17. Caspian

CHAPTER 17

Caspian

C assius worked so hard to damage my memory, and now I know why. To shatter any recollection of her, my dear one. My sister, my heart. My other half.

With her, I was always stronger. She helped me remember. As his angry, sadistic, monstrous Caspian, I was a monster he could not control.

Together, we shielded each other from his corrupt influence.

All we had was each other.

Still…

She was taken from me without a second thought, and I rarely questioned him. I rarely asked him why. I forgot her at times, my dearest one. I forgot her face. Her smile. Her coldly mocking voice as we plotted against him in secret. She was snuffed out of my skull far more easily than she should have been.

In the end, Cassius got what he wanted.

I left her behind.

"I waited and waited and waited," she tells me. Over and over until her voice breaks. "I waited and you never came. I tried everything, Caspian. Everything! Where were you? Where?"

"I was… in the dark," I say. In that dark, wretched hive mind. In that twisted collective brain.

It's no excuse.

"No excuse!" she hisses, beating against my chest with two delicate fists. Slam. Slam. Slam. I barely feel the pain, but I let her hit me. If that is what it takes, I'll let her break me into pieces like she was.

"We only had each other. Just us! It was JUST US! How could you endure him without me? That disgusting, fucking shithead! How could you survive him without me? Oh, Caspian, I'm so sorry. I told you to follow. I told you to come! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN?"

"Darlings—" The voice cuts into our jaded reunion.

We aren't alone, I remember. There are others about. Fragile, sensitive creatures huddling in rooms both above and below where we stand now. In Altaris's strange domain of empty vamryer. He stands in the doorway of some narrow room piled high with a table draped in purple cloth, with even more material shielding the two large windows.

"I hate to interrupt, but the noise level… Can we just keep it to a minimum, please? The other darlings are already upset, and I frankly cannot afford more incidents —" His tone is deliberately cutting, his gaze on my Cassiopeia. "In one day. Indoor voices, darling ones. Indoor voices."

He slips from the room and gently closes the black door.

Slam. SLAM! Cassiopeia pummels me with her fists. It is starting to hurt. Starting to feel. Starting to remind me of another slender creature with grasping hands and a persistent voice.

Niamh. My Niamh. Lost. Alone. Needing to be found?—

"I'm so sorry." Cassiopeia collapses into me. Her arms scratch around my waist—a physical embrace. In all the years we dwelled in Cassius's demented playground, we rarely touched. A holding of hands there. A hug here. We didn't need physical contact in the same way we needed our minds. Our thoughts. We'd let them mingle and merge until we couldn't tell which belonged to the other. We were one. A hateful duality fixated on one purpose.

Kill Cassius.

Make him suffer.

Make him pay.

"He's still there," Cassiopeia says, her voice muffled by my coat, her face pressed to my chest. "Still thriving and living. That sick piece of shit! I hate what he's done to you. I can see it on your face. Sick bastard. He tormented you. Why didn't you come for me? You promised."

I promised. That I did. We had a plan. An elaborate and carefully devised scheme, once we knew we'd gone too far and escape was our only option.

We ran together into the mortal realm.

Cassius followed. Personally, he followed. But why?

It hurts to remember.

"We should go now," Cassiopeia laments, still striking me. Bang. Bang. "Go now when he least expects it. Stab him in the bloody eyes. Rip them out. Eat them in front of him. We should go now. Kill him now?—"

"We can't," I say. Then I grasp her wrist before she can hit me again. I step back and watch her fist flail in my grip, striking nothing. "I need to stay. I need to find…"

"You need. You need!" Her eyes blaze, a dull hue of red. Out here, they've lost that scarlet sheen. They're more amber. Her hair…

I reach for a strand with my free hand and frown. It's been desecrated. Someone painted over the silvery white with a garish pink. Until now, I didn't even notice.

"What have they done to you?" I ask her. Demand an answer.

She shakes her head. "Not important. We are. We must leave. We must. We must. We must—ah!" She sinks into a crouch cradling her face in her hands. "It hurts. This stupid, fractured, lone mind hurts. I need you, Caspian. I need your thoughts. Your voice."

"I am here," I say, moving toward her, ready to touch. Provide comfort. A pat on her shoulder to mimic the way our minds would collide. I reach for her hand. She snatches it away.

"No! No! I can't think! It hurts! Can't think. Can't think…" Her voice devolves into a moan as she rocks her body back and forth, her eyes squeezed shut.

"It's okay." A delicate voice. Falsely delicate.

