Maxon (11 page)

“Your family good with that?”

“Sure. Since I started doing this, demon kills against humans have dropped in half.”

An unwanted memory appears in my mind. The only demon I ever met up close and personal. Silas. His rasping voice echoes through my memories as he calls me ‘his girl' over and over. I wince, my eyes stinging with remembered pain.

“Hey, you okay?” Maxon step closer. With gentle motions, he rubs his hands up and down my arms. “You said you just came into your powers. Do you need a healer or something?”

“No, it's not that.”

He leans in closer. “The politics of ruling, maybe? I suck at that stuff, but I know some experts.”

“Thanks, I might take you up on that later.” I stare at the floor, my body trembling. I hate that he's seeing me like this. “I've had a big day. Maybe I should get some sleep.”

“Sure, you must be beat.” Maxon takes my hand again. “Take your pick of bedrooms. I think I have twelve here or something.” He pushes open a nearby door. “How's this one?”

I can't focus on much except for the massive white bed against the far wall. All of a sudden, I can't keep eyes open. I'm vaguely aware of stumbling over to the mattress and curling up on top of the covers. I mumble something while Maxon takes off my boots and wraps me in fresh blankets. For the first time in I don't know how long, I feel safe and warm.

My body wants to sleep, but my mind decides that now's the perfect time to go berserk. Questions hit me rapid fire. How do I deal with Fisk? Is there any way to prove to the Water Valta that I won't become another nutjob like Zephyr? What about my people? The dull ache in my chest flares up again. It's the same pain I felt after I first took on my powers because water elementals are out there, suffering. I should be helping them.

My mind keeps running through the same questions and worries until I think my skull will burst. At last, I decide that exhausted is no way to work through my issues. I'm safe and warm in Antrum. For now, the best thing I can do is rest so I have the thinking power to figure this stuff out.

With that thought firmly in head, I finally drift off to sleep.

Lianna

Calm down, Lianna. It's only another nightmare.

You're not really thirteen.
And you're definitely not Silas's prisoner anymore. You're actually asleep in Maxon's chambers, remember? Open your eyes. Everything will be fine.

Just.

Wake.

Up.

My internal pep talk doesn't work, though. I stay fast asleep. Even worse, my dreams force me down into Silas's underground lair. My conscious self knows the space is actually cold and cramped. But in my dream, it stretches out onto an impossibly large scale. Cages line the walls, each one packed to overflowing with mice and rats. Their frightened, chirping cries echo strangely in the chamber. Huge barrels of bloody goop dot the floor. And in the center of everything lies my old cage. My thirteen-year-old self lies curled in fetal position, a thin blanket clasped tightly around me.

Just like in reality, the dream-me is trying to sleep. It's not happening for either of us.

“Where's
my
girl?” calls a wispy male voice. The way he says ‘my girl' is possessive, hungry, and makes my teeth chatter with fear.

Silas is calling for me.

In the way of nightmares, Silas is suddenly there, looming over my cage. I'd guess back in Victorian London, Silas would've been an average-looking middle-aged bloke. He's balding with a bit of a belly and a handlebar moustache. His brown suit perfectly matches his bowler hat. Sometimes he wears white gloves, only they quickly get soaked with blood.

Silas kicks the side of the cage. “Wake up, my girl. There's work to be done.”

The thirteen-year-old me looks up from under my torn blanket. My blonde hair is a tangle; my face is lined with dirt and grease. The little thrax gown my parents made me wear is now a shredded rag. My dirt-encrusted hands grip the filthy blanket closer to my throat.

“What do you want?” I ask.

Silas leans over the cage, his brown irises flaring red with demon-light. “Bring me a mouse. You know the kind I like.”

I nod, my jaw clenching with impotent rage. If I bring anything living to Silas, he kills it, using the creature's life energy to power his black magic. It's never easy to give an animal to Silas, but the ones that he wants are especially hard to hand over. He likes animals at the very peak of their life force—just past childhood. It's why he agreed not to kill me until I turned sixteen.

