Page 126 of The Succubi's Choice

The corners of Vincente’s lips twist downwards, like he didn’t think she could do something as simple as open the door.

Something stays her feet, and she doesn’t step forward, only craning her neck so she can see Jacqueline.

Jacqueline doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Whatever sound she was making before, whatever recording they used to draw her in and trap her, it’s not what she’s doing now.

“Jacqui,” Miri whispers, soft, not moving.

There’s no motion from her, no sign she heard her.

“You can come in,” Vincente says, smooth. He’s just outside of arm length, just far enough that Miri would have to lunge at him to charm him. Gloves cover his hands, disappearing under his suit jacket, leaving very little exposed skin outside of his face that she could touch.

Miri glances up at the door jamb, but can’t see anything and isn’t quite willing to step over. It’s quiet, so quiet that she can hear her own breathing, hear Katya’s, but can’t hear anything from Jacqueline.

“What did you do to her?” She asks, locking her knees, withdrawing back, as if Vincente himself could do anything.

He swings his jacket open, and there’s a gun, because of course there’s a gun. Of course he’s armed, and of course he’s prepared.

Out of the corner of her eye, from the hallway, she sees Katya shift her balance from foot to foot, as if prepping for action.

“What’s going to happen to me if I go inside?” Miri asks, not expecting an actual answer, more stalling for time, searching for anything resembling life from Jacqueline.

“Nothing,” he says, voice neutral. “We didn’t think you’d be here right now, or else she’d be awake.” His lips twist upwards, into something between a smile and a sneer. “We thought it would take a few days for you to gather your courage, to manipulate the Archdemon to do your bidding.”

“Yeah, cause that’s what this is about.” Miri stares, hard, at the medical cot.

Vincente rests his hand on the butt of his pistol, just like Katya almost did just a few short minutes ago. “We can always hurt her more,” he states. Slow, he thumbs off the strap holding it into the holster, loosening it in its place.

Miri huffs out a breath of air and steps forward.

A sharp, sudden chill wracks her back, only stopped by the rune on her side flaring up, bright to the point of painful, two twin spots

Vincente watches her, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, waiting for her reaction.

“So he has done something to you,” he says, when nothing happens, as if clearly expecting her to react largely. “I know what you look like in pain, and yet —"

The small dig at the literal torture settles into her stomach but, ignoring him, she sits on the corner of the little medical cot. Jacqueline doesn’t move, and Miri rests her hand on her shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.

“You’re lucky she’s alive,” Miri blurts out, and her hands are shaking, utterly shaking with sudden uncontrolled rage at the bandages around Jacqueline’s head, at how small she seems. “If she has any brain damage, anything inhibiting her studies...” She trails off, not used to threatening people, not used to the language needed.

“She’s not unconscious from the injury, she’s unconscious because we tranquillized her,” he says, and she can hear the sneer behind his words. “She was not easy to get to cooperate.”

“I imagine not,” Miri says, a small fission of pride through her. She strokes Jacqueline’s hair back, the blood on the bandage brighter than it should be, like someone hit her with something strong and metallic at the temple.

Her eyes flicker back over to Vincente, at the pistol in the holster, at the butt of the gun.

He’s a vain man, a man who appreciates things looking good, looking in control, and the butt of his gun is a white mother of pearl. The sort of gun prized by sharpshooters and by people who pride themselves in upholding old traditions, traditions that haven’t been useful in almost centuries.

There’s a small smear of darkened red on the mother of pearl, stark, as if he’s been too busy to clean it off yet.

Miri stands suddenly, and he takes a step back, hand resting over that red mark.

“I thought you thought the Organization was to protect humans?” She spits out, her view narrowing just to that spot of red on the gun. “I thought you were in this for them?”

His hand rests against the gun, gentle, like he’s caressing a lover. “There are different ways to ensure that.”

“What did you give her?” Miri snaps.

He blinks, slow, as if she is confounding him. “It shouldn’t matter to you,” he says, neutral.

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