Page 34 of Calico Descending

Any second now, Medusa’s going to come crashing through that door and escort me down to a disappointed Doctor Ericsson. All because this beastly jerk won’t play along.

“I know you can talk behind that mask. Everyone says your mouths are sewn shut, but I know that’s bullshit. So talk.”

His silence follows, stoking the ire already burning inside of me.

Further proof that the man didn’t kill Dean for me. He didn’t kill him out of jealousy. He saw an opportunity to act out, and he seized it.

But to test that theory, I’ll need to prod him a little. “I don’t know why they didn’t just assign me to Titus.” Tipping my head back, I rest my crown against the wall, eyes skating to the side, watching for any sign of attack. “He was so much more … welcoming. And he talked. And he was gentle.”

The sound of shifting is a sure bet my words are getting to him. Whether it’s their meaning pissing him off, or just the sound of my voice irritating him, I can’t tell, but I keep on with it. “I loved when he stroked my hair and touched me.”

An object flies out of the shadows, and something wet smacks my face, before slipping to the floor. I touch the spot, my fingers running over soft bits that smell like an overripe fig. Lifting the object from the floor confirms it, and I grit my teeth, throwing it back into the shadows. “Why are you such an asshole?”

I push up to my feet, the anger coursing through me in a rush of pure adrenaline. “I took a beating for you! I couldn’t lie on my back for two days! For you! And for what? Because you decided to rip the head off the asshole who assaulted me? He assaulted me! I didn’t ask for that!” The words spill out of my mouth on a furious string of long-expired patience, and I point my finger at him. “You’re supposed to be my Champion! My protector! You’ve been nothing but cruel and heartless!”

In the pause, I try to catch my breath, but my temper is far too gone to quit. “And because of you, my sister will be punished! She’ll be hurt, and there’s nothing I can do to save her from that pain!” Tears wobble my voice, adding more frustration to my already-fuming rage. “She’s sweet! And she’s innocent! And she doesn’t fucking deserve to be punished for a bastard like you!”

My body chokes up with the sob that tears through my chest, and I fall to my knees, ready to accept the consequences of lashing out at him that way. Prepared for Medusa to drag me out of the room. For Legion to come marching in with guns. Or for Valdys to slam me against the wall and choke every bit of air out of me.

Nothing happens, though. Seconds tick by, and the only sound in the room is my sniveling. I think of Bryani, strapped to that barrel, forced to look me in the eye as every crack of the whip mars her innocent flesh. My fidgeting hands blur behind another shield of tears, and I blink them loose.

“How old is she?” The deep, rich baritone voice hits the back of my jaw like the first drop of honey on my tongue.

An ache zaps my forehead, when I frown hard at the shadows. “Too young for you.”

“I wasn’t asking for me.”

Wiping the moisture from my cheeks, I roll my shoulders back, my pride battling the intrigue of his voice. I hesitate to answer at first, wanting to feed him a taste of his own bastardry. To let him experience the humiliation of being ignored. Instead, I answer, “Fourteen.”

“And you?”

Something flutters in my chest when he asks about me. “Eighteen.” Clearing my throat, I sit back onto the concrete and cross my legs. “How old are you?”

“I don’t remember anymore.”

I’m ashamed to admit that I like the sound of his voice. It carries a deep and soothing nature that reminds me of nights when my father lay next to me, calming me after I woke from nightmares. Wise and calculated. He’s definitely older than me.

“You were right. I killed Dean for the enjoyment.”

Swallowing carefully, so as not to gulp aloud, I don’t bother to respond to what I suspected all along.

“But I didn’t enjoy watching your punishment.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m not their weapon. I refuse to kill at their command.”

As much as I understand, and perhaps even admire, his defiance, I’ve now had a taste of the consequences, and I dread what that means for my sister. “Lucky me.”

The strangest thing about having a conversation with shadows, is never knowing how words affect them. I have no idea if the thought of watching me suffer his punishment means anything to him.

I spin the beads of my bracelet, trying to remember the stories of Legion raids. The fear and terror worn on the faces of the elders as they spoke about women and children being murdered.

I understand his defiance.

“When was the last time you saw her? Your sister?”

“Just under four years ago. I stole some bread to share with some friends, and the guard who caught me was going to cut off my hand for it. Bryani jumped on his back and attacked him.” The chuckle that escapes me is a confusing blend of sadness and laughter. “She was shot in the stomach. They dragged her off, and I haven’t seen her since.”

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