She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (38 page)

“Probably,” she replied honestly, “Especially since it most likely just happened today or last night.  I assume it’s fed by a well?”  He nodded.  “I should check that, too, just to be sure.”

“Let’s go,” he said, beckoning Willow.

“Sir?” she asked, slightly confused.  “You will accompany us?”  She was accustomed to a master who liked to delegate.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight if I can help it,” he replied, taking November by the arm.  “And you will be with her every moment I am not.  Tomorrow night she will become mine forever.  I’m taking no chances until then, even if this is all the doing of that moronic boy.”  With inquiring eyebrows, Willow held up the black hood, at which Luka rolled his eyes.  “I think we can dispense with that, given her abilities.  She probably could draw a map of the place by now anyway.”  Luka wrapped his prize up in a cloak and bundled her out the door.

The three of them started quickly down the hall, trailed by three more guards.  Philemon caught up with them and delivered the news that they’d done a complete head count, and the only people missing were Ben, a tower guard, and two of the drawbridge guards.

“I should have known,” Luka said, sounding irritated with himself.  “I should have killed him as soon as I had the chance.  I thought that he could be useful.  Evidently not.”

 As they hurried back up to the roof, November got to see with her eyes what she’d only heretofore glimpsed with her gift.  They passed by the human dormitories, whose walls along the corridor were made mostly of glass so as to facilitate the surveillance of the guards.  Now it afforded her a view of the dead and dying.  Many were convulsing, backs grotesquely arched.  “Oh, God,” she murmured, horror-struck, wanting somehow to help them.  She reached out helplessly and touched the glass.  There were so many of them, many hundred humans kept to feed Luka’s troops.  All were dead or nearly so.

Luka looked at her as he sensed her distress.  “We've already enthralled them into oblivion, and there is nothing more to be done.  They’re feeling no pain, kitten.  They feel safe and warm and unafraid.  We’re not complete monsters, you know.”  So she tore her eyes away and hurried along beside him, swallowing her tears.  “It’s not a nice way to die, strychnine, and it doesn’t take much.  We keep it around for the rats,” he explained further.

“Why couldn’t the fairies heal them during the day?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Most of the humans slept all day and woke at dusk.  It was only then they were poisoned.  We did not realize what was happening to them until it was too late,” he replied.  “Even if we had, there were too many of them.  It would have weakened the fairies too profoundly.”

Another question struck her, which this time she managed not to voice.  
What about the werewolves?
 She tried to look for them, down through many floors to the dungeons she’d glimpsed, but to no avail.  It was instead Willow who asked, as they emerged onto the roof, “My lord, what about the wolves?”

He answered, “No food or water for them today, so they are still among the living.  For now.”  November couldn’t tell if Willow was disappointed or pleased that they had lived to suffer another day.

They walked over to the water tank.  November closed her eyes and placed her hands upon it.  Once she was able to quiet herself, she was swiftly rewarded with a vision of Ben climbing up to an access hatch and pouring several bottles of something into the water.  He looked determined rather than frightened.  With one look back, he murmured, “I’m sorry.  It was the only chance.”

November pulled her hand away, and looked back to her keepers.  She nodded confirmation of Ben’s guilt, telling herself that it was not too much of a betrayal given that he had already revealed it by fleeing.  She couldn’t understand it.  What was the point of murdering all those people?  And he couldn’t have been sure that November would avoid ingesting the poison.

“It was him.  Three bottles of poison.  Judging by the sky, maybe a couple of hours before dawn?” she reported.  “He killed the guard over there first,” she added, pointing to one of the towers.  Luka swore under his breath.

After a cursory check of the well and the kitchens, where November found nothing of note, they headed to Luka’s office.  The stains of her blood were still just barely visible on the wooden table, and November had a glimpse of one of the humans scrubbing it vigorously the day before.  There was a tray on the table, and a bottle of water, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat for thinking of the dead and dying. She took a seat by the fire to warm her chilled bones, trying to disappear.  She still didn’t understand what was going on, or why.  That is because she was continuing to think of the dead as people.  Everyone else, of course, was thinking of them as supplies.

“We’ll have to break into the reserve blood, then, to feed the vampires?  They can’t eat tainted blood,” Willow asked her master.

