Page 75 of Alchemised
Visible emotion swept across Stroud’s face, and she cleared her throat. “But even I could not deny that near the end, he began slipping. He poured tremendous resources, including his own vitality, into experiments, and the more he did it, the more obsessed he became. The Undying frequently develop a tendency towards sadism over time. Some more quickly than others. I don’t want my work marred by such preferences. Perhaps once transference is perfected, I will request ascendance. But until then, the High Necromancer provides what I need. He knows it makes me even more loyal than the others.”
The Undying had always seemed psychotic, but Helena hadn’t realised it was a side effect of their immortality.
Stroud touched Helena with her hard, soap-rough hands, murmuring to herself that Helena was already showing signs of eating properly.
“Take these.” Stroud held out several tablets.
“What are they for?”
Impatience flashed across Stroud’s face. “The High Necromancer wishes to see you.”
Helena recoiled. “Why?”
Stroud ignored the question. “If you don’t take them yourself, I have a tube here.” She pulled it out of her medical satchel. “I can paralyse you and shove it down your throat all the way to your stomach and then pour the tablets down. I’ve done it many times before. It will bruise the oesophagus, and you’ll struggle to swallow or speak for a few days. It’s your choice.”
Helena shoved the tablets into her mouth, dry-swallowing them and ignoring the way they tried to stick in her throat. As they dissolved, they burned against the tissue.
Stroud turned away, rummaging through her bag again. She’d brought considerably more items with her than on previous visits. Helena squinted, trying to make out what they were, but her vision was suddenly fogging.
“Wait—”
Stroud pulled out several vials and large syringes, laying them out in a row.
“What are you—” Her face was going numb.
She blinked. Stroud had filled a syringe and stood before her, flicking it to remove air bubbles.
Helena tried to read the words on the vial. The letters blurred.
“Don’t …” she managed to say.
“It’s all to get you ready, like I said,” Stroud said as she jabbed the needle into Helena’s arm, injecting it.
Helena scarcely felt it.
Stroud picked up the next vial and a larger syringe.
Helena’s head lolled back, and she swayed, nearly falling off the table as she tried to get away.
“Lie down.” Stroud’s words ballooned around her.
It only took slight pressure, and Helena collapsed sideways. The table was cold against her temple as another needle sank into her arm. The room had gone dark.
She heard the flick of Stroud’s fingers against another syringe.
Then she didn’t remember anything.
WHEN HER EYES OPENED, IT was dark. She was in her bed, her arms and legs aching with injection bruises. The splint on her hand was gone.
It was like someone had kicked her repeatedly in the lower abdomen and then stabbed her all over for good measure. Her whole body had a taut, swollen feeling, as though her skin was stretched too tight. She wanted to curl into a ball, but it hurt too much to lie on her arms.
In the bathroom mirror, she found her eyes wildly dilated, the sclera bloodshot. Her mouth was parched, but water hurt inside her stomach. She nearly collapsed on the floor of the bathroom.
Ferron arrived the next day, or perhaps two days later. Helena had lost track of time.
“The High Necromancer wishes to see you,” he said. “What’s wrong with you?”
Helena had no idea what was wrong, she just knew she’d been dosed with something horrible.
