Chapter 33

33

A mbra lands, butt against lush carpet, Gurlien fumbling into her, before her body snaps away across the room, breaking the contact between the two of them.

They’re in a…room? In a house? It’s unfamiliar to her, not somewhere she’s gone before, but the carpet is beautiful and gray and the wallpaper is homey, floral. It’s bright outside, almost as if the sun is setting directly out the window, golden light streaming in.

Gurlien recoils, reaching his hand for leash, and between one moment and the next, all sound falls away, all sensation of his fingers against the leash, everything, as the leash around her neck jerks her again.

She teleports, against her will, clawing at every moment, and the control spins her into….

Into a white cell.

Her feet slide beneath her against the tile and her ears pop, and she staggers. All connection to the outside world vanishes, all sensation of magic, of her powers, of anything that ties her into reality .

Instead, just a blank white room with bright overhead lights buzzing ever so slightly, and the air doesn’t move.

She’s been in this before.

She spins, and her own skin doesn’t change, her own perception of pain and discomfort. The breath she pulls in doesn’t impact her lungs, her blood stilling in her body, but her mind continuing to turn over, to think, to experience, and—

Stasis cells always have one wall that’s open for observation, and so does this one.

Beyond the bright light of the cell, the world is dim, like someone forgot to turn a light on. Like a basement, the floor raw concrete and the walls untouched brick.

Panic starts to drip down her back.

“Gurlien?” she calls out, and her voice breaks, echoing around the room, deadening to anything outside. No words can reach outside, nothing.

She weaves her fingers against the leash, testing it, but there’s no sensation.

It’s the only stasis cell in the room, and she creeps closer to the open wall, to the pane of observation glass, and no other light spills out from anywhere else, even when she cranes her neck to either side.

She’s alone, she’s alone and Gurlien isn’t here and—

Her breath, the completely useless breath that does nothing to help her body, hitches.

For a brief, heartbreaking moment, she lets herself crumble. She lets the worry and the pain and the terror wash over her, lets her legs dump her so she sits on the cold tile, hugging her knees to her chest.

If he’s too far away, if she can’t reach him, then this whole thing is for nothing, then …

She squeezes her eyes shut, taking another long useless breath, before opening them up again.

If Gurlien’s too far away, then he’s somewhere alone that she can’t control, and he’ll need her help.

He’ll need her help, he’ll need her to break out of this and get to him.

Still sitting down on the tile, she tilts her head against the observation glass, casting her eyes across the room. Water drips in the corner, further solidifying the basement sensation, and a dirty table with rusty tools sits off to one side.

So obviously Boltiex. He never cared for the condition of his tools and would buy new ones when his current set inevitably broke from overuse.

It does nothing to quell her fear, so she glances to the other side. A set of stairs, leading up to somewhere unlit. A single dark screen of some electronics, set on a set of wooden boxes.

The lack of rune boxes, the lack of basic sanitation, this is an unsanctioned stasis cell, one that Boltiex would be imprisoned if it ever came out.

She’ll kill him before it does.

But it does tell her some interesting things. That he’d want to keep this quiet, keep her quiet. That he wouldn’t want witnesses.

That he wouldn’t have backup.

Careful, she presses her hand into the seam between the glass observation panel and the floor, and no air flows through. In one of the cells, the Korean one, air occasionally hissed through, and she would lay next to it just to feel some sensation.

The wound at her chest pulls, sending a pang through her awareness, but she pushes herself up to standing anyways. The glass is neutral warm against her palm, but that doesn’t surprise her.

With her breath, the still jagged edges of her wound spark up at her, teasing at a madness of obsession.

That happened whenever she went into stasis. Any wound or injury, anything causing pain, tempts the mind into circling around it, swirling until it occupies every thought.

It did, for Ambra, the first few times.

Something in the basement beyond creaks. She freezes, squinting out past the brightness of the cell, but nothing’s there.

Wait. Not nothing. Not nobody.

Deep in the shadows, so deep she can barely perceive, in a cage so small the figure has to crouch, is another demon.

Ambra tilts her head at them.

They’re not in a dead body, instead far more incorporeal, but somehow still trapped. She can’t see or sense the wards that must be everywhere around it, or else it would shatter the cage.

It’s a cage meant for a dog.

“Can you hear me?” Ambra asks, even though most stasis cells also block noise from escaping.

No response, just a huddled figure, the shoulders hunched and unmoving.

She can’t even tell if they’re looking at her, not with these human eyes.

The stasis chamber was probably for them, and Boltiex evicted them fast to put in Ambra.

