Subspecies: Bloodloss -- Chapter Nine, Part Two
Subspecies: Bloodloss
Chapter 9/10
Author: memoriamvictus
Rating: R
Summary: Sequel to Subspecies: Bloodlines. Michelle discovers that the weight of obligation can be the heaviest shackle of all as she struggles to retain her hard-won freedom in the face of a fate that will not be denied.
Disclaimer: We don't know who it belongs to, but it certainly isn't me. This work is merely an act of affection and admiration; no offense or challenge is intended. Reader discretion is always advised.
Wordcount: 12,160
Begin at the beginning.
Steeling herself, she braced her back against the wall, hoping to be able to support herself through any shocks of pain. Preemptively gritting her teeth, she checked to make sure Iris was still looking elsewhere, and flexed her wrists a hair’s breadth.
She had a moment to enjoy the unexpected lack of feeling before it exploded into icy pins and needles, steadily marching their way up her forearms as if they’d awakened from a thousand year slumber. She slumped back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her teeth against a hiss she couldn’t tell if she kept locked behind them. Frostbite gave way to flame as she shuddered, awash once more in the sick gray haze of the silver in her body. She battled for consciousness, but the overpowering rush of pain had stolen her focus from everything but the desperate wish to stay on her feet.
It wasn’t enough. She could feel her knees beginning to buckle, her back beginning to slide down the wall, her resolve beginning to falter-and then with a nerve-wracking, grating slither, one of the silver discs popped out of her left wrist.
She forced herself back against the wall, bracing her legs for all they were worth, as she trembled in shock and pain. She wanted to pant. She felt like she should be coated in sweat. Her wrists still felt like they were braceleted in molten metal. But she could wiggle her left thumb now.
Her lip curled with the sharp, banged-funnybone disturbance that ripped its way up her arm as she did so, but she was able to swivel her thumb fully. She was able to stretch it out and pick another disc out of her right wrist.
That one nearly undid her. She might have made some soft sound; she definitely slumped a few inches, her legs barely able to catch her as the toxic gray waste flooded her system. She had definitely created enough disturbance to cause Iris’s head to swivel, but had absolutely no trouble looking pathetic enough in her suffering to be dismissed as a threat.
Her vision had mostly cleared by the time Iris returned her attention to the ritual preparations, and perhaps just in time.
Radu had risen to his feet, and stood at the head of the circle, the stick of ashy fat still In one of the hands crossed before him as he examined his efforts. His expression was empty; he made no movement other than the twitch of his eyes as they scanned the circle, until finally he reached out to set the stick upon the slab.
He turned on his heel and began to approach his mother. She did not acknowledge him as he mounted the steps, until he stood beneath her and wordlessly raised his cupped hands in supplication. With slow, repulsive majesty, she placed the skull in his hands.
He bowed deeply, holding the skull close to his chest, and then turned to descend once more. He stopped once more at the start of the circle, his head swiveling as he considered it again. She could see he took a deep breath to steady himself as he reached into the skull, and began to sprinkle the remnants of the deceased Oracle over more of them.
Michelle knew better than to look at the floor; she felt too badly already to risk more of whatever radiant evil had hurt her merely to look at. She watched Radu instead. He was working carefully, but disturbingly more quickly than the original drawings. Wherever this was going, it was going to get there soon; she was running out of time.
A quick glance showed her Ana was unchanged, so she leaned back against the wall and tried to marshal herself. She attempted to flex her fingers, and found that she mostly could, though it hurt so badly that it took a few moments for the knowledge to penetrate its consequences. Even getting some of the silver out helped; she had to remember that she really was doing better, even if it didn’t feel like it.
She cautiously stretched the fingers of her right hand to feel along her left wrist, shuddering with a thrill of revulsion and pain as she realized how squishy it was. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to continue her ghastly exploration, but was nearly startled into a yelp when something cold and hateful fell against the back of her hand.
It was the chain. The chain was slack enough it was pooling against her.
Trying to keep the length pressed against the wall, she wriggled her back up until she was standing straight, then eased forward, letting it drop.
There was plenty. The only thing keeping her right wrist attached to the chain was the metal embedded in her flesh.
She couldn’t let herself think about how much this was going to hurt; she simply had to do it, and not scream. She reached out with her left fingers, heedless of the awful crinkling feeling up the underside of her arm, wrapped the three that could reach around the smooth links of the chain as tightly as she could, and yanked her right wrist down.
It was a lot like when she’d tried removing the nails herself; she even recognized the feelings. She had grayed out. It was some time later. She may have screamed. They might have been running to her now.
But her right hand was free. She let go with her fingers, and let the chain slide over the bones of her hand to uncoil towards the floor. The pain of the extra weight settling on her left wrist was unremarkable against the harrowing, full body shock the removal had left her in.
Blinking her way back to reality, it seemed that she had kept herself quiet. Iris stood unmoved; Radu had made his way to the opposite side of the circle, closer to her. Excellent. Good. She had been so very brave. The rush of adrenaline nearly set her to giggling; she managed to swallow a snort of laughter and leaned back against the wall, letting her head droop in an attitude of despair so that her hair obscured her face. What an awful way to potentially expose herself.
Nor was she done with her bravery, but indecision tore at her. Her right wrist still felt putrefied-it was even easier to think about what was happening to her, now that she could do something about it-and difficult to move, but she knew she needed to take advantage of this surge of ebullience before it deserted her. She could already feel the hollow weariness creeping in to replace it. Yet if she pushed herself too far…
…we’re dead anyway.
Her fingers were already scrabbling along her left wrist-it was so much squishier, and part of it collapsed beneath her fingers-and was dismayed by the amount of metal in it. Some of the discs simply lay flat against open wounds, but her numb fingers had trouble telling which. There was much less slack on this side, the chain more tightly wrapped; she’d have to work her fingers beneath it. But because she had freed her right hand, she was able to, and because she had to, she did.
It felt like she’d unzipped herself, jagged bumps catching before tearing free. But there was no gray haze this time; simply brutal, mind-devouring agony, setting her left hand and the base of her throat alight in sympathy, the only thing stronger than her need for silence the need for it to stop.
She didn’t know if it ever truly would, but it did stabilize, its flames achieving a steady, predictable roar, and then, finally, beginning to fade.
She unclenched her fist, and let the chain slip through her fingers. She exhaustedly reminded herself to get the loop off her neck when the time came.
Because aside from that, she was free.
She sagged against the wall, pride, exhaustion, and dawning new fear fighting a lopsided war within her. In her heart of hearts, she’d never truly believed she’d manage it undetected, but now she had, and so she’d have to do all those other things. It could still go wrong in horrifyingly unexpected ways.
But it could now.
She straightened, putting most of her weight on her feet. She wanted to stretch her arms so badly, despite knowing how much it would hurt, but she dutifully kept them folded behind her back. Her neck had begun to mend on its own in a few minutes, and the damage hadn’t been nearly as extensive, nor the anatomy so delicate. She shivered in revulsion at the memory of Radu’s tongue on her ragged, traumatized flesh until realization sent the ghost of a grim smile to haunt her lips at the memory of how he'd treated the wounds from the nails; his insane, selfish need to make use of her one last time might directly lead to his undoing. She might as well give her wrists what time to heal she could.
The tableau remained unchanged, save for the fact that he had nearly completed the circle. The gray malaise still lingered in her body and her thoughts, but she was more able to focus now, and more perturbed by how solemn and business-like his movements were. The manic malevolence of earlier had vanished entirely into a sternly industrious figure she’d never before encountered.
