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Hera
Fear froze me in place as I stared at the young girl, as I struggled not to fall into the abyss that was her eyes. It was crazy how much it reminded me of Kit, and it also reminded me how much I didn’t want to meet another wendigo. Kit’s power was terrifying, but I trusted him not to use it against me. Knowing someone could do those things who I didn’t trust was a whole different story.
The girl had long, straight black hair that hung down around her face and made her black eyes even more intimidating. Her pale skin had a number of moles, though the sickly pallor made me suspect she never went outside. I had to guess she was in her teens somewhere, though I wasn’t sure. Besides, wendigos didn’t age normally, according to Kit, so I couldn’t guess her actual age.
She tilted her head as she watched me. “It’s gotten tiresome to make so many toys. So many voices in my head…”
I lifted my hands before realizing there was no chance that she’d understand sign language. It wasn’t a language people learned without reason.
“Most people scream or beg by now, but you’re still silent. Why?”
I pointed at the scar at my throat.
She got off the chair, her motions strangely fluid as she came closer. She leaned down, bringing her face close to my throat.
Which Ireallydidn’t like. I’d gotten a glimpse of the danger Kit could present before, but never like this. Then again, Kit was old enough to have learned to hide it, perhaps, whereas this girl was too young to have learned.
Or perhaps she didn’t care to learn.
So exposing my throat to her seemed all sorts of bad, but I didn’t have many choices. She didn’t strike me as the type who would back off just because she made me uncomfortable.
“They stole your voice?” She frowned as she brought her fingers to the scar, touching it gently. “That is unforgivable. Someone should never declaw monsters. They must be leashed or destroyed at times, but they should not be mutilated. That is cruel.”
The girl shook her head and stepped backward, as if what I’d suffered were nothing but a sad inconvenience. “I have to wonder why you’re here, though. The toys I make are always strong, always useful. You must be a siren, right? But a siren without her voice would be a useless toy, like a sword with no blade.” Her gaze moved to my hands. “Oh, but you’rebound, aren’t you? If you’re bound, you must have talents beyond your voice or there would be no reason to bind your hands.”
The way she spoke was odd, as if she were used to working through issues on her own, as if she didn’t know how to handle conversations that went both ways. Then again, all of her struck me as strange.
Her room was clearly set up to live in, meaning she was as trapped here as the rest of us. I’d seen how Larkwood treated shades, and even those they gave more trust to were still prisoners.
There was a childishness to the room, yet at the same time, she didn’t strike me as a child. Just how long had she been locked up here? Perhaps she was an unfortunate soul who changed very young, like Wade had, and found herself trapped here most of her life?
The idea of that made me want to sit her down, to reassure her. She might be a terrifying shade capable of so much damage, but she was also a child.
Still, the girl waved toward a table in the room. “Sit.”
I didn’t at first, and her voice shifted, dropping like I’d heard from Kit before. Except, when she tried it this time, nothing happened.
No, that wasn’t quite right. I felt a pull, but it wasn’t like it was from Kit. It wasn’t as strong, as if I knew I was supposed to obey but didn’t need to.
She took a step back, her eyes widening. She repeated the command, but when it worked no better than the first time, she moved back another step. “Why didn’t that work?” Her tone came out confused and frightened. “Italwaysworks.” She dropped her gaze, her lips moving as she spoke to herself. “It has always worked. Sirens shouldn’t be special, shouldn’t be able to resist. Could she be unique? I sense higher sourcelevels than usual, but nothing beyond that. Perhaps she’s had training to resist? Perhaps they sent her in to test me? To see if I can still manage? Perhaps they worry I’ve lost my touch? Have I? I don’t think so…”
I shrugged, trying to tell her I didn’t understand either, before I took a seat where she’d indicated willingly. I had a feeling annoying her wouldn’t go well for me.
She narrowed her eyes, but took a seat across from me.
I lifted my hand and positioned it as if holding a pencil, then made a writing motion.
She shook her head. “That wouldn’t work. I can’t read.”
At her age?
The theory that she’d been locked up here for a very long time hit me again, and a stinging in my chest said I didn’t care for it. She might be the most dangerous thing to me at the moment, but that didn’t mean I liked the idea of anyone suffering, especially a child who had no choice.
People easily twisted into whatever their environment made them into. Even the most loving, sweet person could turn into a monster if put into a situation where that was the only way to survive. It was even truer with children, who had less life experience to anchor them into whatever they wanted to be.
Just look at how much I’ve changed already…
“They don’t like when I talk to the toys much, but I do it anyway, sometimes to pass the time.”