I picture pulling handing another mouse to him and shiver.

Silas pulls my cage door open. The nightmare-version of this sound rattles through my soul. I crawl outside and search through the maze of cages lining the walls. It takes forever to find the right mouse. What in reality was a small basement becomes a complex labyrinth in my dreams. My heart beats faster. If I don't find what he wants quickly enough, Silas will beat me. Maybe he'll figure out how to kill me before my sixteenth birthday, despite the magical deal he made with my parents. They didn't fight back when he murdered them. In return, I have three more years before I join them in death.

At last, I find the perfect mouse. It's gray with a pink nose and based on how it skitters happily about its cage, it's also full of life. The little creature quickly crawls onto my palm and looks up at me with trusting black button eyes. I choke back a sob and go off in search of Silas.

It takes another long, dream-like trek to find Silas at his workbench. As I wander through the maze, I hear Silas sing one of his odd spiritual tunes—this one is something about lords and masters—and it makes my skin crawl with disgust and fear.

He always sings right before he kills.

At last, I reach a tall wooden structure set into the wall and covered with every kind of scalpel, bone cutter, and vise imaginable. It's stuff that humans use for taxidermy, making stuffed animals out of dead ones. Silas takes the practice further with black magic.

Silas gestures to the table in front of him. “What do you think, my girl? My greatest poppet yet.”

I take a small step away. “I don't need to see it, thanks.”

“Ah, but you do.” He flashes me a sallow smile. “Your soul will be inside one of my poppets too, one day.”

Which means he won't give up until I look.

It takes an impossibly long time to glance over Silas's shoulder and see what he's working on. It's a rat, or it was one when it was alive. Now small metal clamps run down its back, holding its spine together. Tufts of straw and filthy cotton peep out between the makeshift sutures. The tail is studded with metal barbs, while the eyes are small black stones, oblong and mismatched. Bits of rusted wire have replaced its claws. It meanders across the bench-top in blind circles.

“Almost perfect,” says Silas. “Only needs the gift of sight.”

On reflex, I hold the shivering mouse closer to my chest. “I think it's fine the way it is.”

“That's because you're a soft-hearted fool.” He reaches his pale hand toward me. “Give me the mouse.”

My arm trembles as I press the tiny creature closer to my chest. “No.”

Fast as a heartbeat, Silas scoops the mouse of my hands. The little guy writhes and shrieks in his grip. I bite back another sob.

Silas inspects the mouse. “You've brought a fine one today.” He leans in closer to me, inhaling the scent of my tangled hair. The sensation of him this near makes my stomach sick.

“You're already ripe. I could harvest you today, if I hadn't made a binding deal with your parents.” He drags out his next words. “I can't wait to claim your life force,
my
girl.”

At those words, I flat out panic. Part of me is back with Silas, reminding myself that he can't break a deal sealed with his own black magic. Another part of me knows that in my dreams, he does break the deal, every night. I work like hell to wake myself up. However, both versions of me are frozen in place, unable to do anything while Silas turns away. After pulling out a small hammer, he smashes in the mouse's skull. The frightened creature is now a bloody mess on Silas's bench-top.

Suddenly, the rat's stone eyes move with purpose. Now, it can see.

Silas turns to me, his irises flaring demon red. His face becomes contorted in the way that only nightmares can achieve.

“Think you're free?” he asks. “I'll find you and harvest you. I promised I would.”

“You never will,” my thirteen-year-old self cries. “Namare will find me. You'll make a deal with her. She'll let you live and you'll set me free.”

Silas's face stretches in an odd way. “You'll always be my girl.”

“You can't do anything to me. This is a dream.”

“I can do anything. I'm a demon. Prepare to be harvested.”

Fear zings through my limbs. Turning my heel, I take off at a run into the labyrinth of cages. Silas follows, always one step behind. My mind blanks with terror. Suppose he really can get to me here? What if I finally die in my nightmare? All my thoughts narrow down to one plan.

Find somewhere safe to hide.

