Last Blood (22 page)

He nodded. “You step off that path and you may not return.”

“Why?” Fi asked. Chrysabelle had never been happier about her curiosity.

“Because,” he answered, “that is a safe line. It runs the exact right distance away from the creatures who are most likely to try to grab you and haul you into their cells. It’s the path the wardens walk when they come here. Which isn’t often, I promise you.”

She pulled the cell number Mortalis had given her
from her pocket and held out the slip of paper. “How do I find this cell?”

“Numbers get smaller the closer to the bottom of the Claustrum you get.” His finger stopped on a fae letter she didn’t know. “This means the twelfth floor from the top. Can you read faeish?”

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to count as you descend. Floor and cell numbers are written in the same phosphorescence as the path. There’s very little light beyond that, but you should be okay after a minute or two.”

He took a pocket watch from his leathers. “You have fifty-two minutes left. I suggest you move.” He grabbed the gate latch. “Just like the cells, this gate can be opened only from the outside. I’ll be here to let you out when you return.” Flipping the latch, he pulled the gate open. “If you go into the raptor’s cell, be sure Fi stays on the outside so she can let you out. Fi, if you have to take solid form to do that, do it fast and be careful.”

After a quick glance at Fi, who’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, Chrysabelle nodded. “Anything else I need to know?”

“No.” He hesitated. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She walked through, nodded to him, and then, with Fi at her side, began the descent through the cavernous maw. Every edge of the rock jutting toward them seemed razor sharp. In a few spots, water dripped from the ceiling and patches of phosphorescent moss clung to the sides adding tiny spots of ambient light.

The deeper into the tunnel they went, the more sounds scudded up to meet them. Sounds that bordered on human, but weren’t. Shouts, cries, calls for help, growls,
and groans, weeping, clicking, snapping, and a low, ever-present hum. Just like the smell, there was no shutting the noise out.

Chrysabelle forced herself to focus on the reason she was here. That’s what Jerem said had worked for him. Suddenly, the passageway turned and sloped down as it curved out and around. Time to descend. “Help me count, Fi. This is one.”

The ghost nodded, but stayed quiet. From the look on Fi’s face, she was struggling to keep it together.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Chrysabelle said. “I am.”

“I hate the dark.” Fi’s voice wavered like a shifting wind. “Hate it.”

“The dark’s not so bad. Lots of good things happen in the dark.”

“Like what?”

Two
. “Haven’t you and Doc ever done anything fun in the dark?”

Fi laughed. “I never expected
that
to come out of
you
. Thanks.” She sniffed once. “That was the second floor.”

“Great. Keep counting, okay?”

Except for Fi announcing the floors, they walked in silence the rest of the way. Maybe that was better, because if they could hear the occupants of the Claustrum, the occupants must be able to hear them, too. Not a pleasant thought.

And the farther down they went, the thicker and hotter the air became, until it clung to Chrysabelle’s skin like wet wool. Breathing took thought and made her lungs work. She worried for the child she carried, praying this trip would have no lasting consequences.

“We’re here. This is twelve,” Fi said. Just as it had
at every floor, the glowing path forked off through the floor’s entrance before continuing down the curving ramp toward the lower floors.

Chrysabelle checked the slip of paper again and nodded. The symbol above the entrance matched the one Mortalis had written. She held it up for Fi to see. “Here’s the cell number.”

“I hope it’s not too far in.”

“Remember, stay on the path.”

“Right behind you.”

Chrysabelle entered. Cells ran along either side of the path. In most, the shadows were too deep to see the occupants, but in some, the prisoners stood at the bars.

“That’s a little girl,” Fi whispered.

Chrysabelle stopped. “Where?”

Fi pointed to one of the cells. A child no more than five or six stood at the bars, weeping softly. “That can’t be right, can it? A child?”

The little girl wiped her nose, tipped her head at Fi, then opened her mouth so wide half of her head disappeared behind teeth like ivory pins.

“Yikes.” Fi jumped back, sliding through Chrysabelle’s shoulder.

Holy mother. “Let’s just keep our eyes on the numbers.”

“Good idea.”

But saying that and doing it were two different things. One cell held an abnormally tall, slender gray man built like a cypher fae but with a large head and eyes the size of billiard balls. One held a creature that had no discernible head at all but at least eight clawed limbs. Over and over it rammed into the bars, scuttling back like a spider to do it again. In another cell, some sort of fae sat on the floor
draped in what looked like poorly sewn together human skins.

Occasionally, a small stream of liquid crossed the phosphorescent path and a new smell joined the existing ones. Blood. Waste. Other bodily fluids.

Chrysabelle shuddered just as Fi pointed again. “There. Look.”

Quiet weeping reached her ears. “No more little girls.”

“No.” Fi shook her head. “It’s the raptor’s cell.”

D
ominic stood alone in the middle of his office, but for all his awareness of the space he could have been anywhere. He shuffled blindly through the room with no real direction.

Katsumi was gone.

The loss tightened his throat and shoved knives into his chest, but not in the way that Marissa’s death had. When Marissa died, so had his will to go on, at least for a few days. Now, he just felt… numb.

Hurt and numb. And if he really gave into what he felt, anger rose up in him like bile.

How dare someone come into his club and do such a thing? He was Dominic Scarnato. A man to be feared. A vampire to be reckoned with.

Something creaked. He looked down to find his hands squeezing the handles of the French doors that led out to the balcony overlooking the Pits. He nodded. A fight seemed like just the thing.

He opened the doors and walked out onto the balcony, stopping at the edge to rest his hands on the glass railing. The Pits were in full swing, as they almost always were.
Katsumi had loved them. She’d had a small team of fighters that she’d sponsored, taking great pride in their wins and the money they made her.