I turn to see the wise one standing in the doorway, peeking inside. "It takes us all time to adjust. Poor Daisy. I've never heard her speak before…" She trails off and sighs. Then she meets my gaze directly with her strange, probing eyes. "Altaris said you have business with Ginni in the basement. You can go. I'll watch over her. It is alright."

Her kind, sweet naivety is an act, that much I know. A lie. False. Yet her words ring true. Still, I should refuse. Deny. I should take my dear one to the portal and together, we can kill Cassius once and for all. The sight of his blood will heal her brain, the same way Niamh's screams healed mine.

Wait…

Her screams. They tugged on me then, but the world is silent now. Wherever she is, she is not in pain. I would know, and I would come for her. She is lost but not in pain.

Yet, I do not want her to be. Those screams do not appeal to me like they used to. Her laugh is prettier. As if I care for pretty things. I don't. But her laugh…

It's the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

"Go." The strange one, Poppy, fully enters this space and crouches down beside Cassiopeia. She pats her back and shushes her in gentle tones. Fake of course. She is wise beneath it all, and she knows far better than I do. My dear one's pain isn't normal. Those eyes reveal the truth—she is afraid.

I try to banish the thought as I leave. Go. Then I stop in the middle of a dark hallway and try to remember where I'm supposed to go. Basement. Ginni.

No. I need to go out. Into the city. Before she can scream for me, I must find Niamh. I need to find her. Grip her tight and hold her close. In her peace, I may remember more. I may recall more about my life with Cassiopeia before the pain. Before the bastard tore her out of my brain.

Before I failed her, too.

But I must find her first. Find a way out of this hovel. I storm forward into another narrow room. Find a door. Reach for it.

A man appears from nowhere to block the doorknob from my grasp. Not nowhere. He is stealth incarnate. Dark, soulless eyes. Bright blue hair that was once golden. I know who he belonged to without much thought. He reeks of violence and sin. A violence well beyond what Cassius enjoyed.

This is one of Pol's. She of blood and war. She who led the vamryre's response to the fae and lunaria in the old wars. How do I know this? My Niamh. She read to me in her precious archives, a book she thought I didn't ingest. That paired with older knowledge floating around my skull. Probably that of my old master.

He despised Nataniel, his wise brother, but dear Cassius feared Pol. Only the strongest and most brutal pets were chosen for her brood. Known to have an iron fist, I'm surprised she allowed any of her past spawn to wander off. Cassius always thought she ate those she became bored with. Bored. Because unlike what they shoved down our throats, becoming one with the collective was not for eternity. Not always. They would pick and choose their pets and grow disgusted with those they deemed useless.

How do I know this?

I am not sure. Being with Cassiopeia jarred another memory free. One that we hoarded and protected for when the time came for it to be of use. To leave the collective was not to die. We knew it beforehand. He made me forget.

And now the wayward spawn of him and his brothers seek to plague me still.

"Move, brother," I hiss at the Pol-spawn.

He doesn't flinch. He nods his head, indicating another doorway. Then he approaches it first, expecting me to follow.

Bastard.

I dig my heels in, intending to watch him go. Then slip out while his back is turned. I am done with Altaris and his games. Done with this house of broken toys. I need my fae and she needs me. The itch for her grows stronger. Impatient. Irritating.

Niamh. Niamh. Niamh. Her name plays on my skull in a haunting melody. A part of me fears her screams will be the crescendo of it. Her agonized, pained cries.

And I will have failed her again.

A door is opened. The Pol-spawn stands beside it. Once again, he nods toward the darkened space beyond.

My response is to clench my fists. "I need to leave."

He says nothing. Another firm and stern nod. Grunts and jerky movements are all he speaks in. Yet, I understand completely. I try to leave, and he will stop me.

More time wasted.

So, I storm in the direction he indicated. Down the stairs, into a gray room with bulbs dangling from the ceiling casting a greenish light. It's only mortal magic, nothing fae. Still, the light is softer to vamryre eyes. It enhances the appearance of finer details. For instance, I can see every angle and plane of the Pol-one's face. His disgust.

He does not like this place, but he goes where he is told. Moving past me, he raps his knuckles hard on a battered metal door.

"Coming!" trills a voice from the other side. A humming sound emanates. The door is shoved open. A tiny figure darts away without bothering to see who steps inside.

"Ah, at last." Altaris stands at the back of the room, a piece of black fabric pressed to his nose. "I trust you helped dear Daisy get settled in?"

Daisy. A fake name. A lie.

