Charlie Madigan: Shadows Before The Sun Part 13

It was so unexpected that my mouth opened in a silent cry and I almost fell. Holy s.h.i.+t. Every nerve tingled. My heart skipped and then began to pound hard. I leaned on the wall.

Jesus. Hank.

He was here. He was alive. Hank was alive.

Leander had said Hank lived, but this validation, this knowing it, this feeling it filled me with relief.

He was here and close. All I had to do now was play a game of "Getting Warmer" to figure out where he was being held.

I straightened and made it two steps before I realized he had to feel it, too. His mark would've warmed just like mine. A grin spread across my face. Wherever he was, he knew I was coming.

Something had changed, he sensed it.

His body was healed enough to begin the lashes again, yet the whip master hadn't returned. He must be close now to reaching the six hundred and forty-two lashes. Christ, it felt like he had endured six thousand.

Perhaps his sentence had been fulfilled, which didn't mean s.h.i.+t. He might be going mad, but he knew enough to know they'd never be done with him, never let him go, never let him die.

f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.hes.

He couldn't wait to kill them. He was going to bathe in their blood, decorate his cell with their entrails, and use their heads for footstools. He was going- Warmth spread suddenly through his chest.

He lay there frozen, heart pounding, holding his breath for fear this strangely familiar pleasure would just as suddenly leave him.

No, he couldn't take it.

Whatever new kind of torture this was, he'd rather be whipped than to feel this goodness and hope.

He roared in pain because, G.o.ddammit, he wanted none of it! No reminders, no marks, no dreams, no flashes of memory, of a life that could never be his!

"Circeeeee!" he bellowed. "Face me, you spineless old hags!" He started laughing until his gut hurt from it.

Then, he clutched the mark over his chest and began digging it out, ripping the flesh with his nails, wanting it gone, off of him so it couldn't be used against him.

The deep yell thundered down the hallway, making me freeze in my tracks. It was too distant, and so ringed in echoes that I couldn't understand the words, but the sound made goose b.u.mps crawl along my flesh. It was a wounded, angry, maniacal sound.

Hank was down there somewhere. That was my partner, my friend, my . . . something. Didn't matter if I was out of my element. Didn't matter that I had no idea what I was walking into much less how to get back out. There was no conceivable way to formulate a plan until I knew where Hank was, the condition he was in, and how he was being contained; right now, nothing mattered except finding him.

I started running down the hallway, finally finding a door. I eased it open, ready to fight. But inside, it was empty. And then the smell hit me. Fresh blood. Dried blood. Urine. Sweat. Leather. I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, noticing the manacles chained to the far wall and the dark pool of blood on the floor beneath them. So much blood.

A rack of whips and barbs lined one wall.

But everything stilled inside me at the sight of the small, narrow door to the right of the rack. I was across the room in a second, grabbing the key ring on the wall with shaking hands and unlocking the door.

As the lock clicked and released, a deep voice beyond the door spoke.

"About time. I thought you forgot about me."

For a moment, I thought he was talking to me, but his next words corrected that a.s.sumption. "Shall we bet again on how many lashes it takes to kill me this time?"

Oh G.o.d. Hank.

I pushed the door and it swung wide, bouncing gently against the wall. I froze in the doorway at the sight of him spread eagle, facedown, shackled to the floor by two ankle manacles and a collar around his neck, holding him down.

He was naked, and covered in blood and wounds. I'd never seen anything like this before on a living person, one who was still able to speak. I couldn't move. My throat went thick and fat tears slipped from my eyes. His back was ripped open in clawlike slashes from his neck all the way to the backs of his thighs. There was hardly a clear bit of flesh to be seen. His wounds ranged from fresh to every stage of healing, which told the horrifying tale that this had been done to him over and over again, new wounds on top of old ones.

"G.o.d," I said, barely above a whisper. "Hank."

I entered the room on shaky legs. His hands were free, one flung out and the other tucked under his chest, fresh blood pooling on the stones. His hair was bloodied and matted and he'd gone completely still and silent at my voice.

I knelt down beside him. "Hank? It's me, Charlie. I'm going to get you out of here. Everything is going to be okay." My voice came out startlingly calm for all the chaos going around inside me.

I got up, intent on freeing him, intent on finding the f.u.c.king key. My hands shook. Christ, they had him chained facedown on the f.u.c.king floor.

Hank started laughing. The low, raspy chuckle grew until his body shook.

What-?

Before I could process his reaction, hands slid beneath my armpits and jerked me out of the room. The cell door slammed closed and locked. Manacles were slapped around my wrists as I came to my senses and tried to break free.

The amulet protecting me from the siren lure was yanked from my neck.

Arethusa's face came into view and her smile gave me chills. "Stop struggling."

And I obeyed.

Her voice . . . it was like a drug, an intoxicating, wonderful drug. Poisonous, a small voice inside my head said. But it was just a small voice, nothing compared to the rapture of the Circe's power.

"Well, this changes things, sisters."

"Oh, I do love a tragic romance. How marvelous!" Calliadne exclaimed.

I swayed.

"We must begin interrogations at once."

Somehow, even in the fog of hearing them speak, I wasn't surprised by Ephyra's comment; she did seem the most brutal of the three, but her voice was so beautiful, like an angel, I didn't care too much about what she said.

I was handed off to a male siren, barely noticing the rough handling as he pushed me out the door and down the hallway. I stumbled, disoriented by the Circe's power and grief-stricken for Hank. I couldn't seem to get my bearings and when the guard shoved me into a small room, I fell to my knees.

I wasn't sure how long I stayed that way on the floor, eyes wide open, tears leaking out, knees bleeding. The only thing I saw was Hank lying on the floor.

Eventually, the fog lifted and I moved off my sore knees and onto my rear.