Before long, he had completed his work, and stood one more at the head of the circle, assessing his output. Apparently satisfied, he reached out to set the skull upon the slab, next to the stick of fat. The same slab, she recalled with a bloom of smug darkness, she had collapsed against when she’d tried removing the silver nails herself.
Radu had been surprised she’d even tried. She remembered the look on his face when she’d groaned, twice, and began to look forward to how utterly surprised he’d be in just a few moments. She could do this. She had to be able to do this.
He sank to one knee, raised his left hand, and flicked his fingertips aflame. Her eyes widened; she’d known he could do something like that, but she’d never directly observed him do it, and still wasn’t sure she had. It had seemed a natural, almost casual movement, and then tongues of flame were dancing up the eerie extra joints of his fingers, like bizarre candles. But every time he’d done it before, the outcome had been normal, orange and red fire; these flames burned the bright, electric blue of propane, their hearts a delicate sky blue that would have been pretty in any other circumstances.
Keeping them pincered together, he inverted his hand, and lowered his fingers to the outer edge of the circle.
The pattern burst into flames almost immediately, sorcerous blue fire spreading so rapidly even her sharp eyes struggled to follow its passage. With a low, sonorous roar it surged into a well groomed inferno, the flames bursting so impossibly high they hid Radu and Ana from her, so bright she had to squint her eyes, briefly distracted by Iris falling back half a step; Cassandra was so close it seemed impossible she wouldn’t singe. The flames subsided slowly, then all at once, settling into an unnatural, almost luminescent glow in the shape of the runes that lay beneath it.
Radu stood before it, the eerie blue blaze casting strange shadows over his harsh features. He raised his hands at his sides, and she saw with a chill that small drops of cerulean flame still fell from the tips of his left claws like dripping blood. He turned to face Circe, spreading his arms wider, his back to her. “I have provided the means, and opened the way. To what end shall they be wrought?”
Circe lowered her chin, as if awakening from a reverie, and placed a shriveled foot on the stair beneath her. She descended slowly, with as much stability as Michelle had ever seen her move with; she found herself sliding carefully along the wall, anxious to put even that few inches’ more distance between them. Sybils in temples, witches in caves; Circe’s dire majesty, linen swathed and leaf crowned, bearing the bones of her lesser, would have put them all to shame. The magnitude of her gravity was such that Michelle couldn’t tear her eyes away for even a moment to check on Ana. Was she feeling this extra strongly? Did she know what was happening?
She stopped at the third to last stair, placing herself so that she was at eye level with Radu, the spine still resting against her shoulder. “In you, I have created the most baffling of miracles,” she intoned, her voice still husky, but somehow fuller now, as if it were healing; instead of a screech, it was a badly tuned bronze bell. “I gifted you with the blood of gods and demons. Even in the hands of our enemies, you were able to flourish, and forge your own path to death-in-life. Now, through the fruits of my genius, you have been redeemed into life-in-death. I am unrelenting and indefatigable.”
He bowed his head, and did not raise it again. “I exist as proof of your exemplary abilities, and in gratitude for your efforts.”
“Now has come the time for you to balance that scale.” Her voice had taken on a strange, throaty resonance, almost as if she weren’t the only one speaking. The yellow of the gaslight and the glow of the unnatural flames combined to give her a sickly, greenish cast, highlighting every crack and winkle in her reptilian skin.
Radu raised his right hand to his chest. “I am yours, to command or dispose.”
“We will learn what becomes of you. If you are able to endure, you will emerge blessed.” The word felt obscene to hear echo through this cursed place. “I sacrificed my flesh a thousand years before you had occurred to me. I gained much for its loss, but it has left me irrevocably severed from much of what I crave. Until now.”
She lowered the spine, to point directly at him. “You stand before me at your own grave side, a living man. Yet I also posses your last fledgling.” Michelle couldn’t help but cringe as the tip of the spine came to orient on her with disturbing accuracy, only stopping when she felt the pressure of the chain against her throat. “And a fledgling’s spawn.” She pointed to the miserable heap that was Cassandra; Circe seemed to be the only one still convinced she was alive. “They are as close to descendants as I shall ever have from you.”
If Michelle hadn’t been familiarizing himself with his new physical carriage, she would have missed Radu’s twitch at that. The wrinkles around Circe’s mouth rearranged themselves; perhaps she was smirking at him. “The three of you, here in the place of your afterbirth, sanctified in the blood of two priestesses, shall grant me all that I need for revivification.” She spread her arms wide, the spine jutting up towards the ceiling. “That is the end to which you must put yourself to work.”
He stood at the foot of the stairs, arms still spread, flame still trickling from his fingertips, his heartbeat racing ever faster.
He fell to his knees so hard his patellas cracked sharply against the stone.
“Mother, I cannot.”
Circe’s head tilted, almost bird-like. “You have already opened the gate. You can face what will emerge from it.” Her voice was calm and stern.
“Gladly, a thousand times.” Radu was having trouble keeping his voice steady, dropping back towards his normal rasp. “But I cannot do ask you ask.”
“Your tender heart weighs nothing against my future.”
“May it last beyond the death of the stars.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and then made a truly horrible glottal sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, as he collapsed to sit back on his heels, making a gruesome set of bookends with Ana until he laid his right hand against the floor to bear himself up. “She is not mine.”
“There is no duplicity that can save any of you,” Circe said in a mild, almost chiding tone. “All shall be as I have said, whether you will it or no.”
“Would that it were. Would that I could make it so.” He sagged towards the floor, only his arm keeping him upright. “I-I can alter your servant. We can begin as soon as she awakes tomorrow night.” Michelle couldn’t deny a grudging respect for the lack of outward reaction Iris betrayed.
“She has served me well.” Circe’s voice began to rise, returning to its familiar brazen tones. “While even now you think to spare your lady-love. You are so deeply within my power you cannot see it.”
“My thoughts are yours, as my actions should have been,” he said to the floor. “Look upon me and see my sincerity. I will fetch someone-a nun, a noble’s daughter, whosever you might wish. Only tell me who, and I shall obtain your requirements tonight.”
“You hope me demented in my age and infirmity.” Circe’s voice was boiling towards genuine rage, her arms beginning to tremble. “She stands before me, here and now, reeking of you!”
“She reeks of Vladislas.” He took a long, shuddering breath. “She is Stefan’s.”
Michelle froze, her heels rooted to the ground, hearing his name invoked enough to wipe her mind clean of anything else. It wasn’t the revelation; Radu had said as much before, even earlier tonight. It was only now, hearing it echo in this unholy tomb, that she realized that she’d never truly believed him. He called himself her master, her sire; on some level she had always suspected his claims as to her ancestry were merely deflection, a way to place the blame for her suffering elsewhere, while he had simply wanted to keep her as a broodmare. He had seemed to think she would find that an improvement.
Yet now, cowering in the dark before his mother, with so much riding on it, he said the same. It was impossible not to see how much the admission had cost him; she was suddenly, primordially terrified of seeing what punishment it had earned him.
“Do you truly mean to say that I named her bastard rightly?” Her voice rose as she began to descend the last few steps.
