21. Caspian

CHAPTER 21

Caspian

T here is something wrong in Niamh's brain. A dark spot she doesn't seem aware of. Sometimes, I can hear it whispering things only she can hear.

And her back. I should ask Altaris about her back.

I want to—but I sense she won't let me. There is something she is hiding from me even if she doesn't know it. Hiding it from herself.

A secret. A wound of some kind. It is hurting her. I can feel it. Taste the corruption coiling beneath my skin.

Yet…

She smiles as though unaffected. She views the world still with just hopeful, innocent eyes. A world she's already seen at its worst, stinking and violent. A word that's harmed her already far more than our old realm ever did.

A world that despises her and sees her only as a disturbing thing or something shiny to exploit. She doesn't see it. She pretends not to see it.

As long as there is good, she ignores the bad. Her ease of doing so annoys me. A desire to see the world in only the best light. To view dangling on a swing with false wings as excitedly as genuine flight.

To look at a vamryre who gleefully described his plans to murder her and see only a savior. A lover. Someone worthy of protection.

She makes me feel weak—her of frail limbs and gaunt flesh, with a scarred back and wings cut from their stalks.

She makes me envy that strength of hers. Were she a slave of Cassius, she would not dread facing him again. She would do so with her head held high and…

She would forgive him, with all her heart. With genuine, sickening honesty. She would look that monster in the eye and forgive him.

And Cassius, that sick bastard, he would crumble.

I am not so weak as her.

Not as strong.

I feed upon my anger and plan to wield it to its fullest extent. I will find my old master, and I will gladly drive his soul from his skull. I will rip out his eyes and eat them before him as Cassiopeia boasted. We will drink his blood together.

But Niamh will not understand. She does not speak the language of wrath and hatred.

So I will hide that desire from her as she hides her secret pain for me. A fair trade. An honest one.

We will both lie to each other in one small way, with none the wiser.

Yet, why, when I look into her eyes, sparkling and ebony, do I feel a twinge of something in my chest. A part of me claims it is guilt. Perhaps not.

Perhaps it is dread for the war I know is coming. One of minds and spirits. One of bodies and souls. Cassius is coming for me, I can fucking feel him.

Her creepy fae brother is coming for her, looming ever closer.

We both will have a choice on whether to forgive or kill.

I, for one, will happily kill.

"Well, here we are," Altaris announces, gesturing to the black building before us.

The mortal beside him cranes her neck to get a better look, her expression is wide-eyed, obviously impressed. "So this is the clinic's entrance?"

Altaris laughs. "Oh no, darling. That would be the basement entrance. Scythe, could you show her the way?"

The Pol-spawn obeys without question while the mortal beside him excitedly asks him questions he doesn't answer. "Oh, where do you source your specimens? Is there a delivery system? Can I see the…"

"Well, now, there is one small matter we must discuss," Altaris says, turning his focus to Niamh. "You, my darling, will not be allowed inside my dwelling. Not any time soon. To repay your contract, either Poppy or myself will retrieve you from the other house. Do you understand?"

"Why?" I demand, gripping her hand so tightly she gasps.

Altaris looks at me and sighs. "If she hasn't explained it, I won't. But she is a risk to my darlings, and that cannot stand?—"

"Why?" she asked, her voice pained. Constricted.

Anger rises in me. I'd rip out Altaris's throat if I thought I could.

But he is not Cassius, and is one not to be trifled with. So I hold back. For now.

Altaris blinks. "So you haven't realized. You don't know. Tell me, dear one, have you noticed any strange marks on your body since your return? Any strange, little voices in your skull, other than your own?"

She stiffens, but I answer for her. "On her back," I say. "There are two birds."

She frees her hand from mine and steps away. Not out of shock or shame. Just surprise. She didn't realize. It scares her to know that yet another change has taken place on her abominable form. Another sign that marks her as different.

"Those would be jackdaws," Altaris murmurs, his green eyes glittering in the dark. "The result of very, very dark magic. Very twisted. To attract their attention, you must have witnessed something terrible. It will take yet more of my resources and contacts to find out what."

"So then why punish her?" I snap.

He shakes his head. "You misunderstand. Jackdaws are reactive by nature, driven to protect. As you have seen, my darling ones can be a tad skittish. There is no telling if someone may stumble across her and have an accident. Jackdaws do not play nicely and they do not stop until their prey is dead. I'd rather not take that risk, I am sure you understand."

She doesn't, but she nods along anyway. Standing alone, on this winding street, she seems so small, nearly swallowed alive by shadows. I reach for her. She doesn't seem to see my hand.

"What does it mean?" she asks Altaris, her voice soft. "What does it mean?"

"It means, my darling, that we need to figure out what really happened to Cyrus Triarc. As interestingly demented as you may be, I know for a fact you didn't kill him."

Of course she didn't. I eye her hands, delicate and slim. When provoked, she wants to fight and bite, but she couldn't if she tried. She'd break her bones the second she tried to drive a blade into another creature.

That is what I am for.