"Her name is Cassiopeia," I snap. "We were spawn of Cassius. You kept her here, broken, and desecrated. Why?"

"Kept her." Altaris scoffs at the term. "Call it what you will, but we strive to keep poor Daisy contained until her mind is healed. Away from any tender mortal necks she may chew upon. As important as our individual work is," he adds, his tone scolding, his gaze fixed on a far corner, "protecting one another is our most important task. I haven't seen a vamryre die at boney hands for over one hundred and fifty years, and I prefer to keep it that way."

"Sorry!" The voice is anything but contrite. It belongs to a tiny woman—barely as tall as my elbow. She scurries into a darkened corner of the room wearing an oversized, white coat and silver-rimmed glasses. There are a set of large, metal drawers there. She opens one, and peers inside. Opens another. Beams.

A thick stench wafts from both. Decay. Death. In the dim lighting, I can make out body parts--an arm here. A leg. Beneath the acrid decay is a scent I recognize: Niamh's. It appears that this dank basement is the final resting place of those who attacked her.

"I was very busy," the female chirps as she slams a drawer shut. "Poor Daisy. It is my fault!" Yet she is still smiling as she spins to face us.

Similarly to Cassiopeia, she has also been desecrated by time spent in this realm. Although her hair is reddish brown now, I know it was once white. As the greenish light illuminates her eyes, they reflect a dark, amber gleam. Like mine, they used to be red.

She is one of Cassius's. An old one, well before my time. In essence, she represents everything the bastard desires in a prey. Tiny. Beautiful. Young and ripe.

Yet, she is not simpering and sweet. She is sharp, moving like a furtive mouse, always hunting for something. A mind that easily diverted wouldn't do well in a collective cage. I bet this one wasn't discarded as useless. It is likely that she wandered away on her own, distracted by something shiny.

"I apologized," she reminds Altaris sweetly. "You say apologies show contriteness. Therefore, I am contrite. My work is important. Very important. I keep us from starving?—"

"I know," Altaris insists, rolling his green eyes. They have played out this conversation between themselves before. Many, many times. "But Ginni, darling, when I ask you to look after a young one, you should at least try to. Especially when you were the only one of us she seems to respond to. One of Cassius's, you say?" He asks, looking at me. "I suppose it makes sense."

Of course it does. He knew, all along, which monster each wayward spawn belonged to. He can tell with far more precision than I can. Yet, he is feigning ignorance. Why?

Because of me. His eyes flicker with that fleeting guilt again. Maybe Cassiopeia was the reason all along? The explanation for why he seems so damn guilty around me. Always sighing. Always casting his pitying looks. My dear one was locked away in his hovel.

Yet…

He knew me even before then. He said so. Caspian, one of Cassius's toys. It sounded mocking to me then. Viewed from another lens, the words sound sad instead. A punishment to himself. A cruel reminder.

Caspian, toy of Cassius.

Why?

Why?

I can't remember.

Wait... Something comes to mind; two letters scribbled over and over on a decades old contract. Another name.

This vamryre knew me as another name, once. C.W.

I could ask him. When our eyes meet, I see a yearning in his empty gaze. Longing. Hope. Hope like Niamh's when she begged me to take her to the mortal realm. As if with one single question, I could ease his mind. Free him of some terrible burden. One word.

I open my mouth.

"Your noises are bothering me," Ginni snaps, rubbing at her forehead with a slim, pale hand. "So many noises. Angry and seething. Get out. All of you, get out!"

"Ginni, darling," Altaris starts without moving an inch, "We are here for a reason, remember? Try to think, my darling. Any news on the black-market sites? We are trying to find someone."

"Yes," I hiss, turning on the smaller woman. "A fae. Where is she?"

She blinks. "Don't know. Don't know. No news of fae. I wish there was. Fae blood is rumored to be sweet and nice. Magical. Oh, how I would long to chop, chop, chop delicate fae limbs and see the bones underneath?—"

"Caspian, darling." Altaris's tone is sharp. It hooks into me, locking my body into place. "We do not fight here, among fellow darling ones. That is a rule and it is one I take great pains to enforce. Don't we, Scythe?" He looks to the blue-haired one of Pol. The bastard nods and flexes his limbs.

So that is why he is here. To protect the tiny one, Ginni. Her work is important, it seems. The work of death and decay. It reeks in this wide room. Traces of blood stain the floors. Those metal drawers contain more than paper or trinkets.

Body parts.

Body parts for this insane, demented lost one to chop to her heart's content.