Okay, Charlie. Time to think. I lifted my manacled hands and rubbed both hands down my face. You can't change what you saw. You can only move forward.

I'd made it this far. They hadn't killed me, hadn't even harmed me, which meant they were saving that bit of fun for later.

Whatever the Circe planned, the first thing I had to learn was how to brace myself against their voices. I had to put the force of my will and my power behind keeping their voices from overwhelming my thoughts. I had to be prepared before they spoke because if I wasn't they'd have me enthralled with the first syllable. My power was strong enough. It had to be. And though the Circe were far stronger than the siren who'd attacked me, I knew it was possible. I knew my power could, at the very least, lessen the impact of their power.

And I had to find out what had happened to Alessandra because if the Circe knew about me, then everything about the oracle's presence in Fiallan was in question. I hoped like h.e.l.l she was currently lying her heart out, telling them I'd tricked her, that she had no idea who I really was.

And lastly, and in keeping with my mantra, I had to kill the Circe.

"No problem. One step at a time, right?" I let out a hefty sigh and scooted so my back rested against the wall.

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, at the hopelessness, and it made me remember Hank laughing. He'd sounded . . . like he'd gone insane.

12.

He wasn't surprised by much these days, but the Circe coming back into his cell was an unwelcomed surprise. His neck was freed and he was lifted to face them, held up by two sirens on either side of him.

Dizziness made the Circe's faces blend into one and then separate into six. Funny, that.

Except he was hungry and being upright made his stomach turn like one of those fun house rides at Stone Mountain. f.u.c.k. He was going to hurl.

His body lurched and he dry heaved at their feet. There was nothing to come out but spit and bile; he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

The Circe stepped back. He laughed at them.

"Nierian is much stronger than we thought."

"Perhaps better used in other ways, sisters."

"This human will be our leverage. We must know her secrets."

"Shall we torture her first?"

"Surely she will break much quicker than a son of Elekti-Kairos."

"Surely." One of the b.i.t.c.hes grabbed his face. "What is she to you, Malakim?"

"Release me, witch, and after I dismember you and strangle you with your own guts, I'll have mercy and throw your remains into the sea." He grinned at her, wanting her to fight him, wanting to lash out, even if it killed him. He wanted her death so badly, he could taste it.

She smiled at him. A beautiful smile. Evil to the core. Her grip tightened and then she looked down at his chest where he had clawed the marking. "You are linked to this human."

"Yes, but how are you linked?" another one said, which made him frown in confusion.

"He doesn't remember."

He hated that they spoke of him like this, so plainly, as though he did not exist. He struggled against the guards. "He is right here, morons."

For that he received a punch in the stomach by one of the guards, followed by an uppercut to the jaw. Without support, his legs were too weak to hold him and he collapsed onto the floor. Onto his back. He screamed in pain and rolled to his side, the shock of it stealing his breath, and then the kick to his back sent him to blackness.

He came to on his back, his entire body humming with pain; three faces stared down at him, chanting in the most beautiful melody and tone he had ever heard. Each reached down and touched him with their pointer finger. One on the forehead, one on the left temple, and the other on the right temple.

Bright light blinded him. And then he saw flashes. Of the woman in his dreams. But these visions, they conflicted with the ones he'd had before. Of her sitting on a couch . . .

"Do you love him?" someone, a female, asked her.

"No."

Then other visions, bits and pieces of her, laughing at him, thinking him dim-witted and slow. Using him to get what she wanted. He heard himself groan. He didn't like these things. These confusing things that somehow had the power to hurt him.

"Who wouldn't want a siren in their bed?" the Circe's voice echoed inside of his head. "You are but a trophy, a thing to be used, so she can say she had you."

"She doesn't love you."

"She doesn't respect you."

"She believes you to be lesser than siren, not raised as a siren, not taught as a siren, not educated or sophisticated."

And it was all true. He had fled Fiallan as an adult male with not even the most basic knowledge about how to live or care for himself. He'd had to learn it all from a hermit in the woods of Gorsedd.

The conflict inside of him pushed like a living thing at his chest until he demanded they stop.

"Do as we say, Nierian, and you shall reclaim the honor your treachery stole from your family. Do as we say and the name of Elekti-Kairos will be exonerated with honor and your estate reclaimed."

"f.u.c.k you," he said, knowing they lied.

"Do as we say," the voice whispered softly against his ear, "and we will release you from the NecroNaMoria. Your soul will find peace, Nierian. Peace."

Peace was more than a word, an idea, or state of being. It was a place. Something he'd seen for himself, felt for himself, a glimpse of true heaven, true paradise for his broken soul. His will cracked, just a small fissure, but a crack that spread. All he had to do was agree.

But then, he could always kill the b.i.t.c.hes instead and release the spell that way. If only he had the strength within him. He was one siren against three of the most powerful siren witches in history, and they'd made sure his body was weak and drained.

"Remember what it feels like, siren," the beautiful voices whispered as one, one so powerful the temptation-laced words made him shudder. "Your soul free from the confines of your body. Aren't you tired, Nierian? Of the pain, the regret, the longing and guilt? We offer you freedom, the infinite beauty, the absence of all but peace . . . Stillness. Serenity. Silence."

And that's when he caved, when he couldn't fight it anymore because he had tasted paradise so many times his heart and his soul wept for it. Those brief encounters with freedom haunted him, destroyed him. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and his throat tightened, but not before he said, "Agreed."

"You'll do anything we ask of you?"

He glared at them, all the hate he felt burning his eyes. "Yes. Anything."

"h.e.l.lo! Anyone out there?" I kicked the door, glared lasers at it, and then kicked it some more. If I had my boots I could really make some noise. As it was, my bare feet only made the hinges rattle. "Come on!" I yelled. "You have a prisoner in here in case you f.u.c.king forgot!"