Page 56 of Unbroken
No one could see her like this. She was a monster.
They abandoned her after. Fuller refused to open the door when she begged for help, then shot at her when she battered it down. The others were no better.
She found shelter in an abandoned neighborhood prone to flooding. Hid there during the day, occasionally venturing out at night to scavenge. Her despair found an outlet as it always had, and she drew on the walls of the empty houses, scenes of pain and grief and horror.
Then, one night in May, while Halley’s Comet burned in the sky, hope returned.
It wasn’t a voice that called to her, not exactly. More of a sensation, leading her down into the semi-flooded basement of one of the houses she’d been sleeping in. Behind the crumbling brick wall, she found a Book.
The Book of Blood, though how she knew its name she wasn’t certain, except for the bulging veins ribboning its surface. She opened it, and within were the most wonderful illustrations. Teaching her. Guiding her.
Offering her a chance to save herself. Because the Book showed her that its magic and that of the tree were anathema to one another. If she let the Book change just a small part of her, she could feed on the blood of those who had done this to her. Their blood would change her back, and she’d get revenge on them at the same time.
Siewert was first. The Book’s magic helped conceal her as she crept into his bedchamber at night and fed from his throat without waking him. And it worked—as his blood entered her, she became more human, the effects of the tree’s sap receding like the tide going out. She wasn’t completely restored—not even close—but it was something.
And now that his blood was in her, she could use it against him.
Under the instruction of the Book, she used its power to paint the scene of his demise. Siewert had loved his machines, his stupid auto, so let them be his undoing. He’d have no choice but to act out the part she painted for him.
Let him see what it was like to have no say over what became of his own body.
And when he was dead, she went to his grave and commanded that body to claw its way free. It could watch over her while she slept during the day, make sure she was undisturbed by the occasional explorer or vagrant who wandered into the abandoned neighborhood.
It was a triumph—the first true joy she’d had since the night with the tree. But it didn’t last.
The effects of the sap began to creep back in. She needed more blood.
Penelope Tubbs was next—a drink from her sleeping throat. Mrs. Tubbs had always wanted to be in the spotlight, to have all eyes on her, so Victoria granted her wish. No one had been able to look away while she screamed and burned.
Things began to go wrong, though. One night, Victoria returned home just before dawn to find Siewert’s body torn to shreds. Frightened, she fled the abandoned neighborhood—the Norris household would have to be her new lair. Mrs. Norris was insatiably greedy, grasping—how many free paintings had she cajoled from Victoria for herself and her friends? She never had enough: money, power, possessions.
Maybe she’d like having an entire slice of cake stuffed down her throat, blocking her airway. Maybe she’d like to do it herself.
Rulkowski was a social climber, clawing his way up over everyone around him in an attempt to reach ever greater heights. He didn’t make the jump she’d planned for him, and it was the first time the magic had failed her. She told herself it didn’t matter and made a new plan. A better plan, since this time she could actually watch her handiwork from a safe vantage point.
Before then, she raised Penelope Tubbs and gave her a task. The Book of Blood told her there were more like it, with different powers. Hidden in the library of the Ladysmith Museum. Victoria had lived her entire life in Widdershins, had a certain awe of the museum. No point risking herself, when Penelope could do it for her.
It didn’t work, though she wasn’t really surprised. But at least Rulkowski died beautifully.
Someone else was at the bonfire that night, though, someone with magic similar to hers. She’d sensed him, spotted him, then fled when he and his companion came in her direction.
Who was he? Could he be the master of the Books in the library?
Yes, the Book of Blood told her via the illustrations that appeared as if from nowhere onto its pages. This man had power and was now hunting her. He came to the Norris house, but Mrs. Norris failed to kill him, and Victoria barely slipped away before they caught her. But that was all right—she had a new plan.
The blood of her tormenters had helped the Book push back some of her transformation, but never cured her entirely. But this man…
He had the power of three of the Books of the Bound in his veins. If she drank his blood, drained him dry, it would surely be enough to cure her.
She needed to know what she was facing, though. The man seemed to be following the trail of bodies she’d left behind, which meant he’d eventually come to Fuller. She just had to lurk around the Breakwater Club until he appeared.
It went perfectly—that fool Fuller even came outside where she could dispose of him with ease. None of the man’s companions could do anything to her, and even his power was ineffective. The only problem was the creature.
It looked like a man, the way the tree looked like an ordinary tree at first glance. For a moment, she’d assumed Fuller had collected it the way he’d collected his tree. Then the creature looked at her and said, “Sister?”
Fury—she wasn’t this thing’s sister, she was a human being. How dare it put her in the same accursed category as itself, as the monstrous tree?
With Fuller dead and the creature between her and her other quarry, she’d fled—but not far, just far enough to no longer feel the connection with the man using the Books. She’d stolen a pair of binoculars from Mrs. Norris and used them to watch from a distance, enough to determine the direction they’d gone. She’d follow them and stay far enough away to keep her presence hidden. Wait for her chance.