His head still bowed, he raised his left arm to indicate Michelle, blue fire still falling from his fingers. “Taste her for yourself. She was still in flux when last you had of her.” He looked up at Circe as she drew close; Michelle was grateful she couldn’t see the look on his face when she heard the grief and shame in his voice. “You always knew that there was something uncanny about her, and I would that I had heeded you despite my madness. You have seen how disobedient she is, how willful and quarrelsome. No fresh fledgling could spurn their master as obdurately, no matter what aid she summoned.” He gave a long, shaking sigh, lowering his head once more. “She is not mine,” she barely heard him say.
“When you brought her to me, you said nothing of this.”
“I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure. I… wished for it to be otherwise.”
“So. Do. We. All.” Circe raised her hand in frustration; Radu flinched before it. “You were at least wanted to begin with. That thing you called your brother should never have existed. It was a consecrated work that should never have been able to leave that place! He should not have been able to take it with him!” Circe threw her head back with the force of her roar, shaking her fist at the ceiling, the spine wobbling wildly. “And now you possess the gall to say unto me that this harlot, this hetaira for which you cast me into perdition, is nothing more than evidence that that scrap of sorcery that was stolen from me has made you a cuckold?”
Radu wilted, his head drooping as he leaned forward to support himself on both hands, or perhaps merely to abase himself before her rage. “I will replace her with whomever you choose.” He held his breath for a moment. “She will still make you a fine wineskin. There will truly never be another like her.”
Circe slapped him.
The crack echoed throughout the narthex. He tumbled to the side so bonelessly that for a split second Michelle thought she’d broken his neck, but he groaned as Circe’s foot connected with his gut, curling around the injury.
“Last and least! O, how foul! How calamitous! How disgraceful!” She kicked him again. “Your endlessly accursed sire’s seed was too tainted for even I to sanctify! Despite my work and my labor you are misbegotten! You are a failure of a creature that can do nothing but!”
“Mother,” he said weakly.
“Name me no such thing! You are a clot that I should have washed away! I should have celebrated your removal!” She made as if to kick him again, but seemingly thought better of it and spun on her heel, stomping a few steps away. “You have made such a loathsome and incomprehensible mess of my work that I find myself grateful to churchmen!”
Michelle’s mouth had fallen open. She watched in awe and mounting dread at the repulsive scene that played out before her. None of It made sense, none of it rang any bells, but she tried to commit what she could to memory: churchmen and stolen sorcery, curses and failures.
And Stefan somewhere at the heart of it.
Radu still lay sprawled on his side, but had carefully levered himself up on one elbow. She would have been able to see most of his profile had his long brown hair not hung before it. Looking past him, she felt a jolt of panic as she realized how perilously close he was to Ana; he might have swiped her with his claws if he’d really tried. Ana herself remained kneeling, her head bowed, trying not to be noticed, but her body shook with fear, her breathing rapid and ragged.
“Product of my hubris,” Circe hissed, her voice like broken glass. “Degeneration of my lineage. Failure of all my hopes, there is nothing you can do to remove the stain of your existence.”
“Would that I could spend the rest of what remains of it in toil of the effort,” he said, his voice thin and hoarse. “Though I can set things aright by next moonrise, I cannot repair your current efforts. But we stand before my sanctum.”
“You will grant me access to your vile den. It may be the last thing you do.”
“Aye,” he agreed, only the movement of his hair indicating he nodded, “but I can do so now. Within lies my treasure, all gathered together in the safest place I could make for it.”
“I expect to find my stele within!” Circe snapped, turning to face him.
“You shall.” Was that a hint of humor in his voice, or was it merely wobbling? “Among… many other things. Many of which I myself have not come to understand, but I know that they are special, and have secreted them away from those who might destroy them.”
“You seek to buy forgiveness with dowsing rods and knucklebones?”
“I seek to buy forgiveness with the Eye of the Graeae.”
Circe’s intake of breath was so sharp Michelle flinched. “You do not.”
“I know not what else it could be. It is not for the dead; I was never able to make it yield to me. The Oracle ran frothing mad for a week after she tried; this is the closest she’s ever been to it since.”
“The last sister died-” Circe stumbled over her words, as if actually struggling to remember. “-eight hundred years before you soiled this earth!”
“In Cypriot, yes.” Circe froze, her ruined face a mask of surprise. “I never discovered what brought her there.”
“Scurrying away like a rat.”
He raised himself up further, nearly sitting up. “I had meant to gift it to you as gratitude for your help with my paramour,” he said. “I would like to offer whatever restoration it may grant you now, as security for my good intentions.”
“You have never had a good intention in life or death.” Her voice was lower now, flatter, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Radu levered himself fully upright, his eyes fixed on her as he slowly straightened. His gaze never wavering, he deliberately raised his right hand to his mouth and sank his fangs into his palm. When they were solidly anchored, he jerked his head so sharply Michelle’s fingers twitched defensively, leaving a nasty rent most of the way up his hand.
Blood welled up immediately, and Michelle had to blink to unfocus her eyes, reminding herself not to breathe; after the beating she’d taken she couldn’t risk a feeding frenzy. An image of Sofia’s long, sharp teeth, bared at her in frustration, flashed through her mind; no one here would bother telling her to stop.
Slowly and carefully, so as to remain as unthreatening as possible, Radu extended his bleeding hand towards his mother.
Circe stood frozen and silent, a statue once again, but this time robed in doubt and crowned with indecision. After an endless moment, she raised her left hand to the wreck of her mouth, and bit down on her palm. It was no easy task for her; she had to gnaw, chewing into her leathery palm with a repulsive series of snuffling, fleshy sounds. With a sickening crack, she wrenched her hand away, and offered it to Radu.
He rolled sinuously into a crouch, closing the distance to gently clasp her hand. She let him, and then tightened her grip, their fresh wounds pressed together. He rose to his feet with careful grace, his eyes never leaving her face, his expression holding nothing but rapt, wide-eyed intensity. He stepped back, placing her at his right side, their hands held between them, and then began to escort her up the stairs.
The circle burned so brightly she had to squint to see them over it. She could see nothing but their backs, straight and bent, and the trail of spots pf blue flame he left behind him, winking out in their wake.
Michelle stood dumbfounded, her muscles clenched with anxiety and anticipation. They were going to go into the house! She had forgotten what a lucky break felt like. She was going to have seconds-minutes-what if they decided to do whatever it was in there?-alone with Ana. She flexed her wrists behind her, wishing they weren’t so stiff but knowing they’d have to do.
She was about to have every opportunity in the world to grab Ana and go.
She looked over to the doctor. Ana had turned her head; Michelle thought she was trying to make eye contact, but soon realized that she was watching Iris. Right. No problem. Michelle would go straight to Ana and be gone before Iris realized what was happening.
She returned her gaze to Radu and Circe. They were mounting the stairs slowly, at a pace that suited her; Michelle couldn’t tell if she was leaning on Radu, or merely beginning to spasm. He looked down at her all the while, the picture of solicitousness.
She had to wait for them to go in. Should she move as soon as they entered? They’d be able to react immediately if Iris yelled. Yet she had no idea what business awaited them inside; giving them a few moments to get wrapped up in it might eat away what precious little time she had. Her shoulders were beginning to tremble with ratcheting tension; she pleaded with herself for calm, for wisdom, for good timing, but Michelle wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait.
She had spent too long cowering in the dark from legendary monsters. She had let herself forget that so was she.
They had reached the top of the steps, and stood facing each other before the door. Radu carefully separated his hand from Circe’s, took her bleeding hand in both of his, and gently, reverently, pressed it flat against the heavy steel door.
Every fiber of Michelle’s being thrummed in readiness.