“He unplugged the freezers and slashed all the bags before dawn.  Nothing edible left.  The fairies will go after the garden in the morning, I suppose.  Younglings first, in orderly fashion.  Put Barley in charge of that.   He doesn’t suffer fools.  I’ll have to let people go hunting in the desert in small groups as well as send to the ranchers for resupply,” he said, worry written on his face.  “We won’t have fresh livestock until tomorrow night at the earliest.  No one will starve, but the young ones will be difficult to manage to say the least.”

“Do you think he had a plan?  I mean, to take advantage of the weakness caused by our lack of food?”

“I doubt Ben could conceive of a plan for picking up my dry cleaning,” he replied acidly, sounding remarkably like his brother for a moment.

“But Ilyn or Hazel—“ Willow protested.

“Are dead, most likely.  We will be careful, of course, but I am not overly alarmed.  This a child’s ham-fisted attempt at vengeance.  He will pay for it, of course.  How far do you think he could have gotten?”

“He’s a flyer,” Willow said, “so, pretty far if he fed first, and no way to tell which direction.”

“Put out the word to our friends,” he ordered.  “Million dollar bounty.  I want him, preferably alive.  I want Philemon in charge of resupply.  No stealing along the way by the young ones.  They’ll be hungry.”

“Of course,” she answered.  Luka dismissed her with a wave.   Willow gave a short bow and left, leaving November with a sinking heart, alone with her enemy.

 “You must eat, kitten.  You lost blood last night, and you must keep up your strength,” Luka admonished, smiling down at her.  They had just fed some of everything to the wolves, to make certain Ben hadn’t poisoned the food as well.  Luckily, he hadn’t.  So the wolves were still alive, and at least they'd gotten to eat.

She did as she was bid, rising and moving to the table. Breakfast tasted like ash in her mouth, for all she could see were the dying.  Even still, she ate it all.  She drank some of the bottled water, saving some for later, not knowing how much they had around.

She considered recent events, rolling them over in her mind.   What if she had drunk it?  Or bathed in it?  Ben couldn’t have been sure she wouldn’t.  She hoped that if he was willing to take such a risk, to kill all those innocent people and endanger her, that he was up to something important enough to justify that action, at least in his own mind.  She didn’t think anything could justify it in her own.  
Please let him know what he is doing
, she prayed
. For once.

She realized that Luka was staring at her.  He moved from his desk to the chairs by the fire and beckoned her with a crooked finger.  As she moved to sit in the chair across from him, he patted the footstool close beside him, commanding her to sit there instead.  She did so, swallowing nervously, and he spoke.  “Willow tells me that your trip to the roof this afternoon upset you.”

“When did she tell you that?” she asked, looking at her hands, avoiding his eyes.

He held up his phone.  “Texting – so useful, don’t you think?  I remember the days of messengers and carrier pigeons and waiting months for replies.  And e-mail, so convenient – you know, I’m already receiving overtures by e-mail from the surviving lords,” he said in a confiding, gleeful tone.

She quailed inwardly at that unsettling tidbit.  
Fair weather friends
, she thought.  He pocketed his smart phone.  “You’ve been crying.  I can smell it.”  He moved to sit next to her at the table.  “I hope you don’t think I sent you up there meaning to upset you.  I had forgotten that they were building the scaffold.  I suppose the fairies will have to finish it.”  He reached out and placed his hand upon her own.  It took all her strength not to snatch it away again.

What in the world am I supposed to say to that?  No problem, sir, looking forward to my murder?
 “I’ve had a lot to process in the last few days, that’s all,” she answered quietly, staring down at his cold hand on top of her own.  She knew she ought to take the opportunity try to look into his life, but she couldn’t bear to do so, nor did she think she had enough presence of mind to hide what she was doing.  “I, um, never thought my death would be so public.  Though it seems I’ve been executed more than once before.”

“I should think so.  People are so easily frightened by magic.  You do rather have the air of a witch, a bit of a glow," he said with a flamboyant hand gesture.  "Even the humans sense it.  But, kitten, please don’t think of this as an execution.  This is a joyous event!  I am giving you a great gift.  I simply want all my people to celebrate it with us.”

“That’s what Willow said,” she responded, not knowing what else to say.  
Joyous, right.

“You should listen to her.  She’s the closest thing I have to a daughter, until you rise.  She will be part of your family.”

No way in hell does that happen,
she swore to herself.
 
“You took care of her, after her family died, didn’t you?  I saw you pick her up off the ground.”  
Keep him talking as long as possible.  Talking means he’s not doing anything worse.

