Again, the same pathetic denial. “No.”
Ms. Wickman clucked. “Not even to spare your friend?”
Alicia watched the madwoman twirl the blade, and she simply hadn’t been able to bear the thought of it piercing her flesh even one more time.
So, yet again, in a voice so small she could barely hear it, she said, “No.”
At which point Ms. Wickman got off the bed and took the broadax from the apprentice. She propped it over her shoulder and made sure Alicia was looking at her before she said, “This is the part of my work I really enjoy.”
Then she underwent a startling transformation. She snarled, her eyes bulged, and she hefted the broadax high above her head. She looked more like a savage beast than a human being. She brought the ax down in an arc that was straight and true.
And here, to taunt her again, was the result of that blow.
Karen’s blood-spackled face was her first sight upon awakening. Her friend’s head was on a tray propped on a folding stand next to the bed. The Asian girl’s once gorgeous long hair was sticky with coagulated blood. The vision filled Alicia with shame and grief beyond measure. Hot tears spilled down her face and moistened the dried blood on her pillow.
I did that, she thought.
I killed my friend.
There was no denying it.
She was a monster.
She didn’t deserve to fucking live.
Almost as if sensing her thoughts, Ms. Wickman opened the bedroom door and stepped into the room. Alicia looked at the gun in the woman’s hand with something close to relief. She prayed for a bullet to the brain. For a quick, violent, explosive end to this orgy of terror and loss.
Ms. Wickman smiled at her and set the gun on a bookshelf, then she came to the bed and picked up the straight razor. White teeth sparkled through grinning lips as she said, “I want you to know I’ve enjoyed our time together. I’ve had such great fun.”
Alicia managed a weak “Fuck you.”
The awful woman laughed.
Then she moved to the foot of the bed and slashed through the bonds at Alicia’s feet.
The howls of the shapeshifters grew louder and more frenzied as the convoy of transport trucks wended its way through the dark tunnels. The truck Chad was in was bringing up the rear. He sat on a bench with Lazarus and Jack Paradise in the vehicle’s rear compartment. The opposite bench was filled with guards stripped of their visorhelmets. Jake Barnes was riding up front with the driver. The old man was in communication with the driver of the lead vehicle via walkie-talkie, and he occasionally fed them updates through the small window at the back of the cab.
“The kid’s telling me there’s still no sign of the beasties,” the old man said. The “kid” in question was Todd Haynes, who was at the wheel of the lead vehicle. “He thinks maybe they’re in retreat.”
Chad shook his head. “Wishful thinking.”
Paradise said, “Yeah, they’re louder. Retreat, my ass.”
Chad sighed. “Yeah.”
They would not pass through this dark maze of horrors without first having to survive a brutal, decimating clash of some sort. Chad clutched the machete tighter in his hand, felt its unnatural power suffuse him, and somehow knew he would be safe as long as he possessed this weapon. Nobody had to tell him he’d been given this particular weapon for a reason. He suspected he was meant to use the long, curved blade on the being they called The Master. The suspicion exacerbated the hot lump of fear that sat inside him like the melting core of a destabilized nuclear reactor, making him sweat and twitch.
Jack Paradise nudged Chad with an elbow. “How’re you holding up?”
Chad shrugged. “Given the likelihood of dying in a few minutes, about as well as possible, I guess.”
The set of the ex-soldier’s features was grim. “Hey, Chad, I won’t lie to you. A lot of our people are about to die. The guys ahead of us will take the brunt of the assault and most of the casualties, and they volunteered for that duty. They’re gonna make sure we get you where you have to be.”
Chad sighed.
Another flicker of guilt twisted his insides.
And the howls of the shapeshifters grew louder still.
Dream stood again at the balcony railing, her face turned into a breeze that made her blond hair swirl about her head. The cool air felt good on her body, which was clothed only in a flimsy blue nightgown. The sheer material of the garment felt good, too, like a ghost lover’s wispy embrace. She ran her hands through her hair, sniffed air redolent of rain, and watched the last of the day’s light yield to night’s inexorable descent. Russet hues gave way to charcoal gray, then, finally the black canopy of night. The beauty of the progression made her shiver, and she wrapped her arms tight about her bosom. Her breath caught in her throat and tears welled in her eyes.
She’d just watched the last sunset of her life.
With a last shiver of regret, she turned away from the dark vista of the valley below and returned to the bedroom. King stood shirtless at the fireplace, his back turned to her as he stared at the dancing flames. She approached him and laid a hand between his shoulder blades. He turned into her embrace, wrapped his strong arms around her, and held her close.
“I love you, Dream.”
She felt the erection pushing against his trousers.
“I love you, too.”
But the words were like a blasphemy in her throat.
She was pledging love to a murderer. To a monster. She didn’t love this vile creature. She hated the goddamn thing. Her harrowing trip through the hallway and the humiliating encounter with Ms. Wickman had brought that reality home with a clarity no amount of sex magic could ever obscure.
But her hatred of him was irrelevant. She’d failed her friends, dooming them with her acquiescence to King’s desires. She couldn’t help them now. But she could honor their memory by making sure the same thing never again happened to anyone else. She wasn’t worried about Ms. Wickman or any of King’s other apprentices, sensing they would flounder without their Master around to guide and control them.
She reached into King’s trousers and curled her fingers around his cock, making him groan. She curled a leg around him and laid her head on his chest. His warm body felt good against her, comfortable and safe, a haven from life’s tribulations. She couldn’t imagine a more bitter irony. Despite the revulsion she felt for him, she began to feel aroused.
But that was okay.
She even welcomed it.
She would use sex the way he used it, as a method of control and manipulation. She would ravish him, make him feel so much pleasure he wouldn’t sense her deception until the moment of his death. She kissed him, tasting his tongue, biting his lip, and raking the hard flesh of his back with her nails. She pushed his trousers down and urged him to the floor, where he went without hesitation, lying flat on his back with his penis pointing up at her.
She smiled.
Lifted the hem of her nightgown.
And took control.
For a while.
Eddie’s eyes snapped open as he awoke from another startling dream.
Another dream that maybe wasn’t a dream at all. His eyes sought Giselle, who was sitting at the writing table.
His throat felt tight. “They’re coming,” he rasped. She smiled. “I know.”
The transport truck slammed to a halt, dislodging some of the rear compartment’s occupants from their seats. Chad felt a sense of deja vu as he pitched forward. The machete was jolted from his hand, clattering toward the end of the compartment. He scrambled after the weapon, closed a hand around its handle, and panted.
“What the fuck?”
The voice of Jack Paradise. Panicked, straining at a wirethin edge of tension. It was disconcerting to know that even a man as imposing and stolid as Paradise could experience such terror. Then again, terror was the only rational reaction to what they were hearing.