Page 93 of The Mask Falling

That was it. I had everything I had come here to find. Kornephoros watched me stand.

“Fitzours has the key to my chains,” he said, “but if you remove the flowers, I will be strong enough to break free.”

“Not just yet.”

Tendons rose in his neck. The chains jangled as gargantuan muscles strained against them.

“I’ve one more thing to ask you, Kornephoros Sheratan.” I forced myself to stand perfectly still. “You see, I think there is a way a Rephaite can be destroyed altogether. You behead it with a blade made from opaline. Am I wrong?”

His eyes were like lava. “You have witnessed a sequestration.”

“At the hand of the blood-sovereign herself.”

His wolf-like gaze never left my face.

“You’re afraid,” I said, after a long moment. “You’re afraid Ménard is going to realize there’s a way to destroy you without any risk at all that you’ll turn. That he’ll have you all slaughtered.”

“I fear nothing, dreamwalker. Least of all a human. But be warned, should Ménard learn the truth, and should he come into possession of opaline, he will spare no Rephaite,” Kornephoros said. “Not even Arcturus.”

“You keep talking about Arcturus. Maybe you did know him. Maybe you are Ranthen,” I said, “or maybe when you saw me yesterday, you marked me for a tender-hearted fool. If I let you go, you might well run straight to Nashira and tell her I’m on my way to Sheol II.”

“If you donotlet me go, I will tell Fitzours what you plan, and he will report it to Ménard.”

“Those two will never let you out of here. I might.” I folded my arms. “If I find the colony in Versailles and live to tell the tale, I’ll come back and set you free. On my oath. Do we have a deal?”

The former Warden of the Sheratan bared his white teeth. The links of the chains rang.

“Arcturus is not the only Rephaite with a long memory,” he said, very softly. “If you do not come back within the sennight, I will find another way to escape this place, and I will hunt you, Paige Mahoney. I will take my club to your bones until you scream for mercy. And I promise you, fleshworm—you will find none.”

****

I emerged from the attic heavy with knowledge. Finding the corridor empty, I broke into a light-footed run toward the kitchen. The secrets were scored onto my memory. Now all I had to do was carry them out of here.

Easier said than done. In my rush to escape, I forgot to listen to the æther. As I turned a corner, a baton bashed into my stomach, and I folded, the breath slammed out of me. Next thing I knew, I was flat on my front, and my arms were pinned to my sides.

It was the two Vigiles I had tricked into leaving their posts. They had brought friends with them, outnumbering me six to one. I launched myself into the æther.

All of them had been trained for this. None of them were ready for it. By the time someone roared for backup, two Vigiles had fallen to the floor beside me, empty, wall-eyed in the shock of death.

Escape was so close I could almost taste it. Hope spiked me with impossible strength. I could not be captured now, not when lives depended on the secrets I carried. I danced in the æther as I never had, flashing between adversaries like a bullet between walls, each strike weaker than the last. The sixth and final guard had made it halfway down the corridor by the time I clipped her dreamscape, knocking her unconscious just as she hit an alarm.

A bell drilled somewhere in the mansion. When I crash-landed back in my body, I doubled over. My fingers went to my nose and came away smeared with red. No time to stop. Chest tight, I drunkenly took the baton from my utility belt and ran—straight into the Vigiles storming in from outside the mansion. Guns snapped in my direction. I veered away from their flux darts and broke into a sprint.

Steel blinds snapped down to cover the windows. Boots thundered across the floor. With a knife-like pain in my shoulder and chest, I shot down another corridor and dived for the nearest flight of stairs. I needed to break their line of sight and get back into the hidden staircase.

Another dreamscape. A dark shape blurred from my left and slammed bodily into me. As if I had been charged by a horse, both me and the baton went flying. I hit the floor, too stunned and winded to move again, while my only weapon rolled far out of reach. Agony erupted behind my ribs. I clawed in panic at my throat, as if I could unseam it and let more air inside.

A giant of a Vigile dragged me up. He was as big as a Rephaite, all muscle and armor, his hands the size of plates. I could see my own fear-stricken face in his visor. As soon as I tried hitting him with my spirit, excruciating pain warned me to stop. He slung me over his shoulder.

The guards from downstairs had caught up. Transceivers crackled. The alarm faded. Too short-winded to scream, I grabbed onto anything I could as the massive Vigile hauled me through the mansion, up more stairs. We were back in the attic. So close to the false wall.

Cade was pounding on the door to his cell, calling my name. I made a last attempt to break free, to no avail. My fingers skidded off the Vigile’s helmet. He booted a door open and flung me headlong into my cell. I just about landed on my feet, then stumbled and fell hard into the coffee table, which cut into my shoulder. The Vigile bore down on me and tore off the utility belt, but he missed the shape of the ledger. My shoes slapped to the floor.

A long shadow reached across the floorboards. There stood Ménard, flanked by two of his guards, their rifles trained on me.

“I see you have chosen not to cooperate.” That restrained smile. “You were warned of the consequences of rebellion. A pity that perversion is innate to the anormale.”

“As hypocrisy is innate to the tyrant. You’re trying to court favor with Nashira.” I wheezed out a laugh. “You’re not some untainted savior, Ménard. You’re like every other two-faced bastard in Scion. Taking from unnaturals with one hand, slitting our throats with the other.”

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