Circe lowered her hand and stepped back with a short nod. Radu bowed his head to her, and laid his hands on the lever that unsealed the entrance.
Her vision began to bleed in anticipation, giving the unnatural mixture of sorcerous flame and gas light that bathed the narthex an even more psychedelic cast.
The mechanism gave way with a heavy, ringing clank. Radu had to plant his feet and muscle the door open part way. He extended his right arm in a gesture of welcome, placing it behind Circe to usher her within.
Michelle shrugged her shoulders and stepped forward, readying herself to duck out of the chain and race.
Circe shuffled forward, perhaps a little hesitant, before cautiously poking her head into the darkness within.
Any second now.
Radu planted his right hand on her back and shoved her, sending her hurtling through the door. He seized the lever with his right hand as his left came up, still dripping impossible fire, and swiped through the closing gap.
The reverberating clang of the door sealing shut was met by a thunderous roar that shook the cavern so badly Michelle nearly stumbled to her knees. She saw Radu’s figure jerk backwards, Ana fall to all fours, and then hissed and covered her head as she was struck by a rain of small objects. They continued to patter down, on her and all around her; chips of stone, broken from the narthex itself by the force of whatever just happened. Her head throbbed so badly she couldn’t tell if her ears were ringing or if there were actual aftershocks; her legs shook so much she couldn’t tell if it was trembling or a temblor.
It doesn’t matter. She reached up, hooked her thumbs beneath the chain, hissed again at the malevolent feel of it, and yanked it up over her head, heedless of tearing her hair. She felt a brief burst of giddiness at being free of it, the broke into a run, meaning to shed her skin-
-but the gray haze washed over her, sapping the color, and soon the vision from her eyes. She managed to keep her balance, staggering forward with her arms clutched around her rebellious abdomen, but the shadows rejected her.
That doesn’t matter. The circle burned brightly enough she could still see it even through the silver shroud, and she awkwardly veered to her left to avoid it. She’d have to go most of the way around to reach Ana; he was somewhere up there-
She blinked furiously, willing the poison out of her body; at least out of her eyes. She shook her head, and when she opened her eyes again, most of the blue fire was behind her; she could make out the looming shape of the house, the shadows on the steps.
Radu stood at the base of the steps, gazing up at the house. His shoulders sagged, his arms dangling limply at his sides, talons nearly brushing his knees.
She’d have to pass behind him. She reached once more for the freedom of darkness, and stopped the instant the gray lassitude roiled within her.
Radu took a step backwards, cautiously putting a foot behind him, as if checking for solid ground. He took another step backwards, and then another. Soon the backs of his thighs met the edge of the stone slab that held the skull and the stick of fat. He sat down heavily beside them, his gaze still fixed on the house. Then he fell backwards, flat on his back, his calves dangling from the end.
The glowing blue circle went dark, as if it had been snuffed.
Michelle stood dumbfounded. Her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting so quickly they twinged. Her ears still rang painfully, but it had already begun to subside. Her muscles shook with weakness, but the ground beneath her held firm. She could see from the rise and fall of his chest that he was still alive.
He extended a long, unnatural finger to gently touch the skull. He ran a claw along the inside of the rim, almost affectionately, then went limp once more.
Without entirely realizing what she was doing, Michelle drifted towards him. He lay on the same slab she’d collapsed against when she was first struck by the silver sickness, and seemed laid even lower than she had been. She could tell from familiarity that his skin was as white as a corpse’s, his lips a mottled, bruised slash, his eyes so deeply sunken in their hollows she couldn’t tell if they were open.
She drew back when she saw the muscles in his arm tense, but the movement he made was so feeble, it didn’t register as a threat when he reached for her.
He took her hand clumsily, and pressed it against his chest. She could feel his heart jackhammering against his ribs, its unsteady racing completely at odds with the frailty of his posture. He made a soft hissing sound, then gagged and coughed harshly, hard enough to arch his back; a cloud of smoke wheezed from his mouth. He settled back against the slab, eyes closed, resting a little more easily. “Slay me,” he rasped, pressing her hand against his chest. “I await your justice.”
Michelle stood over him, her lips thin, her head a numb battlefield for too many armies. Her ears still rang, their keening whine overwriting her thoughts. It made her even more weary just to look at him. “She’s dead in there,” she said dully, uncertain why she wanted it confirmed.
“She lies in ashes once more.” He raised her hand to his face; brushed her knuckles across his lips. “Be at peace, pretty one.” He coughed again, smoke curling from his nostrils.
Her mouth crumpled.
She could put her hand through his ribcage right now. It would be effortless; the worst she risked was splinters. She could rip his treacherous heart right from his chest and end all of this, at least for now.
She should.
Her fingers clenched slightly, digging her nails into the soft fabric of his shirt; one slipped through a stab hole and pressed against his feverish, damp skin. He squeezed her hand.
She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. The ringing in her ears surged to new heights, loud enough to drown out everything else in the world.
Except the clicking.
She whirled so hard her balance wobbled, her thigh pressing against the slab, startlement clenching her hand so hard her nails pierced his skin.
Iris was heading straight for Ana, the gray box in her hand.
Ana realized it a second after Michelle did, beginning to frantically struggle to her feet. Michelle bared her fangs and burst into shadow with thoughtless, joyous release. A split second; an eye blink; a heartbeat; Michelle materialized directly between them.
Iris’s shoes skidded beneath her, but she was able to keep herself from slamming into Michelle, and began to reverse direction. She was surprisingly dexterous on her feet as she spun and took off with her back to Michelle.
Michelle lunged after her, arm outstretched. She wasn’t quite sure what she meant to do-grab her, seize her, stop her-but she didn’t quite manage it. Her reaching fingers hit Iris’s back with supernatural strength, sending her flying forward. Michelle managed to snag the fabric of her jacket in her nails, but it shredded with a soft purr. Iris’s ankles tangled beneath her as she fell forward, slamming face first into the stone floor with a resounding crack.
Michelle slid to a halt, taken aback by the sudden violence. Iris lay sprawled full length before her, her legs lying in the ashy remains of the mystic circle; one of them twitched and kicked in a way that indicated an injury it would take Ana to understand.
She raised her hands, uncertain of what to do, and had the decision taken from her as the pile of ruffles beside her burst into frenzy.
Michelle gasped, staggering backwards; in the heat of the moment she had truly forgotten. Cassandra slithered over the top half of the woman’s body like a spider, all lace and cracked skin and knobbly joints; it was hard to tell which part of her Michelle was looking at. Iris’s leg kicked harder than ever, and then fell still as the wet, meaty slurping sounds began.
Michelle let her arms fall to her sides, silent and stoic. She really only had one thing she’d come here to do. She spun on her heel, and made her way towards the front of the narthex.
Ana had gained her feet, her manacled arms held awkwardly before her, her eyes wide and staring. She looked to Michelle, than to Cassandra; Michelle, then Radu; back to Michelle. She flinched away as Michelle walked past her; Michelle couldn’t blame her as she reached up to unloop the end of the chain from the top of the torch holder, just in case. The angle let her notice that the scarf that gagged Ana was just knotted around the back of her head; Michelle dug a thumb into it and loosed it easily.
Ana reached up to claw it from her mouth, retching and spitting as she gasped for air. She turned to Michelle with stunned, uncomprehending eyes, her mouth hanging open as she panted for air. Michelle waited until her breathing began to ease, then clapped both of her hands on Ana’s shoulders, making her jump, and looked directly into her eyes.