“Indeed, I helped raise her, along with my kin.  The family was all together then, living on the east coast, before Ilyn became king.  After the rift with my parents, when I settled in Arizona, I asked her to stay with William.  I knew that eventually, I would have need of her there.  And that eventually, my brother would disappoint her.  He’s always been too soft on the wolves.”  Luka’s mouth twisted with distaste.

“May I ask, why didn’t you leave her with Ilyn?” she asked.  She was afraid he would be offended by her questions, but instead, he seemed pleased at her interest, as if he’d just been waiting for someone to regale with tales of his own brilliance.

“Because I considered him the lesser threat.  Without my mother, he had no agency, no drive, no fire.”  November wondered, not for the first time, if Luka had had a hand in his mother’s death.  “You might have given it back, I’d wager, given the chance.  But that’s no longer a problem,” he added with a shark’s smile.  “You are a remarkably resilient girl, you know.  Most people in your position would be incoherent with terror.  But then, I supposed you’ve had to be adaptable: so many lives, so many deaths.”  He finally removed his hand from hers and lifted it to briefly touch her hair.  “Of course, I can smell your fear, but still, you hide it well.”

“Um, thank you?” she managed uncertainly.

“I’m not going to rape you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said in a conversational tone, as if they were discussing a menu.  Some of the tension left her body, and her breath came a little easier.  
Why, yes, that is exactly what I am afraid of, fancy your mentioning that.
 He continued touching her lightly, here and there, curiously, as if examining an expensive suit he was thinking of buying.  “Not that I don’t enjoy a spot of sexual violence now and again,” he said with no shame, as if admitting a minor vice like watching reality television.  “But you,” he continued, touching her hair in the creepiest possible fashion.  “You, I want willing.  I want to win all of you, heart included.  And I will have that, in time.”  

November continued looking silently over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes, trying to keep her face blank.  “Besides, I shouldn’t bite you again so soon after last night,” he said, softly brushing his fingers against the fresh marks on her neck.  She shivered.  “Your blood is so delightful, it might be difficult for me to stop.  And without teeth, well, how very boring the coupling would be.”  He brushed the back of his hand over the scar on her upper arm, and she winced as pain shot though the healed wound.  “Ah, poor girl, is that where she cut you?”  November nodded.  “She’s lucky you already killed her.  Now, then,” he said, changing the subject.  “Any interesting visions since last we spoke?”

“Not really,” she replied.  “After I’m bitten, I sleep without dreaming.” 
Thank God for small favors.

“Any more visions of your previous selves?”

“I think I’ve been a fairy and a werewolf both,” she said.  “But I've never seen myself as a vampire.  So I guess I haven’t experienced that before . . .”

“Oh, good.  What fun we’ll have corrupting you, kitten,” he replied. November swallowed her disgust.

Their strange tête-a-tête was interrupted by a strong knock on the door.  Willow entered in a hurry.  “Trouble with the younglings, master.  There have been several fights, and a number of them tried to feed on the downed livestock and have fallen ill.  The captains are having trouble maintaining order.”

“How disappointing,” he replied with evident irritation.  “I suppose I must make some examples.  And we need to burn the bodies before anyone else does something idiotic.  For heaven’s sake, who eats spoiled meat?  Sometimes I am surprised younglings can tie their own shoes.”  He turned back to his captive.  “Alas, kitten, duty calls.  I’ll have Willow escort you back to your quarters.”  November tried not to show her relief as Willow whisked her out the door.

They moved quickly down the halls, Willow looking very alert, almost nervous.  “What’s wrong?”  November asked, picking up on her tension.

“You’re the only prey available.  One of them might do something stupid,” she replied.

“I don’t understand.  They all fed just last night.  I’ve seen people go days between feedings.  A week, even.”

“Not newborns in the first year.  And being in groups only makes it worse.  It sets off their survival instincts.  They subconsciously see the others as rival hunters, increasing the urgency they feel to find blood.  And younglings are well-represented in his lordship’s ranks.”  This November already knew from watching the suicide bombers.  “Young fairies, on the other hand, become more lethargic, to conserve energy.”  A bell began ringing.  “All call,” Willow explained.  “Our lord is summoning everyone to read them the riot act and get them under control, give the makers the chance to issue orders to behave to their progeny.  That will help, but the captains have so many children that it dilutes their power over them.”