It’s probably why she got that snippet of time with Gurlien, the time to press the heal into herself with the magician’s energy ‘food.’ The time to breathe and get a little more of her power back. Boltiex had to prepare a space for her.

Makes sense. He wanted to get her into a place where she couldn’t fight back as soon as possible.

It’s one more thing making Ambra’s blood run cold, and she shivers. Boltiex shouldn’t have access to any demons, to anything, much less store them in a crate better suited for a large dog.

This is why they made five handlers. For all his brilliance and out of the box thinking, Boltiex is just another unstable scientist gone mad with the ideas of power he could control.

So gingerly, not pushing the wound, she prods at every seam in the room, her heart pounding uselessly. She has to get out, it’s not a question, but every aspect of herself is cut off from the world.

The cell’s not perfectly built, one edge of the floor sloping downwards, one of the walls a bit crooked, but all the connectors are flush, not giving her a single bit of leeway.

A light illuminates up the stairs, and she stills once more, letting her eyes flicker to it.

The easiest way out of here would be Boltiex coming down and doing something stupid.

But no footsteps echo downwards, and nobody appears before her.

Careful, Ambra lets her hand rest on her pants pocket, on the tiny multi tool pocket knife tucked inside.

Once, in the Toronto base, they had mistakenly left her with a metal clipboard that she broke into shards, and she carved up every surface of the cell with scratches. It did nothing to get her free, but they had to move her to a clean cell after that, the cell next to Stella .

She bets that this cell is a little less sturdy than that one.

Not telegraphing the motions, not trusting that she’s not being watched in some way, she pulls out the multi-tool, flicking the screwdriver out, picking the one less likely to snap. Gripping it tighter in her hand, she scratches along the seam next to the sloped floor, and it digs into the tile.

So the very tile is softer.

Something between determination and hope, she sits next to it, gouging at the floor.

Until the single screen of electronics blooms to life in front of her, startling her into blinking out at it.

It’s staticky, almost difficult to make out the picture, before it sharpens into a black and white surveillance image.

It’s hard to make out, a figure sitting in a box of a room, before the figure shifts and she catches a glimpse of a familiar silhouette, a familiar set of the jaw.

Careful, she grips the pocket knife, continuing to work through the floor.

So he’s showing her surveillance of Gurlien, and the horror settles deep into her stomach.

And, as Gurlien had said, manipulation.

She keeps her eyes locked on the screen, despite how much they ache with the bright lights. He’s just sitting there, leaning against the wall, his legs awkwardly bent, his hands nervously fussing.

Whatever Boltiex has in store, he wants her to be off-kilter. He wants her to be reacting emotionally, easily prodded into whatever actions he wants.

She has to remember that. Not let herself get caught in the moment like with Bianci.

Another flicker of lights on the staircase, and she swings her head up to watch a pair of shoes stomp on the highest step, kicking up dust.

So even if he held a demon here, he didn’t come down to check on them very often.

Even more cruelty.

In the cage, the figure twitches.

“I’ll get you out, too,” she whispers, despite the danger. Despite the foolishness of getting anywhere close to another demon when she’s like this.

Finally, the dim figure raises their head, and their eyes glitter in the darkness.

The shoes step lightly on the staircase, too light for Boltiex, so Ambra eyes the area. There’s not enough brightness to see anything beyond shadows.

Until a hand on a light switch clicks it on, flooding the entire basement with harsh florescent.

The figure in the cage recoils back, but Ambra just blinks through the additional discomfort.

It doesn’t go away, not in the stasis chamber, but…she adjusts.

On the bottom stair, not quite stepping onto the basement floor, a young woman hesitates.

No, not a young woman, barely a teen. More of a child. Same age as Stella, same gangly limbs of a recent growth spurt.

The hair on the back of Ambra’s neck raises.

Her jaw is the same as Boltiex’s, and her hair the same deep brown.

She tilts her head at Ambra, and that, too, is the same sort of motion of Boltiex.

“What the fuck,” Ambra breathes, even though the child wouldn’t be able to hear her .

The child shakes off whatever fear she had, then steps into the basement.

“My dad says your TV isn’t working,” she says, declarative in the way only fearful people are.

Nobody knew he had children. Nobody knew he had any attachments at all, it was part of what made him unpredictable.

Still, Ambra gestures to the TV, where the flickering screen still shows Gurlien.

The figure in the cage shifts, and the girl freezes, shying back again.

The pre-teen glimmers with some sort of potential, some sort of magic that Ambra’s never seen before, and a quick glance to the demon in the cage catches them watching her sharply.

A fission of understanding passes between them, even with Ambra in the stasis chamber and him in the cage. Whatever this girl is, whatever the school of magic, it’s weird and the other demon is not gonna let Ambra interfere with it.

