Venus City 1 (40 page)

“It's getting better,” he answered. “Really quickly. It's like a stream of hot water going through my body...”

A cry from outside cut through the delicate tension on the sixth floor landing, and for a moment everyone turned as one to glance outward, toward the balcony.

Asher's hand curled around hers. Channing was flexing his grip on the batons, his eyes landing back on Braya and Asher. Mother Ophelia appeared to notice that, and weaved one of her arms through his, though her affection was lost on Channing as he continued to stare at Braya and Asher, his magenta eyes like two grates of fire.

“Please,” Mother Ophelia implored, burying her face in Channing's sleeve. The manner in which she did it suggested Leraphone's guess to be right—she was in love with him. The sight made Braya's stomach heave. Her
mother
in love with that
foreigner—
the foreigner
who wanted to kill them all and raise his dead wife from the beyond? Sick, absolutely sick.

“You promised,” Mother Ophelia murmured. Her apple green eyes were seeking his, but he refused to meet her gaze. Braya wasn't exactly sure what Mother Ophelia was referring to, but it was enough to cause Channing to wrench free of her and turn his back to the woman. Braya assumed this was him giving into whatever agreement Mother Ophelia had wrangled him into, because a small smile crept across Ophelia's features, and then she was turning to face Braya.

She rushed at Braya, arms wide open. She collapsed onto the ground beside her and clutched her in a bone-crushing embrace.

“Oh, Braya, Braya,” she wailed. “My sweet girl.” Mother Ophelia—should she even call her so anymore? The double meaning was weird—was frantically running her hands through Braya's hair as she pressed in on her with all the intentions of smothering her into the ground. Braya bent backward under the force of the hug, and her hand was torn free of Asher's grip. Ophelia cried into Braya's shoulder, murmuring the same thing, over and over. “Oh, Braya, Braya.”

“Um...” Braya said awkwardly. When she had first learned that Mother Ophelia was her mother—she did need to stop referring to her with that title, she resolved—Braya hadn't known what to expect. What was there to expect from a woman who hadn't wanted her children? A cold reception, or maybe even denial. Those would have been normal behavior for someone like Ophelia, especially with her reputation to uphold. But this was something entirely unexpected. Braya supposed, though, without the pressure of being surrounded by her subjects or Court members, the woman was finally allowed an opportunity that she normally wouldn't get.

Braya was leaning back against her palms as Ophelia continued to sob into the collar of her dress—a dress she lamented would have to be thrown out if she ever got through the day. What could she do? Channing was monitoring them as if he were waiting for his chance to—to do
what
? Braya wondered uneasily.

“I'm sorry for ever letting you go. I'm so glad you know, though. I'm so glad Leraphone told you...” Ophelia wept. She had pulled her face out of the crook of Braya's neck, and stared into Braya's eyes with bloodshot green eyes and a red, swollen face. She still managed to be beautiful despite her tear-stained features. Her hand rose to stroke Braya's face—Braya resisted the urge to flinch away. “I had no choice, Braya. Leraphone was meant to be Mother, she's the eldest. But our mother, Olivia, didn't approve of Leraphone's views. She-she wanted to eliminate the Pink Plug from our entire male population—eradicate the tradition. She wanted to cure Tristant, erase all of Camille's standards. Leraphone, she's always living in her own world, always wanting to do things her own way. I never understood her. Mother would never allow her to take over with those ideals, so she appointed me as Mother, but by then I had already had two children. I was forced to give them up, as a Mother is never to have children before her appointment as Mother. But that horrid Malister—I could not believe what an unfortunate family they sent you to,” Ophelia shook her head in disgust. “I couldn't do anything about it, though.” She hiccupped. “Oh, Braya...I had to see you. That's why I attended your Career Interview. I was ashamed of how that Malister woman had raised you—so arrogant. I wanted you to be close to Leraphone, that's why I made you a Bride. I hope you can forgive me...”

Braya's voice was lodged in her throat. She faltered; she couldn't respond.

“It's okay,” Ophelia said, patting Braya's hand. “I understand, it's a lot to take in. But it will be all right. Things can be amended. I'm ready to take you back. After all, I am Mother. I regret not doing this sooner.”

“Doing what?” Braya asked warily.

“Reinstating you as my daughter,” Ophelia declared with an element of triumph. “I can do whatever I please as Mother. From now on, you're welcome to come home. To your real home. And Channing—”

“
Channing
?” Braya asked in disgust, tearing her hand from Ophelia's soft touches. “What
about
Channing?”