“Take a deep breath.”
Chapter 9/10
Author: memoriamvictus
Rating: R
Summary: Sequel to Subspecies: Bloodlines. Michelle discovers that the weight of obligation can be the heaviest shackle of all as she struggles to retain her hard-won freedom in the face of a fate that will not be denied.
Disclaimer: We don't know who it belongs to, but it certainly isn't me. This work is merely an act of affection and admiration; no offense or challenge is intended. Reader discretion is always advised.
Wordcount: 12,160
Begin at the beginning.
Steeling herself, she braced her back against the wall, hoping to be able to support herself through any shocks of pain. Preemptively gritting her teeth, she checked to make sure Iris was still looking elsewhere, and flexed her wrists a hair’s breadth.
She had a moment to enjoy the unexpected lack of feeling before it exploded into icy pins and needles, steadily marching their way up her forearms as if they’d awakened from a thousand year slumber. She slumped back against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her teeth against a hiss she couldn’t tell if she kept locked behind them. Frostbite gave way to flame as she shuddered, awash once more in the sick gray haze of the silver in her body. She battled for consciousness, but the overpowering rush of pain had stolen her focus from everything but the desperate wish to stay on her feet.
It wasn’t enough. She could feel her knees beginning to buckle, her back beginning to slide down the wall, her resolve beginning to falter-and then with a nerve-wracking, grating slither, one of the silver discs popped out of her left wrist.
She forced herself back against the wall, bracing her legs for all they were worth, as she trembled in shock and pain. She wanted to pant. She felt like she should be coated in sweat. Her wrists still felt like they were braceleted in molten metal. But she could wiggle her left thumb now.
Her lip curled with the sharp, banged-funnybone disturbance that ripped its way up her arm as she did so, but she was able to swivel her thumb fully. She was able to stretch it out and pick another disc out of her right wrist.
That one nearly undid her. She might have made some soft sound; she definitely slumped a few inches, her legs barely able to catch her as the toxic gray waste flooded her system. She had definitely created enough disturbance to cause Iris’s head to swivel, but had absolutely no trouble looking pathetic enough in her suffering to be dismissed as a threat.
Her vision had mostly cleared by the time Iris returned her attention to the ritual preparations, and perhaps just in time.
Radu had risen to his feet, and stood at the head of the circle, the stick of ashy fat still In one of the hands crossed before him as he examined his efforts. His expression was empty; he made no movement other than the twitch of his eyes as they scanned the circle, until finally he reached out to set the stick upon the slab.
He turned on his heel and began to approach his mother. She did not acknowledge him as he mounted the steps, until he stood beneath her and wordlessly raised his cupped hands in supplication. With slow, repulsive majesty, she placed the skull in his hands.
He bowed deeply, holding the skull close to his chest, and then turned to descend once more. He stopped once more at the start of the circle, his head swiveling as he considered it again. She could see he took a deep breath to steady himself as he reached into the skull, and began to sprinkle the remnants of the deceased Oracle over more of them.
Michelle knew better than to look at the floor; she felt too badly already to risk more of whatever radiant evil had hurt her merely to look at. She watched Radu instead. He was working carefully, but disturbingly more quickly than the original drawings. Wherever this was going, it was going to get there soon; she was running out of time.
A quick glance showed her Ana was unchanged, so she leaned back against the wall and tried to marshal herself. She attempted to flex her fingers, and found that she mostly could, though it hurt so badly that it took a few moments for the knowledge to penetrate its consequences. Even getting some of the silver out helped; she had to remember that she really was doing better, even if it didn’t feel like it.
She cautiously stretched the fingers of her right hand to feel along her left wrist, shuddering with a thrill of revulsion and pain as she realized how squishy it was. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to continue her ghastly exploration, but was nearly startled into a yelp when something cold and hateful fell against the back of her hand.
It was the chain. The chain was slack enough it was pooling against her.
Trying to keep the length pressed against the wall, she wriggled her back up until she was standing straight, then eased forward, letting it drop.
There was plenty. The only thing keeping her right wrist attached to the chain was the metal embedded in her flesh.
She couldn’t let herself think about how much this was going to hurt; she simply had to do it, and not scream. She reached out with her left fingers, heedless of the awful crinkling feeling up the underside of her arm, wrapped the three that could reach around the smooth links of the chain as tightly as she could, and yanked her right wrist down.
It was a lot like when she’d tried removing the nails herself; she even recognized the feelings. She had grayed out. It was some time later. She may have screamed. They might have been running to her now.
But her right hand was free. She let go with her fingers, and let the chain slide over the bones of her hand to uncoil towards the floor. The pain of the extra weight settling on her left wrist was unremarkable against the harrowing, full body shock the removal had left her in.
Blinking her way back to reality, it seemed that she had kept herself quiet. Iris stood unmoved; Radu had made his way to the opposite side of the circle, closer to her. Excellent. Good. She had been so very brave. The rush of adrenaline nearly set her to giggling; she managed to swallow a snort of laughter and leaned back against the wall, letting her head droop in an attitude of despair so that her hair obscured her face. What an awful way to potentially expose herself.
Nor was she done with her bravery, but indecision tore at her. Her right wrist still felt putrefied-it was even easier to think about what was happening to her, now that she could do something about it-and difficult to move, but she knew she needed to take advantage of this surge of ebullience before it deserted her. She could already feel the hollow weariness creeping in to replace it. Yet if she pushed herself too far…
…we’re dead anyway.
Her fingers were already scrabbling along her left wrist-it was so much squishier, and part of it collapsed beneath her fingers-and was dismayed by the amount of metal in it. Some of the discs simply lay flat against open wounds, but her numb fingers had trouble telling which. There was much less slack on this side, the chain more tightly wrapped; she’d have to work her fingers beneath it. But because she had freed her right hand, she was able to, and because she had to, she did.
It felt like she’d unzipped herself, jagged bumps catching before tearing free. But there was no gray haze this time; simply brutal, mind-devouring agony, setting her left hand and the base of her throat alight in sympathy, the only thing stronger than her need for silence the need for it to stop.
She didn’t know if it ever truly would, but it did stabilize, its flames achieving a steady, predictable roar, and then, finally, beginning to fade.
She unclenched her fist, and let the chain slip through her fingers. She exhaustedly reminded herself to get the loop off her neck when the time came.
Because aside from that, she was free.
She sagged against the wall, pride, exhaustion, and dawning new fear fighting a lopsided war within her. In her heart of hearts, she’d never truly believed she’d manage it undetected, but now she had, and so she’d have to do all those other things. It could still go wrong in horrifyingly unexpected ways.
But it could now.
She straightened, putting most of her weight on her feet. She wanted to stretch her arms so badly, despite knowing how much it would hurt, but she dutifully kept them folded behind her back. Her neck had begun to mend on its own in a few minutes, and the damage hadn’t been nearly as extensive, nor the anatomy so delicate. She shivered in revulsion at the memory of Radu’s tongue on her ragged, traumatized flesh until realization sent the ghost of a grim smile to haunt her lips at the memory of how he'd treated the wounds from the nails; his insane, selfish need to make use of her one last time might directly lead to his undoing. She might as well give her wrists what time to heal she could.
The tableau remained unchanged, save for the fact that he had nearly completed the circle. The gray malaise still lingered in her body and her thoughts, but she was more able to focus now, and more perturbed by how solemn and business-like his movements were. The manic malevolence of earlier had vanished entirely into a sternly industrious figure she’d never before encountered.
