Page 71 of Strange Lights

Zara and her chair crash to the floor as Adele’s jaw clenches disapprovingly. Adele closes the door with a snap. Zara tries to hide her book behind her back as she hops up and rights her chair. My feet are moving, stepping between Zara and Adele before I’ve consciously registered the lack of guards, Adele’s bare face. We all know we’re in trouble when she leaves the mask and guards behind. A quiet family chat with Adele is never just a chat.

“You let her get away with too much laziness,” Adele says sharply, holding out a hand for Zara’s book. Zara complies meekly.

“That’s not my job. I’m not her mother,” I say waspishly.

“I’ve made her your responsibility.”

“Of course you’d figure out a way to make your incompetent parenting a criticism of me,” I say, leaning back against the lab table, crossing my arms, deliberately leaving the Gauntlet on display. Cold satisfaction rises inside me as I see Adele bite back her response. We’ve reached a stalemate over the last few years. She doesn’t control the Gauntlet entirely. It hurts when I try to fight her hold on it⁠—it takes so much effort⁠—but I know it saps her just as badly. I’m not proud of it, but these days, the one who’s usually using the thing is me. It gets easier the longer I do it. Adele rarely has to interfere. It’s the only thing besides my sisters that has made staying here bearable⁠—it gives me just enough leverage, just enough satisfaction that she treats me with wariness and grudging respect. When Adele isn’t in the room, it’s me that everyone jumps to obey. But apparently Adele has chosen today to prove a point.

“You want parenting?” Adele asks through gritted teeth but with a sweet smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Why start now?” I snort. “You don’t like any of us. I’m not even sure why you had us.”

I know I shouldn’t goad her, but I’m aware that when Adele’s focused on me, she’s more likely to ignore Zara. And honestly, I’m in a foul mood, and it feels good taking it out on Adele. So I recklessly continue.

“I’m working on your project of the month, keeping up your facade in public. Why can’t you stop pretending in private? Get out.” I dismissively wave my hand.

Zara stifles a gasp. Adele’s eyes snap to Zara, then back to me, and her expression shifts to something predatory.

“I created you. You’ll do as I require,” Adele says. She cocks her head like an animal ready to pounce, and the hairs at the back of my neck rise. “Let me see your notes,” she says, holding out her hand to me.

“No,” I say.

My hand twitches of its own accord. It rises, outstretched, fingers unfurling like petals on a flower, mirroring Adele’s movements. Reaching toward Zara. Panic starts to rise like bile in my throat. She’s never made me use the Gauntlet against my sisters.

“I said give me your notes.”

I don’t answer. I’m struggling to control my arm, but I can’t. A smile rises on Adele’s face again, and the Gauntlet moves in tandem with her own hand, curling my fingers against my will.

Pain. So much pain. That same pain I felt in that magical void. Every nerve ending screams. I want to crawl out of my skin. My head is bursting, my blood boiling. My knees give out, but I’m held by my arm in that iron grip.

“I said get me your notes.”

“I can’t move,” I gasp, struggling against the awkward angle of my arm to hold myself up again.

“Zara, go get them for me,” Adele says.

Zara remains paralyzed, eyes darting, panting. A rabbit pinned by a fox.

“Run, Zara, run,” I urge through clenched teeth.

Zara is still staring in horror, frozen.

“Get me the notes, Zara,” Adele repeats. When she still doesn’t move, Adele sighs deeply. “Fine. I don’t like this any more than you do, but clearly the time has come for consequences. Maybe, if you have a taste of the suffering, of how it feels to be too connected to someone, to go down with them, then you might just begin to understand.”

My arm twists, turning on Zara, grasping armored fingers, squeezing.

My screams don’t drown out Zara’s. The Gauntlet moves my arm. Adele moves my arm, pulling me closer, leaving me no choice but to walk toward Zara, stand above her as she writhes.

I remember screaming. I remember looking for help and finding none. Finding only a pair of eyes in the darkness. A little boy watching from the corner of the cell, perfectly calm now. His eyes look as dead, as unfeeling, as far away, as I want to be. He never looks away through it all, though I think he’s somewhere else.

I don’t know how long Adele keeps us there before she leaves with my notes. Time moves in great skips and stutters again. I drift like I haven’t since Luca left. Soon we’re both tucked back in my room, Zara and I. My bed is crowded with sisters. I fear I’ll always remember feeling trapped in that room, listening to Zara scream.

I’ve tried to remove the Gauntlet every way I can think of. Tried with decreasing regard for my own safety to physically destroy it. I hit it with a hammer, stuck it in a fire, and poured acid over it. It always reemerges unscathed. Short of cutting off my own arm, which I can’t yet bring myself to try, I don’t think I can remove it. Maybe if I jumped back into that magical void, I could destroy it. But I’m not that self-sacrificing. I think long and hard about what to do the following few days, delaying real work as long as possible. Doing nothing isn’t an option. Watching Zara follow in Adele’s and my footsteps, letting this project turn her cold, I won’t allow that. I could lie to Zara, do the project myself. But surely Adele would find out, and then Zara would think I betrayed her. And if I do nothing, I know now it’s Zara whom Adele will punish.

There’s the solution I’ve opted for once before. I could set the baby free, like I did with Luca. The ache in my chest at the thought of Luca is still there, but it’s like prodding an old bruise rather than a raw, gaping wound. I still have the key to the cell, but there are other problems with this plan. I got away with it once, but not unscathed. And I doubt Adele will allow that kind of betrayal a second time without more severe consequences. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this dungeon. Nor do I want the Gauntlet turned on Zara again.

There’s also the creature’s well-being to consider. Could he even take care of himself? I suppose he probably was fine on his own before Adele captured him, but she has given me precious little info about his past. Maybe someone was caring for him. A few days with the little creature have proven that while he may look like barely more than a toddler, he’s most certainly more than that. His vitals and blood samples are impossible to collect. I tried to tranquilize him once, but the dart bounced off his skin, and he hissed at me in a very offended sort of way. He drinks bottles of animal blood and will eat chunks of raw meat but refuses anything else.