Page 90 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn
The hood gives a single nod, creepy dark fingers tightening their grip on the wooden staff he holds. It’s almost uncomfortable to look at the gnarled heartwood, like the thing gives off a manifestation of sorrow and despair.
I observe it, forcing myself to learnas many details as possible—what looks like old runes are carved into the black stained wood, and at its crown is a twisted knot that grips around what looks like a black stone the size of my fist; it reminds me of flint.
I decide then and there that I fucking hate anything related to the gods, or their magic. It doesn’t matter if they think our lives don’t matter; wedo.
My mother did.
Soren’s sisterdoes.
I take another step, this time with more confidence.
Blackwell nears me as well, rubbing his hands together, then looks at who has to be Misery. “Is she alone?” he asks.
“No,” the hooded figure croaks out, his voice emanating as if his mouth were the depths of a cave that his words echo from. I fail to hide my disgust at the thought ofhimskinning me alive to use my flesh to don anything that remotely resembles humanity.
Then it sinks in.
I’m not alone?
My heart drops, and I turn around, skimming for the forests. I don’t even care if I give them my back or vulnerability.
Who is it?
There’s a scuffle a few feet over in the underbrush, and I see some men stand and skirmish as another—female?—lets out amuffled grunt. Then, the men start dragging someone into the woods.
These seconds are painfully long as I wait to see who they pull through… Anya.
No.
Does that mean that Soren is nearby? If he is, there’s no reality where he wouldn’t barrel through these woods to help—I’m about to scream, but that’s when I’m tackled like when I first met the Zenith; my body hits the ground so hard I scrape the dirt with my teeth, the air in my lungs expelled from the weight of whoever is on top of me.
My instincts scream to fight back, to kick. To curse at them as if it’s the only words I know. As I struggle while they bind my hands with rope, I can tell I’ve changed.
I already know how I will play this one.
I let them bind me how they see fit. Let them think that they have the upper hand. I learned a lot when being Soren’s little pet, and now I know how totrulysubmit—there’s no threat of saving lives now. If anything, submission will save lives.
So I can burn it.
Burn them all.
I hear someone near me, I cansensehim, too. Dirty, worn boots are in my peripheral while someone continues to pin me down. A tattered cloak enters my vision, the energy from him emanating in ways that make Cypress look like a child playing at gods.
“Cypress has meddled with her,” he states, his staff shifting its imprint in the ground.
“How?”Blackwell asks.
“I cannot feel her.”
His staff lifts and presses against my cheek to hold my face into the dirt floor. I almost want to laugh at how utterly unafraid I am to die. There’s a sense of being whole now, knowing myfather is still out there, and that he didn’t abandon me. That Kathleen is my friend, and that Soren showed me I can love myself and the violence within.
“What did she do to you?” he asks.
“I’m not answering that,” I reply.
Anya is chucked to my side, grunting through the cloth tied around her mouth.
“Antony, examine what is at her neck. Something that doesn’t belong to her is there. There area is stained with poison.”
