I pull my face into a compassionate frown and touch her shoulder. “Your son is okay.”
“Really?”
I scoff. “How the fuck should I know? You asked me totellyou he was okay, whatever the fuck that means, and I obliged. Now it’s time foryouto obligeme.”
“Not until I know my son is alive and well.”
“Hate to break it to you, Mumsy, but your son was never well. Whether he’s alive?” I shrug, recalling the crunchy sound of brittle bones when the meat grinder chewed him up and spit him out the other night—oy, what a racket. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. Either way, you’ve got a choice to make, or you’ll never know the answer.”
“But… what? What’s going on? Where is my son?”
“There, there,” I say. “I realize this is a lot to take in, so I’ll do you the courtesy of keeping it simple. We need to knoweverythingthere is to know about the demon Zorakkov, Hunter Forsythe’s medical treatments, and why the Forsythes are so keen on binding him to Westlyn Avery. You’re in a unique position to connect those mysterious dots for us. So…” I lean in close enough to smell the rubber on her dastardly outfit and whisper, “Cooperation, or pain? Your call, doc.”
“Help Jude Hendrix and Augustine Lamont?” Son apparently forgotten, her lip curls into a sneer, her backbone straightening despite her obvious pain. “I would ratherdiethan cooperate with the men of shadow and stone.”
“Ah, so youdoknow us. Excellent. Well, death is certainly a respectable choice. Unfortunately for you, dying is not one of the options on tonight’s menu. Perhaps you should pay closer attention. Here—this should help you focus.” I slide a dagger from my boot and jam the blade deep into her thigh—no, not the leg with the shattered knee. The other one. Best to spread the love a bit, I always say.
She grits her teeth. Poor girl must be inexcruciatingpain.
“Looks like I managed to avoid the femoral artery,” I say. “But I wouldn’t advise any sudden moves. You might nick something vital. Wait, what am I saying? Giving a doctor medical advice? Anyway, I’m sure we understand each other now, don’t we?”
Unlike her son, the good doctor doesn’t howl like a banshee.
She does, however, give me a nod of surrender, followed by a deep sag of her shoulders and a few tears sliding down those waxen cheeks.
“They’ll kill me for this,” she whispers, and I know she’s referring to the shadow mages.
And steal the fun from under my nose? I don’t think so, Mumsy…
“I won’t tell them if you don’t,” I say with a wink.
“No, you don’t understand. They’ll just… they’ll know. They always know.”
Connie strains against his bonds, another muffled cry fighting its way around the gag. Auggie gives the bed a swift kick to shut him up.
“Have you two thought about branching out a bit?” I ask our prisoners. “Finding a new friend group? Honestly, these shadow mages sound a bit clingy. Can’t be healthy, that level of obsession. Oh! Speaking of unhealthy obsessions! Doctor, have you ever seen what a crowbar can do to a ribcage? Not as precise as a rib spreader in the O.R., of course, but it’s quite something, really.” I pick it up and admire the curved end. “The trick is getting the proper angle when you first jam it in there, then jiggling itjustso. Otherwise you risk prematurely splintering the bones and your entire effort is ruined. Anyway! Gosh, listen to me, blathering on about work. I’ve barely given you a chance to talk.” I swing the crowbar up, then bring it crashing down on the windowsill about two inches from her head, taking a nice bite out of the wood. “Right then. Got something to say, doc?”
She nods, fully resigned to her plight. “Cooperation. I… I choose cooperation.”
“Excellent choice,” I say.
And then, the old bird finally sings.
Chapter Two
WESTLYN
Don’t fear, little one. Everything is unfolding exactly as it should be…
The voice fades to a soft and eerie echo, and I free-fall into a darkness so black, I’m certain death will be waiting for me at the bottom.
Shouldn’t dying be louder, though? More screaming, maybe. Or a sound like the tearing of fabric—a soul being ripped from the body long before its time.
I try to resign myself to it. This quiet leaving. The final breath, the final heartbeat, the last flicker of memories of a life I barely got to experience.
But then…
The thud of another heartbeat.
