Page 25 of Tortured Soul
I inhaled sharply, head dizzy from the smell.
“I’ll introduce you to the other Guardians later today. If anyone comes here without any of us, they’re not authorized to pick up or search for anything.”
I frowned. “Is it something that might happen?” I asked, looking at the screen from the side as he showed me how the software worked.
“It shouldn’t,” he said, his voice strained. “If someone comes here with”—He paused, his throat bobbing—“malevolent intent, the Archives will deny them access.”
I nodded, side-eying him. The presence in this room seemed like it was full of surprises. At least, it didn’t sendmeaway. Maybe it was some kind of test, after all…
“Take a seat, I’ll show you how to navigate the system.”
He stepped back to give me more room and stood behind me as I sat—or rather, ungracefully fell—in the comfortable chair. Apart from a too long exhale, he didn’t comment.
The program was fairly easy to use. Someone would ask me what they needed and the computer would tell me where to find it. If anyone needed to add any new book or document, I would tell it what it was and it would tell me where to put it.
According to Arc, the room rearranged itself about once a month. Twice if Carter pissed it off enough. Every time it did, the update on the computer was automatic.
I’ve never heard of any spirit doing this kind of thing. Maybe it was some techie who died and felt like it needed a purpose…
I’ve never met a ghost before, but with every species that existed, you’d never know, right?
Arc leaned forward, pointing at a file on the screen. My vision blurred a little. I wasn’t listening anymore, the sound of my own beating heart too loud in my ears.
One of his long silver necklaces brushed my shoulder and I shuddered from the cold metal contrasting with my skin.
He reared back with a muttered curse, putting a few feet of distance between us.
His pupils were wide, jaw tensed. He slowly slid his fisted hands in his pockets.
“Alright, what’s your problem?” I asked as I stood up to face him.
Arc’s eyes narrowed and he took on a defensive stance. “I wasn’t aware I had one.”
“You act like I have some kind of disease. Which is ludicrous, as we all know that Immortals don’t get sick.” His eyes darted away, as if my mere existence was a nuisance. “If someone here should be upset about anything, it's me. I was manhandled from the moment I stepped through that barrier, my bike was, as far as I know, left behind in the desert, then you proceeded to treat me like I’m some kind of spy sent here to cause trouble, and finally, people keep congratulating me and telling me how grateful I must be to have finally met you when I’ve never even heard of you before. What is this place, some kind of cult? Am I expected to fawn over you like the rest of this whole camp? Toturn the other cheek every time someone disrespects me because of the kind of demon that I am? Because frankly it’s—”
“Have people other than Carter disrespected you?” he probed, interrupting my monologue.
The cinnamon tamped down and I felt like I could finally breathe. Not that the smell was unpleasant but it made me feel…weird. Dizzy. Like it was trying to tell me something that my nose couldn’t understand.
The scent was slowly replaced by a sizzling fire in a rainy forest…Embers. The return of the mist…
“I wouldn’t say most people have been exactly kind, including you. Most of the guards yesterday said nothing, while Carter—”
“I know, and that’s why they’re facing the consequences of their non-actions today. And for the foreseeable future,” he revealed, his jaw set in a hard line, eyes lost somewhere and gleaming with anger.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re guards. Their job is to protect the people that live here. They failed.”
“I didn’t live here yet.” And I really hoped that thoseconsequencesdidn’t involve torture or death. That would be a little much for what was left of my conscience.
“Oh, but you did. I prepared your file the night before. We were expecting your arrival. You were already an official resident.”
My crossed arms tightened around me as anger flared.Right. Hisvisionsor whatever.
“They were expecting me,” I echoed. “Then why—”
“Your eyes,” he explained, his voice lower. He took a step forward, forgetting about that imaginary disease he probably thought I had. “I saw blue eyes. It’s my fault, really. I should have known better.”