Fine with her. She has more pressing things to deal with.

What sort of father would send his child into a basement with two living demons improperly restrained?

And if Boltiex is insane enough to do that, what would he do to Gurlien?

Ambra stands, walking over, then splays her hand against the glass of the observation wall. The girl stares at her, not getting closer, as if she’s not sure how to approach Ambra, in the human body with hair that grows.

“It’s okay,” Ambra says, even though no sound could reach her. Then, “Free me?”

The girl shakes her head at that, which is fair. If she lives in such a state with her father, she would fear him far more than whatever monsters he has locked in his basement .

“I’ll get you somewhere safe.” It must be too many words for someone to lipread, for the child gives her a blank look.

It’s words she said to Stella, in the last ditch attempts to get her to stop crying many times, and it never worked.

The demon in the cage twitches, and the hint of a hand curves around the bars of the cage.

Keeping a wary eye on the demon in the cage, the girl crosses to the television, bending behind it and messing with the cords that run to it. The picture flickers, but nothing else happens.

“It’s supposed to play sound,” Boltiex’s daughter says, and in her tone is a hint of Boltiex’s familiar frustration. “This won’t work if it doesn’t play sound.”

The entire thing just got way more complicated. Now there’s another demon and a child she has to get out, as well as Gurlien.

Slow, not spooking the child, Ambra retreats, letting her palm fall away from the glass, until she folds herself up next to the soft spot on the tile.

“Please don’t do that,” the girl murmurs, as if she could tell Ambra is trying to escape. “He’ll be mad if you do.”

Ambra bets he will.

On the screen, the familiar hunched shoulders of Boltiex cross the room, and Gurlien lifts his head. They’re obviously speaking, and static crackles with one shift of the cords, but the sound doesn’t connect.

The demon in the cage starts watching Ambra again, and she can’t tell if there’s malice or curiosity in that gaze. The moment she lets them go, there could be bloodshed or immediate retreat, and little in between.

Slow, the demon drops one hand to the floor and scratches the tile, sending a chilling creak through the whole room .

The child freezes, staring over at them with wide eyes.

The demon gestures, indistinct, and Ambra doesn’t know how much the child can see of them. Either the child has more magical talent than most, or Boltiex has given the child the ability to see demons in their raw form.

Which is a cruel thing to do to a child on the best of days.

“I’m not supposed to go close,” the girl says, Boltiex’s familiar temper leaking through. “Stop it.”

Another scratch on the floor, and the girl looks over her shoulder to Ambra, as if for back up.

Ambra just crosses her legs, her multi tool in her hand. Gurlien and Boltiex continue to converse in the silent video on the screen, and he’s not approaching Gurlien, just pacing back and forth.

The screen flickers, static crackling. “I need you to—” it cuts off and the girl makes a huff of annoyance.

The demon in the cage locks eyes with Ambra, and makes another long scraping sound.

And it’s been a while since she’s had to communicate with someone outside of a body, but she can recognize a signal when she sees one.

So, even though the stasis chamber has ceased the nerves from flooding into her blood, she digs the tool into the floor again.

The sharp edge of the screwdriver skips along the tile, before hitting purchase, sliding underneath one of the tiles.

The motion tugs at her chest, at the half-healed wound, and she grimaces, pressing a hand against it over the shirt.

The sky-blue shirt.

The child glances at her, then at the other demon, then scowls at the other one .

“I told you, my dad will be mad,” she scolds, even though there’s fear in her voice, and the other demon grins at her.

But she doesn’t recoil back.

So there’s some familiarity, even with the fear.

“He’s dealing with something,” the girl says, with a nod at Ambra, like it’s not evident. “You’ll be back in there soon, this is just temporary.”

Ambra can’t imagine that the demon wants to be in the stasis chamber anymore than she does, but she moves slowly, digging her fingertips under the tile until it pops up.

Immediately, the child spins to her, her eyes wide.

Ambra holds up both hands to show her she means no harm, and even that action shifts the wound on her chest, sending sharp shivers of agony down her back.

And of course they don’t cease, not at all. Once an injury happens inside of stasis, it stays there.

Boltiex’s daughter looks at her, the other demon, the TV, then at her, like she’s contemplating how she lost control of the situation, and Ambra doesn’t want to scare a little girl, doesn’t want her to suffer, but…

The demon taps on the bars of the cage again, then gestures the child close.

The hair on the back of Ambra’s arms raises. That’s too risky, she doesn’t know this demon, she doesn’t know their intention, but the girl crosses her arms and approaches.

“You’re trying to scare me again,” the girl says, her back fully to Ambra. “That won’t work right now.”