Before long, he had completed his work, and stood one more at the head of the circle, assessing his output. Apparently satisfied, he reached out to set the skull upon the slab, next to the stick of fat. The same slab, she recalled with a bloom of smug darkness, she had collapsed against when she’d tried removing the silver nails herself.
Radu had been surprised she’d even tried. She remembered the look on his face when she’d groaned, twice, and began to look forward to how utterly surprised he’d be in just a few moments. She could do this. She had to be able to do this.
He sank to one knee, raised his left hand, and flicked his fingertips aflame. Her eyes widened; she’d known he could do something like that, but she’d never directly observed him do it, and still wasn’t sure she had. It had seemed a natural, almost casual movement, and then tongues of flame were dancing up the eerie extra joints of his fingers, like bizarre candles. But every time he’d done it before, the outcome had been normal, orange and red fire; these flames burned the bright, electric blue of propane, their hearts a delicate sky blue that would have been pretty in any other circumstances.
Keeping them pincered together, he inverted his hand, and lowered his fingers to the outer edge of the circle.
The pattern burst into flames almost immediately, sorcerous blue fire spreading so rapidly even her sharp eyes struggled to follow its passage. With a low, sonorous roar it surged into a well groomed inferno, the flames bursting so impossibly high they hid Radu and Ana from her, so bright she had to squint her eyes, briefly distracted by Iris falling back half a step; Cassandra was so close it seemed impossible she wouldn’t singe. The flames subsided slowly, then all at once, settling into an unnatural, almost luminescent glow in the shape of the runes that lay beneath it.
Radu stood before it, the eerie blue blaze casting strange shadows over his harsh features. He raised his hands at his sides, and she saw with a chill that small drops of cerulean flame still fell from the tips of his left claws like dripping blood. He turned to face Circe, spreading his arms wider, his back to her. “I have provided the means, and opened the way. To what end shall they be wrought?”
Circe lowered her chin, as if awakening from a reverie, and placed a shriveled foot on the stair beneath her. She descended slowly, with as much stability as Michelle had ever seen her move with; she found herself sliding carefully along the wall, anxious to put even that few inches’ more distance between them. Sybils in temples, witches in caves; Circe’s dire majesty, linen swathed and leaf crowned, bearing the bones of her lesser, would have put them all to shame. The magnitude of her gravity was such that Michelle couldn’t tear her eyes away for even a moment to check on Ana. Was she feeling this extra strongly? Did she know what was happening?
She stopped at the third to last stair, placing herself so that she was at eye level with Radu, the spine still resting against her shoulder. “In you, I have created the most baffling of miracles,” she intoned, her voice still husky, but somehow fuller now, as if it were healing; instead of a screech, it was a badly tuned bronze bell. “I gifted you with the blood of gods and demons. Even in the hands of our enemies, you were able to flourish, and forge your own path to death-in-life. Now, through the fruits of my genius, you have been redeemed into life-in-death. I am unrelenting and indefatigable.”
He bowed his head, and did not raise it again. “I exist as proof of your exemplary abilities, and in gratitude for your efforts.”
“Now has come the time for you to balance that scale.” Her voice had taken on a strange, throaty resonance, almost as if she weren’t the only one speaking. The yellow of the gaslight and the glow of the unnatural flames combined to give her a sickly, greenish cast, highlighting every crack and winkle in her reptilian skin.
Radu raised his right hand to his chest. “I am yours, to command or dispose.”
“We will learn what becomes of you. If you are able to endure, you will emerge blessed.” The word felt obscene to hear echo through this cursed place. “I sacrificed my flesh a thousand years before you had occurred to me. I gained much for its loss, but it has left me irrevocably severed from much of what I crave. Until now.”
She lowered the spine, to point directly at him. “You stand before me at your own grave side, a living man. Yet I also posses your last fledgling.” Michelle couldn’t help but cringe as the tip of the spine came to orient on her with disturbing accuracy, only stopping when she felt the pressure of the chain against her throat. “And a fledgling’s spawn.” She pointed to the miserable heap that was Cassandra; Circe seemed to be the only one still convinced she was alive. “They are as close to descendants as I shall ever have from you.”
If Michelle hadn’t been familiarizing himself with his new physical carriage, she would have missed Radu’s twitch at that. The wrinkles around Circe’s mouth rearranged themselves; perhaps she was smirking at him. “The three of you, here in the place of your afterbirth, sanctified in the blood of two priestesses, shall grant me all that I need for revivification.” She spread her arms wide, the spine jutting up towards the ceiling. “That is the end to which you must put yourself to work.”
He stood at the foot of the stairs, arms still spread, flame still trickling from his fingertips, his heartbeat racing ever faster.
He fell to his knees so hard his patellas cracked sharply against the stone.
“Mother, I cannot.”
Circe’s head tilted, almost bird-like. “You have already opened the gate. You can face what will emerge from it.” Her voice was calm and stern.
“Gladly, a thousand times.” Radu was having trouble keeping his voice steady, dropping back towards his normal rasp. “But I cannot do ask you ask.”
“Your tender heart weighs nothing against my future.”
“May it last beyond the death of the stars.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and then made a truly horrible glottal sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, as he collapsed to sit back on his heels, making a gruesome set of bookends with Ana until he laid his right hand against the floor to bear himself up. “She is not mine.”
“There is no duplicity that can save any of you,” Circe said in a mild, almost chiding tone. “All shall be as I have said, whether you will it or no.”
“Would that it were. Would that I could make it so.” He sagged towards the floor, only his arm keeping him upright. “I-I can alter your servant. We can begin as soon as she awakes tomorrow night.” Michelle couldn’t deny a grudging respect for the lack of outward reaction Iris betrayed.
“She has served me well.” Circe’s voice began to rise, returning to its familiar brazen tones. “While even now you think to spare your lady-love. You are so deeply within my power you cannot see it.”
“My thoughts are yours, as my actions should have been,” he said to the floor. “Look upon me and see my sincerity. I will fetch someone-a nun, a noble’s daughter, whosever you might wish. Only tell me who, and I shall obtain your requirements tonight.”
“You hope me demented in my age and infirmity.” Circe’s voice was boiling towards genuine rage, her arms beginning to tremble. “She stands before me, here and now, reeking of you!”
“She reeks of Vladislas.” He took a long, shuddering breath. “She is Stefan’s.”
Michelle froze, her heels rooted to the ground, hearing his name invoked enough to wipe her mind clean of anything else. It wasn’t the revelation; Radu had said as much before, even earlier tonight. It was only now, hearing it echo in this unholy tomb, that she realized that she’d never truly believed him. He called himself her master, her sire; on some level she had always suspected his claims as to her ancestry were merely deflection, a way to place the blame for her suffering elsewhere, while he had simply wanted to keep her as a broodmare. He had seemed to think she would find that an improvement.
Yet now, cowering in the dark before his mother, with so much riding on it, he said the same. It was impossible not to see how much the admission had cost him; she was suddenly, primordially terrified of seeing what punishment it had earned him.
“Do you truly mean to say that I named her bastard rightly?” Her voice rose as she began to descend the last few steps.
His head still bowed, he raised his left arm to indicate Michelle, blue fire still falling from his fingers. “Taste her for yourself. She was still in flux when last you had of her.” He looked up at Circe as she drew close; Michelle was grateful she couldn’t see the look on his face when she heard the grief and shame in his voice. “You always knew that there was something uncanny about her, and I would that I had heeded you despite my madness. You have seen how disobedient she is, how willful and quarrelsome. No fresh fledgling could spurn their master as obdurately, no matter what aid she summoned.” He gave a long, shaking sigh, lowering his head once more. “She is not mine,” she barely heard him say.