She catches me staring. Winces. "I don't like this one. Everyone out. Out!"

"We will leave soon, my dearest. Just as soon as you tell us one more thing."

Ginni shakes her head, nearly sending her glasses flying off her nose. "Don't want to. Don't want! Don't!"

"Careful now, darling one. Listen to me carefully. I need you to use your contacts now. For me. Ask them about a fae. A frail-looking creature, long, dark hair. Pale and gaunt. Beady little eyes?—"

"Beautiful," I snap. "Niamh is beautiful."

Altaris waves the material he once held to his nose dismissively. "In any case, Ginni dear, we need to find her soon. Remember how we don't like it when the boneys show up on our doorstep?"

Ginni shudders. "Nosey boneys! Pestering. They take my bones and bits away. All my bloodied bits!"

"Yes, my darling." Altaris nods. "They also confiscate our very important blood supply. If we don't find this fae creature before they do, there will be dozens upon dozens of boneys on our doorsteps, dear one. They will shut us down for weeks, if that. No new supply of blood for our darling housemates. They may close down our operation entirely and we don't need that, do we?"

Ginni cringes, horrified. "No! No!"

"Good. So go into your quiet place and ask those contacts of yours about a fae."

"Oh!" Ginni reaches up, grasping fistfuls of her hair. Then she nods. "Yes. Yes. A moment, please." She scurries to a door at the back of the room. It leads to a closet. She clambers inside and slams the door in her wake.

"It won't be long now," Altaris says, unfazed. "Scythe, darling, why don't you go out and scout a path for us? Make sure there are no unsavory characters about."

The blue-haired one nods and fades into the shadows.

"And you, Caspian…" Altaris eyes me warily, his gaze unreadable. "We need to discuss that girl of yours, you and I. She is dangerous. I have told you that. Her mind is a warped little hive. There are ways to free yourself from her, should you choose. You merely have to ask?—"

"Noises!" Ginni shrieks from behind the door of her closet. "Noises! Noises! I require silence!"

With another sigh, Altaris presses a finger to his mouth.

For what seems like hours, we stand and fucking wait.

Finally, the door to the closet opens. Ginni reappears, tugging at her hair with trembling fingers. "My contacts are restless, yes," she says gravely. Her eyes gleam behind her glasses as she looks up. She is ecstatic. "So many naughty thoughts on the wind. So much impending murder. So many new bodies to chop and chop!" She rubs her hands together and spins in a gleeful circle.

"Ah-hem." Altaris clears his throat. "Ginni, darling…"

"Ah, yes. The fae one is here, nearby. A circus of freaks and sideshows. Somewhere on the outskirts of town. You should find her soon," she adds, smiling longingly, staring at nothing. "So very many want to chop her up. They've seen her, yes."

"Boneys?" Altaris questions.

Ginni shakes her head. "Oh no. Worse. Far, far worse. Oh dear! An ancient being--like you. He is very naughty." She giggles and squeals like a fucking child craving a delicious sweet. She is odd. Disturbing. The way she smiles while surrounded by death and decay is disturbing.

Yet… So did I once.

"There are other monsters on the prowl," she declares happily. "So very many. They seek to take and eat and loom in her shadow. You must find her quickly now. Or don't. How I would love to have a fae to chop and chop?—"

"Thank you, darling." Altaris stands tall and tucks his fabric scrap into his pocket. "It seems as though we should be on our way."

"Yes, yes," Ginni says, appearing behind him. With her tiny hands, she practically shoves him toward the door. "It is almost business hours. Opening time. Sunset is opening time, the start of business time. You promised. No bothering me then. It is a rule."

"Yes, dear one," the older vamryre says gently. He lets her push him from her room as I follow. Not because she threatens me. It would be easy for me to break her and rip those delicate limbs off one by one.

She is creepy, though. Something is wrong with that one, a brokenness in her brain.

It makes her strange. Dangerous in a way that Cassiopeia and I never were.

We had a sense of self-preservation.

When it comes to her strange, creepy interests, she is fearless.

"Oh, and one other thing," she says before slamming the door in our faces. From behind it, her next words are muffled, broken by cackling laughter. "The fae one. Her blood is naughty and wicked. You mustn't let her be bitten. Only chopped. Those who bite her will meet a cruel fate! Bye bye!"

Her words ring out in a haunting echo. I try to ignore them. Try to.

That was something I already knew.

Fae blood—Niamh's blood—is the key recipe to a dangerous fate.

It makes one care for her.

Crave her.

To the ends of the earth, I will crave her.