Page 60 of Heir of Illusion

Perhaps multiple somethings, I think as I catch another whiff.

The lack of light is the next thing I notice. Whoever lives here has nailed moldy blankets over the windows. Paint is peeling off the walls in most places, revealing an array of black spots and gaping holes. Pieces of destroyed furniture are scattered around the room, dust and leaves littered on top of them. The only item that isn’t broken is the couch, but judging by its threadbare appearance, I’d say it’s probably mildewed.

Fuck Baylor.

It’s his fault the mortals live in this kind of squaller. He has the power to clean up this district and provide aid to those who are struggling, but he does nothing. And whatever grain he brings in from his deal with Death, I doubt it will be used to feed the people of the Lowers. They’ll continue to starve and live in filth while those in Highgrove have more than they could possibly need.

I take a deep breath, nearly choking on the foul air, as I attempt to quell my anger. It won’t do anything to help me right now. I peer at the far corner, finding a narrow staircase that leads to the second level. The first step groans as I put my weight on it, the sound not inspiring confidence in its structural integrity. Holding my breath, I force myself to keep going. Whoever I saw here this morning must have used these stairs, so they can’t be that bad.

Relief hits me as I reach the second level, but the feeling is short-lived. A faint sound comes from the last room. It takes a moment to identify it, but what I hear has me pulling a blade free.

Someone is in there.

The soft tones of their voice rise and fall as they hum quietly. The song sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. I approach slowly, peeking into the other rooms as I go. They are all in a state of disrepair, but otherwise uninteresting.

Bracing myself, I push the final door open by a few inches and peer through the crack. A woman wearing a dirty shift sits on the floor. Gray hair hangs limply in her face, obscuring my view of her features.

With my illusion in place, she won’t be able to see me, but she could still find it odd if the door opens on its own. It’s better for me if I don’t capture her attention at all. Very slowly, I crack the door slightly wider while keeping a close eye on the woman. If she notices the change, she doesn’t show it as she continues to hum her song.

As quietly as possible, I slip through the gap.

The room is similar to the others. Though the paint in here has fared better than downstairs, someone has taken the liberty of drawing crude depictions all over the walls. I glance at the old woman skeptically. Is this her artistic work or do others live here too?

The sound of her low voice startles me as she begins to sing.

“The rats can run, but the rats can’t hide.”

Unease trickles through me, but I brush it aside. I need to finish my search and then get the fuck out of this place. Taking silent steps toward the window, I peer at the rain-soaked street below. Judging by the angle, this is where the person was standing earlier when they were watching us. It’s hard to judge the woman’s height while she’s sitting down, but I don’t think she’s large enough to fit the outline I saw.

Someone else must have been here. Was it Darby?

“He’s coming now, and he tells no lies.”

The woman shifts restlessly, her nails digging against the floorboard. Judging by her agitated state, now is probably a good time to leave.

As I start for the door, her head snaps up. Her wrinkled skin is pale and sallow, as if she hasn’t seen the sun in far too long. Wild eyes search the room before landing on my feet. Dread unfurls as my gaze drops, finding a shallow puddle collecting at my boots, the product of the rainwater dripping from my clothes and hair.

The woman’s thin lips curve, revealing a black-toothed smile as her hand reaches behind her.

“He said all the rats will bleed and die, when all the stars fall from the sky.”

A flash of silver catches my attention a second before the woman leaps from the ground, launching herself at me with surprising strength. Her body slams hard against mine, knocking me to the ground. The impact shocks me into dropping my illusion as a sharp pain stings my arm. Looking down, I find a dirty knife clutched in her hands as she slices into my skin.

Ignoring the pain, I grab her arm as she swings the weapon wide, digging my thumb into the tendons at her wrist. My own blade is still in my other hand, but I try to angle it away from the woman. Even though she’s attacking me, killing someone so pathetic feels wrong. But getting her off me without doing serious damage is difficult, especially when she has no such qualms about hurting me.

She grits her teeth, hanging onto the knife as long as possible before finally dropping it. Her eyes track the blade as it lands somewhere near my head.

“You know what they say about hungry rats?” her scratchy voice asks.

The stench of her breath nearly chokes me as I finally get hold of her other wrist.

“They feed hungry mouths.”

She snaps her teeth, her gaze trained on my arm as she leans forward to bite it.

I brace for the pain, but it never comes.

All at once, she’s pulled off me. Her struggling form hits the wall with a loud bang before sliding to the ground.

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