My dream-self crawls back inside my cage and cowers into my mangy blanket. Silas's footsteps grow louder.

Once again, I become aware that I'm dreaming, and that I never can stop this particular nightmare. No matter what I do, Silas always finds me, harvesting my soul with a blow of his hammer.

But not this time.

Instead, my threadbare blanket feels warm and safe. I curl deeper under the covers, crying softly.

After that, I wake up.

Blinking hard to clear my head, I find myself back in Maxon's chambers. Heavy arms encircle me. I rub my eyes, trying to make my sleepy mind process what's going on. That's when I realize what's happening.

Maxon is holding me, rocking me softly.

“Shhh, Lianna,” he says in a low and soothing voice. “Everything's okay. You're safe.”

“What… Why are you here?”

“I heard crying and came in to check on you.”

“And I climbed across the bed and right into your lap, didn't I?”

“That you did.” He lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “Am I complaining?”

“I guess not.” I exhale a long breath. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

A droplet of water smacks into my cheek. My hands shake as I wipe it off. “Did a pipe break or something?”

“More like the ‘or something.' You summoned a rain storm in your sleep.”

“I did not. Really?”

“Yeah.”

Sure enough, more water drips down from the ceiling, the curtains, even the light fixtures. Little puddles cover the wooden floor. I close my eyes and make the water vanish. The place is still in need of a good cleaning, though. Already, the scent of mold hangs heavy in the air.

“Sorry about the room.”

“Don't apologize,” says Maxon. “Even if you trash the place, I've tons more bedrooms.” Maxon rubs my back in slow circles. My limbs start to relax. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Nodding, I curl deeper into his chest. It's like my body was made to be held by him. “Of a demon I once knew. I was his prisoner. Namare rescued me.”

“What kind?”

“One of the Incarnate.”

Maxon lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Lianna. That's Class A. No wonder you have nightmares.” His arms tighten around me. “How'd you end up with him?”

For a long time, I sit in his arms, not answering. Dozens of emotions battle it out inside me. Fear, anger, and shame top the list. I don't know if I can tell him about Silas.

There's no pressure from Maxon to talk, only the regular rhythm of his hand on my back. After as few minutes, my mouth seems to move on its own.

“My parents loved nature. We lived in a cabin in the middle of the Colorado mountains. No demons around, at least none that we knew of. Still, Silas found us. One night he came in and threatened my parents. They were good warriors. Silas knew my parents could hurt him, but not kill him outright. So, he offered them a deal. If my parents promised not to fight back, Silas promised not to harvest me until my sixteenth birthday. I was only thirteen then. Mom and Dad hoped I'd find a way to escape.”

Maxon kisses my head. “Go on.”

“After that, Silas kept me in his basement, making me his assistant until I came of age.”

I brace myself, waiting for Maxon to change the subject. When I shared this story with Fisk, he basically bolted out of the room. We never spoke about it after that day.

A long pause follows before Maxon speaks again.

“I get them, too, you know,” he says quietly.

I pull on my earlobe, not sure if I heard him right.
Did Maxon just say what I thought he said?

“What do you mean? You get nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you see?”

Another stretch of silence follows. Anxiety hangs in the air like a physical thing. All of a sudden, I feel like an ass for pushing him to open up.

“You don't have to tell me,” I say quickly. “It's not like we've known each other for a million years.”
Or even a full day.

“It's not you. I don't talk about it. With anyone.”

“Why not?”

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could pull them back in. What is it about Maxon that makes me spill whatever's on my mind?

Maxon sighs. “Most people in my world, they think that they know evil. I tell them about me, I shatter whatever they thought. I can't do that to the people I care about.”

I nod into his chest. “I get that.”

“I thought you would.” He starts talking fast, like if he stops he'll never say anything at all. “In my nightmares, I relive something that happened to me as a kid. You know my story, yeah?”

“Sure.” Everyone knows how Maxon was kidnapped to Hell when he was three years old. His parents broke in and rescued him.