“When you brought her to me, you said nothing of this.”
“I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure. I… wished for it to be otherwise.”
“So. Do. We. All.” Circe raised her hand in frustration; Radu flinched before it. “You were at least wanted to begin with. That thing you called your brother should never have existed. It was a consecrated work that should never have been able to leave that place! He should not have been able to take it with him!” Circe threw her head back with the force of her roar, shaking her fist at the ceiling, the spine wobbling wildly. “And now you possess the gall to say unto me that this harlot, this hetaira for which you cast me into perdition, is nothing more than evidence that that scrap of sorcery that was stolen from me has made you a cuckold?”
Radu wilted, his head drooping as he leaned forward to support himself on both hands, or perhaps merely to abase himself before her rage. “I will replace her with whomever you choose.” He held his breath for a moment. “She will still make you a fine wineskin. There will truly never be another like her.”
Circe slapped him.
The crack echoed throughout the narthex. He tumbled to the side so bonelessly that for a split second Michelle thought she’d broken his neck, but he groaned as Circe’s foot connected with his gut, curling around the injury.
“Last and least! O, how foul! How calamitous! How disgraceful!” She kicked him again. “Your endlessly accursed sire’s seed was too tainted for even I to sanctify! Despite my work and my labor you are misbegotten! You are a failure of a creature that can do nothing but!”
“Mother,” he said weakly.
“Name me no such thing! You are a clot that I should have washed away! I should have celebrated your removal!” She made as if to kick him again, but seemingly thought better of it and spun on her heel, stomping a few steps away. “You have made such a loathsome and incomprehensible mess of my work that I find myself grateful to churchmen!”
Michelle’s mouth had fallen open. She watched in awe and mounting dread at the repulsive scene that played out before her. None of It made sense, none of it rang any bells, but she tried to commit what she could to memory: churchmen and stolen sorcery, curses and failures.
And Stefan somewhere at the heart of it.
Radu still lay sprawled on his side, but had carefully levered himself up on one elbow. She would have been able to see most of his profile had his long brown hair not hung before it. Looking past him, she felt a jolt of panic as she realized how perilously close he was to Ana; he might have swiped her with his claws if he’d really tried. Ana herself remained kneeling, her head bowed, trying not to be noticed, but her body shook with fear, her breathing rapid and ragged.
“Product of my hubris,” Circe hissed, her voice like broken glass. “Degeneration of my lineage. Failure of all my hopes, there is nothing you can do to remove the stain of your existence.”
“Would that I could spend the rest of what remains of it in toil of the effort,” he said, his voice thin and hoarse. “Though I can set things aright by next moonrise, I cannot repair your current efforts. But we stand before my sanctum.”
“You will grant me access to your vile den. It may be the last thing you do.”
“Aye,” he agreed, only the movement of his hair indicating he nodded, “but I can do so now. Within lies my treasure, all gathered together in the safest place I could make for it.”
“I expect to find my stele within!” Circe snapped, turning to face him.
“You shall.” Was that a hint of humor in his voice, or was it merely wobbling? “Among… many other things. Many of which I myself have not come to understand, but I know that they are special, and have secreted them away from those who might destroy them.”
“You seek to buy forgiveness with dowsing rods and knucklebones?”
“I seek to buy forgiveness with the Eye of the Graeae.”
Circe’s intake of breath was so sharp Michelle flinched. “You do not.”
“I know not what else it could be. It is not for the dead; I was never able to make it yield to me. The Oracle ran frothing mad for a week after she tried; this is the closest she’s ever been to it since.”
“The last sister died-” Circe stumbled over her words, as if actually struggling to remember. “-eight hundred years before you soiled this earth!”
“In Cypriot, yes.” Circe froze, her ruined face a mask of surprise. “I never discovered what brought her there.”
“Scurrying away like a rat.”
He raised himself up further, nearly sitting up. “I had meant to gift it to you as gratitude for your help with my paramour,” he said. “I would like to offer whatever restoration it may grant you now, as security for my good intentions.”
“You have never had a good intention in life or death.” Her voice was lower now, flatter, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Radu levered himself fully upright, his eyes fixed on her as he slowly straightened. His gaze never wavering, he deliberately raised his right hand to his mouth and sank his fangs into his palm. When they were solidly anchored, he jerked his head so sharply Michelle’s fingers twitched defensively, leaving a nasty rent most of the way up his hand.
Blood welled up immediately, and Michelle had to blink to unfocus her eyes, reminding herself not to breathe; after the beating she’d taken she couldn’t risk a feeding frenzy. An image of Sofia’s long, sharp teeth, bared at her in frustration, flashed through her mind; no one here would bother telling her to stop.
Slowly and carefully, so as to remain as unthreatening as possible, Radu extended his bleeding hand towards his mother.
Circe stood frozen and silent, a statue once again, but this time robed in doubt and crowned with indecision. After an endless moment, she raised her left hand to the wreck of her mouth, and bit down on her palm. It was no easy task for her; she had to gnaw, chewing into her leathery palm with a repulsive series of snuffling, fleshy sounds. With a sickening crack, she wrenched her hand away, and offered it to Radu.
He rolled sinuously into a crouch, closing the distance to gently clasp her hand. She let him, and then tightened her grip, their fresh wounds pressed together. He rose to his feet with careful grace, his eyes never leaving her face, his expression holding nothing but rapt, wide-eyed intensity. He stepped back, placing her at his right side, their hands held between them, and then began to escort her up the stairs.
The circle burned so brightly she had to squint to see them over it. She could see nothing but their backs, straight and bent, and the trail of spots pf blue flame he left behind him, winking out in their wake.
Michelle stood dumbfounded, her muscles clenched with anxiety and anticipation. They were going to go into the house! She had forgotten what a lucky break felt like. She was going to have seconds-minutes-what if they decided to do whatever it was in there?-alone with Ana. She flexed her wrists behind her, wishing they weren’t so stiff but knowing they’d have to do.
She was about to have every opportunity in the world to grab Ana and go.
She looked over to the doctor. Ana had turned her head; Michelle thought she was trying to make eye contact, but soon realized that she was watching Iris. Right. No problem. Michelle would go straight to Ana and be gone before Iris realized what was happening.
She returned her gaze to Radu and Circe. They were mounting the stairs slowly, at a pace that suited her; Michelle couldn’t tell if she was leaning on Radu, or merely beginning to spasm. He looked down at her all the while, the picture of solicitousness.
She had to wait for them to go in. Should she move as soon as they entered? They’d be able to react immediately if Iris yelled. Yet she had no idea what business awaited them inside; giving them a few moments to get wrapped up in it might eat away what precious little time she had. Her shoulders were beginning to tremble with ratcheting tension; she pleaded with herself for calm, for wisdom, for good timing, but Michelle wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait.
She had spent too long cowering in the dark from legendary monsters. She had let herself forget that so was she.
They had reached the top of the steps, and stood facing each other before the door. Radu carefully separated his hand from Circe’s, took her bleeding hand in both of his, and gently, reverently, pressed it flat against the heavy steel door.
Every fiber of Michelle’s being thrummed in readiness.