They heard crashes and sounds of shouting up ahead.  Willow swore, grabbing November by the arm and doubling back down the corridor.  Groups of irritated and hungry predators kept forcing her to change course to avoid them.  “We should have stayed in Master’s office,” she said under her breath.

Their route grew so circuitous that to November’s surprise, they were soon close to where the werewolves were kept.  Their luck ran out when out of a door burst a vampire with a rat held in his teeth.  The moment he saw November, he dropped the vermin, and his eyes went wild.  He lunged toward her.  Willow easily threw him aside, ordering him to stand down, but he could not hear her.  He lunged again.  This time, Willow broke his arm.  Before he could try again, Willow quickly keyed open the dungeon door and threw November inside to safety.

She landed hard in the middle of the floor, scraping her hands bloody on the rough concrete.  She looked around her.  Against the walls, a half-dozen chained werewolves stared at her.  Her head spun for a moment, as she was subjected to flashes of the various unfortunate souls who had lived and died in this particular hole.  She finally opened her eyes again.

The little boy finally broke the tension, silently raising his hand in greeting.  “Hi,” she whispered in reply, holding up her own hand.

“We hear it’s a bit of a mess out there, demon,” Hector said.  “At least we got to eat.  Though there is a marked lack of beverages.  I really must complain about the service.”  He gave a sardonic smile.

“Well, I’m glad you got to eat, at least, but the cost was quite high, I’m afraid,” she replied.  “And my name is November,” she added wearily.

“They all died, then, November?” he asked quietly.  She nodded sadly.  “Over you?”

“Evidently,” she answered with trembling lips.  “At least partially.”  Tears pooled in her eyes.

“And I take it some of the vampire babies are going a bit nuts out there?”

“Evidently,” she said again.  “I suppose that must have been the idea.  Why are there so many of them, anyway?  The, ah, vampire babies?”

“They make good cannon fodder.  He has his senior people create his army for him, to supplement the older recruits.  Newborns have a hard time disobeying orders from their makers, you know,” he replied.

“So I’ve heard,” she responded somberly.  “And lucky me, I’ll be Luka’s first.  No siblings to dilute the bond.”  She rested her suddenly weary head in her palm.

“And his lordship intends to kill you tomorrow?” Hector asked, his voice bitter.

“Yes, I believe that’s still the plan,” she managed to reply without shuddering.

“So if someone’s coming for you, they’re coming soon?”  She nodded.  “Do you think they’ll come?”

“God, I hope so,” she replied.  For an instant, all the fear and grief she’d been holding back poured over the dam and threatened to wash her away.  She swallowed a few times and got control of herself.  “If they do, I’ll do everything I can to get that door open,” she promised.

Hector laughed.  “I doubt your friends will be inclined to set us free.  Luka stole you from Ilyn, did he not?  Ilyn the Scourge, killer of a thousand wolves?”

“They’ll do it if I insist.”  She looked him straight in the eye, and apparently her confidence was persuasive, as Hector conceded the point.  Em continued, “If they’re too late . . . if they come after he’s already changed me, if you get the chance, could you try to make sure I get staked before he makes me do something awful?”  She angrily wiped away a tear.  “Please.”

Hector looked her over, appraising her, and finally deciding that she meant it.  “I’ll do my best, miss,” Hector promised.

November then caught sight of the little boy’s arm.  It was covered in burns from the silver shackle binding him to the wall.  At least he only had the one chain; the others were much more thoroughly tethered.  She crawled over toward him, tore the lining out of her skirt, and began wrapping his wrist to protect it from the silver.  At first, he shrank from her in fear, but he relaxed once he realized what she was doing.

“They’ll just take it from him as soon as they notice, and then the both of you will be in trouble,” one of the women scolded her.

“Let her be,” Hector countered. “It’ll give the skin a chance to heal, save him from another infection.  You hide that when the fairy opens the door, Carlos.”  The boy nodded and curled up protectively around his arm.  November just sat, looking at him.  He was so small.  “Move away, November.  She’s finished the bloodsucker off,” Hector warned, and November scurried back to the center of the room.

Willow opened the door, barely a hair out of place.  “Out.  Now,” she ordered, and November complied, careful not to look back and give away her concern for the werewolves.  The vampire so interested in eating her was now a pile of ash on the floor.  “I was trying to keep him alive,” Willow offered, “but he was quite determined.”  As soon as the door was locked behind them, Willow picked November up, threw the girl over her shoulder, and ran at full speed, not slowing once until they were behind the heavy, locked door of November’s quarters.