The demon gestures her closer, still indistinct, and Ambra hates it. Hates the situation, hates the danger, hates the fact that another child near her might be hurt, might suffer.

The TV sputters, and Boltiex paces close to Gurlien. On the screen, he waves his hand and Gurlien recoils back, some sort of magic that the camera can’t pick up.

Ambra stills. There’s no blood, not visible.

She pulls the tile away, revealing soft packed dirt underneath, then jams the multi tool in it.

Gurlien huddles on the screen, clutching at his hand. The hand with the leash. From the set of his shoulders, Ambra can tell he’s in pain, tell he’s sheltering himself.

The demon says…something…outside of the range that Ambra’s ears can pick up in stasis. If she was out, if she had access to her powers, she’d be able to understand easily, but here, with just her human senses, all she gets is a vague murmur.

“Shh,” the child says, but there’s a glimmer of something mischievous in her eyes, something so foreign on someone who looks so close to Boltiex. “That won’t work, you know it.”

A hint of a smile from the demon, and Ambra shivers again.

On the screen, Boltiex makes another strike, and Ambra digs into the packed dirt. If her heart was beating, it’d stop all over again from the fear.

She can’t stall, she can’t make this subtle, she has to hurry. And the demon outside can’t distract her, and the child…

The child has to be protected but can’t delay her.

Frustration builds in her chest, like emotion always builds in stasis, without any natural releases that come inherent in the human body. She’s injured, she’s at such a disadvantage, she can’t quite stop the wave of despair that threatens to drown her.

And with another jam of the tool, she hits the limit of the stasis spells, tingling along her fingertips. Her ears pop, her heart jumps painfully, blood chugging to movement from her arm upwards.

She coughs, doubling over against her knees, and the girl spins to face her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, with the same fake imperiousness that everyone in the College always uses. “You shouldn’t make noise!”

The demon in the cage settles back, their eyes shining in the dark.

The blood in her veins hits the wound, and despite all the healing she did at the apartment, it glistens in the light.

Ambra attempts to push herself up, but her arms shake all the same, as the blood slowly starting to pump hits her brain.

Prickles of sensation, warring with the pain and the dread, flood the body with adrenaline, and she hisses out a breath.

The little girl glances towards the stairs, like she’s going to make a run for it.

“Wait,” she croaks out, and Boltiex’s daughter freezes. “Stay down here, you’ll be safe.”

It’s a lie, she doesn’t know what protections her father has built around the cage with the demon.

“I’ll come back down and get you somewhere else,” Ambra vows, and her voice quivers uselessly, like she’s a newborn animal. “Anywhere you want, anywhere you need.”

The girl glances obviously to the other demon, who watches them both. “Can you take me to my mom’s house?”

Ambra nods, relief flooding through her with all the panic and the adrenaline and the pain. This child has another home, another place to go. “Of course,” she says, and the girl scowls, like she’s confused and doesn’t want to show it.

The girl backs up, until her hand closes around the rusty bars of the cage, as if the monster in there will protect her from the monster breaking out of stasis.

With another dig of her nails into the packed dirt, Ambra folds more power into herself, creaking the ground underneath the stasis chamber, then teleports herself to right outside the glass observation wall.

Immediately, she knows she can’t teleport outside the building, a normal two-story house with a basement. There’re locks in the walls, traps to prevent her from going far. An entire building is a cage.

The child recoils away, towards the other demon in the cage, and Ambra puts her hands up, then points at the TV.

“How far away is that?” Ambra croaks out, and her skin shivers with the air brushing against it, derailing her thoughts.

The girl just cringes away, but…

The demon points up the stairs.

Good, they’re in the same house.

Whenever she is brought out of stasis, the body dumps all sorts of chemicals into her veins. Panic, terror, fear, excitement, dread, all of the pent-up emotions from the chamber all at once. There’s the leash, suddenly vivid against her awareness, slack. There’s the itch of her scar underneath her breastbone, the gaping wound in her chest, her feet are cold against the concrete of the basement, and she’s wearing Gurlien’s shirt.

“I’ll get her out,” the demon whispers, and she can pick up their words now that she’s out of stasis, pick up what they’re saying. “I know where her mother lives.”

Ambra inhales, but the girl nods .

And Boltiex strikes again, and this time there’s some blood on the ground, fuzzy on the TV.

“There’s a trap upstairs,” they say, eyes glittering. “Unravel it and I’ll get her to safety.”

Ambra doesn’t trust them at all, but she turns towards the stairs, her heart panging with stress as it attempts to cycle the blood sluggish in her veins.

Behind her, the demon laughs, low.