Shouts rose up from the crowd as they noticed him. The fighters battling seemed to suddenly fight a little harder. He backed away from the railing, in no mood to be the gracious host.

He would have to tell her fighters that their benefactor had been taken from them. Maybe he would give them each a small sum as a condolence. The thought almost made him smile. Katsumi would think him soft for doing such a thing. Not that she’d ever say such a thing to his face.

A fresh wave of grief swelled. She’d come so far since he’d given her the
navitas
she’d so desperately wanted. It was as if becoming noble had changed more than just her status. Her ambition hadn’t faltered, but it had shifted, become less about her and more about… them.

And if he was truthful with himself, he
had
begun to love her. Not the kind of love he’d felt for Marissa. He’d never feel that way about anyone ever again. He’d never let himself. He couldn’t. Her passing had destroyed the ability to give himself to another so completely. But life with Katsumi had become comfortable. Pleasant. Almost… effortless.

Companionship for his kind was never easy. Most nobles were too ambitious and too paranoid to ever allow another that close to them. But in the small world of Paradise City, without the influences of the nobility’s politics, he and Katsumi could have lived many years with each other for company.

And now, some
faccia di stronzo
had taken that away from both of them.

He spun and pushed through the doors back into his office. Watching others fight was not enough. He needed to find whoever had killed Katsumi and put an end to him.

Only then might he find some solace.

Mal settled atop the security wall and inhaled. Comarré blood perfumed the air so heavily it almost intoxicated him.
Drink drink drink
. He would. Soon. He inserted the iron-mesh earplugs Tatiana had given him. Now the wysper could scream her head off and it wouldn’t stop him from draining every last drop of blood out of Chrysabelle.

He walked the wall, looking for the best view into the house, but all the curtains had been drawn. Plenty of lights were on, though, and he could sense a number of heartbeats. She had company. He smiled. He’d feed well tonight. Good. This meal had to last him until he reached Corvinestri and was finally able to buy a comarré of his own. An obedient one, who did as she was told and nothing more. No meddling, no arguing, nothing but a warm vein when the need arose.

The guesthouse was dark. He followed the wall in that direction, jumping over the property’s metal entrance gate to the adjoining wall and continuing until he could leap from the wall to the guesthouse roof. He landed with a thud and immediately flattened himself against the tiles. A few seconds later, the security lights clicked on and the front door opened.

He got lower, out of the sight line, and listened.

“See anything?” A male voice he didn’t recognize.

“No.” That low growl was unmistakable. Doc. “But I smell something.”

Damn it. He hadn’t counted on Doc being here. Maybe Doc could live. After all he’d done to keep Fi off Mal’s back, he deserved that much.

Finally the door shut. The lights, however, stayed on. He crept to the peak of the guesthouse and looked over. No one had stayed outside to guard the house so he started moving again, this time toward the opposite edge of the roof. From there, he’d drop to the ground, being careful to stay on the path so he wouldn’t trip the sensors hidden under the sod. Then he’d climb the building to the second-story balcony, wrench open the French doors into Chrysabelle’s bedroom, and drink until there was nothing left to swallow.

Chrysabelle looked at the fae numbers written over the bars and nodded to Fi. “The numbers match what’s on the paper. That’s the raptor’s cell.”

“Where is it?” Fi whispered, peering into the cell’s dark interior.

“It must be back in the shadows.” The cell seemed empty, except… was that crying? Coming from inside?

“Raptor,” she called quietly. “Come out where I can see you. It’s Chrysabelle. The comarré whose gold you read.”

The crying stopped, replaced by shuffling. The raptor hobbled into view, his enormous form outlined in the soft glowing light of the numbers over his cage. Smooth, murky green skin covered a shape that reminded her of
the Nothos. Except for the lack of eyes. All the raptor had was a slanted forehead. He flared his wide, slit nostrils. “Comarré,” it whispered, “is that really you or do I dream again?”

Fi gave Chrysabelle a look and circled her finger beside her head.

“It’s me, raptor.” Despite the creature’s missing eyes she remembered very well that it didn’t prevent him from understanding what was happening around him. With that in mind, she slowly pulled one sacre from its sheath.

The raptor reached through the bars, his long, narrow fingers uncurling toward her. “You’ve come to me. My love.”

This time Chrysabelle returned Fi’s look.
My love
, she mouthed. What was going on?

Fi shook her head.

Chrysabelle kept her voice to a whisper. “Stay on the path until I need you to let me out.” Then she took a step toward the raptor. The smell of bleach wafted off the creature.

“Yes,” he murmured, flexing his fingers. “Come closer, my dream.”

She did, but only one more step. She was close enough now to see fully into the cell. There wasn’t much room in there to swing her sacre. This was going to have to be a decisive strike. If the raptor had a chance to fight back, she’d have no defensible position. No place to hide.

He opened his mouth, flicked out a three-pronged black tongue from between multiple rows of teeth. An image of the Claustrum’s entrance flashed in her head. He tasted the air in her direction. “Why have you waited so long to come to me?” he whined.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

“Psst,” Fi hissed. “Psst!”

Chrysabelle answered Fi without turning around. “What?”

“It loves you,” Fi whispered loudly.

“Of course I love her,” the raptor raged. He grabbed the bars and shook them, making them creak. “Why do you torment me this way?”

Farther down the corridor, other inmates howled in response.

“Shh, I’m here now. I’m here.” She hadn’t expected to have to mollify the creature she was about to kill. Holy mother, how was she supposed to kill a creature that loved her? Maybe she could persuade him to let Mal’s emotion go? Trade some of her emotions for those of Mal’s? She’d have to get the raptor to agree ahead of time as to what he’d take. “I’m going to come into your cell now. Is that all right?”