“What does it matter?” He sounds almost tired, his eyes drifting away as if the conversation has lost its importance. “Nobody’s believed a word out of my mouth since all this started. Why should I expect you to be any different?”
"Well, you never gave me a chance. God, you’re not even ashamed, are you?"
“Why should I be?” He stands up now, glaring at me from the other side of the grime-streaked bars. “I’m just trying to save my own skin.”
“I stood up for you,” I shoot back.
“Then that’s on you."
The worst part is that he has a point.
Marlow didn’t con me. I conned myself. I let myself be fooled. My gaze drops to my shoes. A gargoyle statue looms right by the bars. How many of these did the designers cram into one cell?
My eyes dart to the stone slab against the back wall—but no creature lurks there. What the hell? That thing was definitely farther back.
Clearly, I'm mistaken. What other option is there? It's not like the statue moved. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Or maybe it's the prisoner. He's already done a number on me and messed with my mind. Now he's making me doubt my eyes and memories. Making me doubt myself.
"You’re right," I say. "You fooled me once. That’s on me. But it won’t happen again." I grin. The last laugh is mine. "I’ll be right there when you get handed over to the authorities. I might even film it."
“Would you look at that?” Marlow says, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Visiting hours are over.”
“You ran with your tail between your legs and tried to con me, but it didn’t work. You’re still going to face justice for your crimes.”
Marlow stays silent. It gives me a grim sense of satisfaction.
“Don’t have a comeback for that, do you?" A thrill goes through me at rendering him speechless for once. I look around,telling him, "Better get used to places like this. This is what the rest of your life will look like."
Well, not quite. Holding a prisoner in a place like this long term probablyiscruel and unusual punishment. Unfortunately, his accommodations will be more modern. What a pity.
I give him a grim smile. "You said these dungeons are lacking, but they're better than what you deserve."
"How dare you?” speaks a voice that sounds nothing like the man in front of me. Marlow’s mouthdoesn't move at all.What the hell?
A small, agitated creature flies up in the air. The little stone gargoyle. It can fly?
“Holy crap!" I stumble backward, totally surprised. The tiny statue I thought was just a normal decorative piece is suddenly moving, its little wings flapping as it hovers in the air.
Marlow looks at me like I’m crazy, so I wave my hands and point wildly at the creature… which must not help me look sane, but seriously, how can he stay so calm when statues come to life?
The thing is a tiny mass of black. It could have come right off an old building that decorated its waterspouts with gargoyles, except it’s much smaller, not even a foot tall. The flash of red from the bow tie stands out.
Marlow ignores the tiny winged terror entirely. The reason hits me: he must be doing this somehow.
"Is this some sort of trick? An illusion? Am I supposed to be intimidated by your little winged friend?" Now that the shock is fading, I’m not impressed. He could have picked way more fearsome creatures.
"What are you talking about?" Marlow eyes me suspiciously, his arms crossed defensively across his chest.
"Your little buddy." I gesture towards the tiny figure, which snarls at me in response.
"Are you out of your mind?" He looks to where my gaze is fixed, then back at me, his expression one of perfect confusion. But this time, I think I catch him stiffen just the slightest bit. “I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”
Is he really going to pretend I'm seeing things? My subconscious isn't inventive enough to dream up a tiny living gargoyle wearing a bow tie.
"Fine, have it your way," I say. "We'll pretend there isn't a gargoyle wearing a bow tie flying around the dungeon. Sure, totally normal. It doesn't matter anyway. Your pet is hideous just like you."
Marlow stiffens, face going slack and dumb with shock, no trace of that casual smirk he wears so well.
Getting the last word feels so satisfying, and I've already turned to leave him behind when I hear his whisper.
