an empty gap. My finger catches on a jagged edge and I hiss, retracting my hand and putting the finger to my lips. It’s been snapped out of place. The solar flares, as I suspected, were never real.
MIDONIA.
A scream works its way up my throat and I choke it back, desperate not to draw attention to myself. I roll out from under my ship, then get to my knees and scramble to my feet. I feel a fleeting sensation of cold at my cheek, the reaching caress of a long-fingered hand, and I flee.
I am running through the village, mindless like a prey animal, choking on saliva, ignoring the throb in my feet, my freezing muscles, my bleeding finger. I realize now that I have to get to Irena. Irena, who no doubt sabotaged my ship, who took the power coil. It had to be her. Anguish may have asked for me, but she is the architect of my betrayal. She took my hand and led meto this fate. And if I have anything to say about it, it will be she who delivers me from it.
I grit my teeth and make a decision: If I have to threaten Irena, I will. If I have to hurt her, I will. She’s smaller than me, older, probably more frail. And I have the psychotic energy of the chased. Adrenaline surges in my veins.
I will get that part from her. And I will …
My steps flag as a flash of reality crosses my mind. I will …what? Weld the coil back into place? With what tools? I have what I need in my ship, but I can’t get to them without the power coil installed. And I can feel Anguish trailing me even now. I hear his footfalls like a pack of wolves, closing in around me. I feel his wingbeats above me, churning the night air. I feel his hot breath against my exposed neck.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MIDONIA?
Away from you. As far away as I can get.
Tears are streaming down my face when I finally make it to Irena’s hut. I hammer on the door with my forearm, hard enough to bruise. When I pull back my arm to knock again, a voice slides into my mind.
MIDONIA. STOP. COME BACK WITH ME. I WON’T BE ABLE TO CONTROL MYSELF IF YOU –
His words break off as the door opens. Irena’s expression is warped by fear, her eyes wide with obviousdisbelief. The night is thick with inevitability. ‘Midonia,’ she says, her voice unsteady.
I wonder if she planned for this. If she ever thought the sisters’ machinations might go awry.
I push past her into the hut. My bleeding finger leaves a smear of red on her white dress. Her eyes are wild, her body stiff with anxiety. But she doesn’t fight me, nor does she call on the other sisters. She closes the door behind me, leaning her back against it for a moment as if catching her breath; collecting her thoughts. Then she moves to face me. Her eyes swim with unshed tears. I know she is afraid, though of what – me, or Anguish, or something else entirely – I can’t say.
The night outside is quiet. I sense him there, holding his breath, preparing to attack.
‘Irena.’ I speak through gritted teeth. ‘I know you have it.’
Her eyes widen. Her mouth quivers. ‘I have nothing of yours.’
‘My power coil.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘You don’t have to knowwhatit is. You ripped it from the guts of my ship.’
Irena’s expression hardens, just a little. But she says nothing.
‘You lied about the solar storm. I’m not your guest here. I’m your prisoner. He told me everything.’
‘He …’
‘Anguish.’