"That wasn't the work of jackdaws, either," Altaris remarks. "Oh no. Only a very powerful and very twisted being could be capable of such violence."

"I've ripped out hearts," I say. As if it is hard. As if it isn't easy. As if mortal and mundane limbs don't squish and give to the slightest pressure.

"Ah, but that is the problem. Several creatures enjoy employing similar methods," Altaris murmurs, his head cocked, brows drawn. "I would like to wait until our autopsy confirms it, but I have my suspicions as to the culprit. I have seen such a shoddy little circus before. I thought I had ensured that such a creature could never dare to stalk this city again."

I frown at his words, sensing a mystery cloaked within a riddle.

Niamh, however, gasps. "The fae. You've seen her. You know who she was!"

A strange thing happens. Altaris's eyes remain blank, his expression blank—but it is an act. A lie. He schools his expression into a mask to hide the real emotion flitting underneath. A fae, she said. Had he seen her?

If I had to guess, the answer would be yes. He has. Yet, he doesn't seem inclined to say.

"You should go back to the other home, darling," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "The jackdaws will protect you from harm. They are useful in that aspect at least. Caspian, you will attend the autopsy with me. I suspect we will need the assistance?—"

"No," I growl. Then I reach for Niamh and snatch her hand whether she wants me to or not. Let her walk alone? Leave her fate to demented, magic birds etched into her skin?

Hell no.

"Hell no," I tell him directly. "She comes with me, or I don't go at all."

"You do have a contract to pay off," Altaris remarks, but there is no real authority in his voice. The mentioning of some fae has bothered him. To the point he can no longer hide it. His eyes are distracted, his attention fixated on something far away. In the past, perhaps. "Fine. She may come in if you watch out for her. I'd rather you break the bones of a darling one than have them torn to pieces by jackdaws, but I warn you. If my darlings get upset, you will make her leave. It is for her own protection."

I nod. For her protection, I'll rip his house of broken, insane vamryre apart.

Except for…

Cassiopeia. She is here, lingering somewhere above, still wallowing in pain and lost memories.

"Well now, let's be on our way. Goodness gracious, I just hope Ginni hasn't taken a bite out of that mortal. The last thing I need is to give the boneys another reason to flaunt their high and mighty noses around these parts. Times will be hard enough with not one but two investigations taking place on our literal doorstep. Come."

Rather than head in through the main black doors, he leads us to the side of the building instead. There is a metal railing surrounding a staircase that goes down, down to a metal door. It is rigid. No sound from within slips out. After Altaris knocks, a series of sliding, slamming mechanisms indicate various bolts and chains have been unlocked.

When it finally opens, the Pol-spawn stands behind it. He wears a black mask around his nose and heavy rubber gloves that extend up to his arms. A curt nod beckons us inside.

"Ginni, darling?" Altaris calls out.

"No! No! You are not meant to visit during business hours! THAT IS A RULE!"

The insane one's voice echoes through the large chamber, but she is hunched over a massive metal slab in the middle. The mortal beside her doesn't seem to react much to the shrieking. She watches in fascination as the insane one peels a bloodied torso open with a sharpened blade. "You promised me," Ginni mutters without looking up from her "work." "No bothering me during business?—"

"I am here on business, dear one. I would like to observe and watch. I want to see if a hunch I have will be proven or not."

"Oh." Ginni shrugs, suddenly calm. Then she jabs her knife toward the mortal. "See the serrated edges," she says, her voice as giddy as a child's. "It is nice for slice-slicing when neatness is not required. Such a mess. A mess." She continues to cut into the torso.

Beside her, the mortal nods. "Ah, a unique technique. One would think not to use a serrated edge for excavation, but when time is of the essence I could see how practicality would take precedence over skill."

"Yes, yes!" Ginni nods excitedly. "But when skill is called for, I have nice, sharp scalpel blades. Altaris got them for me special."

"Oh I would love to see them," the mortal coos. It's strange, but she sounds genuinely interested, the way Niamh does when she speaks of her books.

Even mortals can be afflicted with addled minds.

My fae, however, seems uninterested in blood and knives. In the greenish light, she appears pale. Like she might faint. Suddenly, she begins to sway.

Pulling her against me, I hold her tightly.

"It is the smell, I suppose," Altaris remarks from across the room, well beyond the reach of Ginni's jabbing blade. "I forget that mortals can sometimes be squeamish when it comes to these things."

Squeamish. From over the insane vamryre's shoulder, the human is practically cackling with glee. They speak continuously as they cut and slice. It seems they are having fun.

"Take her home," Altaris tells me. "I suppose she's had a long day indeed. I shall visit you tomorrow with the results. Now go?—"

"Yes, go now," Ginni snaps. "ENOUGH NOISES!"

I do not need to be told twice. Lifting my fae into my arms, I head for the door.

"It will be faster," I tell her out loud.

Faster.

And it will ensure that I can hold her tight against the darkness and protect her from any and all shadows.

I've failed her twice already.

I won't do so again.

I'll kill anyone who stands in my way.