Circe lowered her hand and stepped back with a short nod. Radu bowed his head to her, and laid his hands on the lever that unsealed the entrance.
Her vision began to bleed in anticipation, giving the unnatural mixture of sorcerous flame and gas light that bathed the narthex an even more psychedelic cast.
The mechanism gave way with a heavy, ringing clank. Radu had to plant his feet and muscle the door open part way. He extended his right arm in a gesture of welcome, placing it behind Circe to usher her within.
Michelle shrugged her shoulders and stepped forward, readying herself to duck out of the chain and race.
Circe shuffled forward, perhaps a little hesitant, before cautiously poking her head into the darkness within.
Any second now.
Radu planted his right hand on her back and shoved her, sending her hurtling through the door. He seized the lever with his right hand as his left came up, still dripping impossible fire, and swiped through the closing gap.
The reverberating clang of the door sealing shut was met by a thunderous roar that shook the cavern so badly Michelle nearly stumbled to her knees. She saw Radu’s figure jerk backwards, Ana fall to all fours, and then hissed and covered her head as she was struck by a rain of small objects. They continued to patter down, on her and all around her; chips of stone, broken from the narthex itself by the force of whatever just happened. Her head throbbed so badly she couldn’t tell if her ears were ringing or if there were actual aftershocks; her legs shook so much she couldn’t tell if it was trembling or a temblor.
It doesn’t matter. She reached up, hooked her thumbs beneath the chain, hissed again at the malevolent feel of it, and yanked it up over her head, heedless of tearing her hair. She felt a brief burst of giddiness at being free of it, the broke into a run, meaning to shed her skin-
-but the gray haze washed over her, sapping the color, and soon the vision from her eyes. She managed to keep her balance, staggering forward with her arms clutched around her rebellious abdomen, but the shadows rejected her.
That doesn’t matter. The circle burned brightly enough she could still see it even through the silver shroud, and she awkwardly veered to her left to avoid it. She’d have to go most of the way around to reach Ana; he was somewhere up there-
She blinked furiously, willing the poison out of her body; at least out of her eyes. She shook her head, and when she opened her eyes again, most of the blue fire was behind her; she could make out the looming shape of the house, the shadows on the steps.
Radu stood at the base of the steps, gazing up at the house. His shoulders sagged, his arms dangling limply at his sides, talons nearly brushing his knees.
She’d have to pass behind him. She reached once more for the freedom of darkness, and stopped the instant the gray lassitude roiled within her.
Radu took a step backwards, cautiously putting a foot behind him, as if checking for solid ground. He took another step backwards, and then another. Soon the backs of his thighs met the edge of the stone slab that held the skull and the stick of fat. He sat down heavily beside them, his gaze still fixed on the house. Then he fell backwards, flat on his back, his calves dangling from the end.
The glowing blue circle went dark, as if it had been snuffed.
Michelle stood dumbfounded. Her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting so quickly they twinged. Her ears still rang painfully, but it had already begun to subside. Her muscles shook with weakness, but the ground beneath her held firm. She could see from the rise and fall of his chest that he was still alive.
He extended a long, unnatural finger to gently touch the skull. He ran a claw along the inside of the rim, almost affectionately, then went limp once more.
Without entirely realizing what she was doing, Michelle drifted towards him. He lay on the same slab she’d collapsed against when she was first struck by the silver sickness, and seemed laid even lower than she had been. She could tell from familiarity that his skin was as white as a corpse’s, his lips a mottled, bruised slash, his eyes so deeply sunken in their hollows she couldn’t tell if they were open.
She drew back when she saw the muscles in his arm tense, but the movement he made was so feeble, it didn’t register as a threat when he reached for her.
He took her hand clumsily, and pressed it against his chest. She could feel his heart jackhammering against his ribs, its unsteady racing completely at odds with the frailty of his posture. He made a soft hissing sound, then gagged and coughed harshly, hard enough to arch his back; a cloud of smoke wheezed from his mouth. He settled back against the slab, eyes closed, resting a little more easily. “Slay me,” he rasped, pressing her hand against his chest. “I await your justice.”
Michelle stood over him, her lips thin, her head a numb battlefield for too many armies. Her ears still rang, their keening whine overwriting her thoughts. It made her even more weary just to look at him. “She’s dead in there,” she said dully, uncertain why she wanted it confirmed.
“She lies in ashes once more.” He raised her hand to his face; brushed her knuckles across his lips. “Be at peace, pretty one.” He coughed again, smoke curling from his nostrils.
Her mouth crumpled.
She could put her hand through his ribcage right now. It would be effortless; the worst she risked was splinters. She could rip his treacherous heart right from his chest and end all of this, at least for now.
She should.
Her fingers clenched slightly, digging her nails into the soft fabric of his shirt; one slipped through a stab hole and pressed against his feverish, damp skin. He squeezed her hand.
She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. The ringing in her ears surged to new heights, loud enough to drown out everything else in the world.
Except the clicking.
She whirled so hard her balance wobbled, her thigh pressing against the slab, startlement clenching her hand so hard her nails pierced his skin.
Iris was heading straight for Ana, the gray box in her hand.
Ana realized it a second after Michelle did, beginning to frantically struggle to her feet. Michelle bared her fangs and burst into shadow with thoughtless, joyous release. A split second; an eye blink; a heartbeat; Michelle materialized directly between them.
Iris’s shoes skidded beneath her, but she was able to keep herself from slamming into Michelle, and began to reverse direction. She was surprisingly dexterous on her feet as she spun and took off with her back to Michelle.
Michelle lunged after her, arm outstretched. She wasn’t quite sure what she meant to do-grab her, seize her, stop her-but she didn’t quite manage it. Her reaching fingers hit Iris’s back with supernatural strength, sending her flying forward. Michelle managed to snag the fabric of her jacket in her nails, but it shredded with a soft purr. Iris’s ankles tangled beneath her as she fell forward, slamming face first into the stone floor with a resounding crack.
Michelle slid to a halt, taken aback by the sudden violence. Iris lay sprawled full length before her, her legs lying in the ashy remains of the mystic circle; one of them twitched and kicked in a way that indicated an injury it would take Ana to understand.
She raised her hands, uncertain of what to do, and had the decision taken from her as the pile of ruffles beside her burst into frenzy.
Michelle gasped, staggering backwards; in the heat of the moment she had truly forgotten. Cassandra slithered over the top half of the woman’s body like a spider, all lace and cracked skin and knobbly joints; it was hard to tell which part of her Michelle was looking at. Iris’s leg kicked harder than ever, and then fell still as the wet, meaty slurping sounds began.
Michelle let her arms fall to her sides, silent and stoic. She really only had one thing she’d come here to do. She spun on her heel, and made her way towards the front of the narthex.
Ana had gained her feet, her manacled arms held awkwardly before her, her eyes wide and staring. She looked to Michelle, than to Cassandra; Michelle, then Radu; back to Michelle. She flinched away as Michelle walked past her; Michelle couldn’t blame her as she reached up to unloop the end of the chain from the top of the torch holder, just in case. The angle let her notice that the scarf that gagged Ana was just knotted around the back of her head; Michelle dug a thumb into it and loosed it easily.
Ana reached up to claw it from her mouth, retching and spitting as she gasped for air. She turned to Michelle with stunned, uncomprehending eyes, her mouth hanging open as she panted for air. Michelle waited until her breathing began to ease, then clapped both of her hands on Ana’s shoulders, making her jump, and looked directly into her eyes.
“Take a deep breath.”