“He will live with us too, of course. Don't you want a father?” Ophelia seemed utterly puzzled by Braya's lack of enthusiasm.

“No,” Braya said angrily. “I don't want that monster as my father! Don't tell me you don't know what's going on!”

Ophelia's face scrunched up. “Whatever could you mean, darling?”

More shouting from outside interrupted them. The commotion outside was growing louder and louder as the minutes passed. Braya distantly wondered how well those Brides and Grooms were doing in keeping those invaders at bay.

The noise was evidently enough to jostle Channing into action. Braya's heart leaped into her throat when he was suddenly kneeling down beside them—when had he moved, let alone crossed the landing?

“I've allowed this to carry on far too long,” Channing said through grit teeth. “I've kept my promise to you,” he directed this to Ophelia. “Now move so I can have my turn with her.”

Ophelia did not grasp the severity of his tone, because she pouted at his words. It was another one of her mannerisms that made Braya want to throw up—how old was she, anyway?

“But, Channing,” Ophelia said in playfully hurt tone, “Can't I have a few more minutes with my daughter?”

“No,” Channing replied gruffly. He nimbly untwisted her fingers from his arm. “I gave you these two minutes as a sort of...thank you for keeping me so well taken care of in your quarters these past six months. I must, however, press upon you the urgency of this situation. This is goodbye, after all.”

Ophelia's eyes swam with tears once more. “Goodbye? What—” her voice trembled. “What do you mean?”

“In every sense of the word,” Channing's words glittered in malice, “this is...goodbye.” There was a certain weight, a certain tinge of
finality
to that word that pushed Ophelia into tears. They streamed silently down her cheeks as she tried to cling onto Channing, murmuring apologies for whatever she'd done to wrong him.

“Don't you love me?” She asked miserably.

Channing spared her a look. “Love,” he repeated unfeelingly. “A feeling capable of bringing great joy and killing great joy. My great joy, my sweet wife, Avalon, was taken from me and I never intend to besmirch her memory with the likes of you.”

“But,” Ophelia trembled in her grief, “all those things you said to me...all those promises. All those times you...”

“Means to an end, merely,” he said. Braya imagined he meant to sound nonchalant, but his voice was as gritty as gravel. “I needed you to shelter me while I was setting up my plans to steal the Sare's blood recognition from your family line. Once I had killed all of your existing family members, I was going to use you to transfer that power to me.”

Ophelia's lashes fluttered as she heaved a great sigh of surprise. “What are you talking about? That's impossible.”

Channing's cold gaze swept away from Ophelia, and he stared at Braya as he answered. “This city lives in isolation and ignorance. Outside this barrier, we have achieved more with our tiny shards of power than you have cowering in this city. I can and I am transferring that power. I thought I needed you, but I have changed my mind. Thanks for the warm bed, though.”

Channing struck without warning. His hand lashed out and he made a slashing movement across Ophelia's chest. A bright purple light spewed from from his palm and shattered over Ophelia's dress. She convulsed, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and then she slumped across the ground, unmoving.

Channing wasted no more time after that. He lunged forward and snatched the jewelry box that had been sitting near Asher's leg, and then grabbed a fistful of Braya's hair and started dragging her away from Asher and Ophelia. Braya screamed out in pain, resisting at first. The struggling only made the pain that much more pronounced, so Braya ceased and Channing continued to pull until she was in the middle of the landing and too far away from Asher for him to help her. He didn't let go of her hair, though. He crouched back down beside her so that his face was uncomfortably close to hers.

“Little Asher can't help you now,” Channing breathed over her skin.

Asher, in his case, had only begun to have enough energy to pull himself into a sitting position. He was swearing loudly at Channing—and himself for letting the jewelry box out of their reach so easily—but Channing acted as if he couldn't hear him.

Braya was watching Ophelia in horror as she lay across the shiny floor in an eerie state of stillness.

“What did you do to her?” Braya hollered, struggled against the man's grip on her scalp. Despite her misgivings against Ophelia, Braya felt a hitch in her chest at the possibility that she'd just been killed. Braya had only just discovered she was her mother, and now she, too, was taken away from her? The tragedy of it shook Braya with a stinging injustice.

“No need to worry about her,” Channing uttered. Up close to him, she could see through his white collared shirt. The first few buttons were undone and she could glimpse a bit of the skin behind the shirt. It was horribly disfigured—large welts of an angry purple color adorned his chest. The odd thing about them was that they were patterned, organized. As if they were there intentionally. The tops of his fingers had the same gnarled bumps. “You two,” he motioned to the officiant and Page. “Come.”

Like children being chased by a ghost, the two of them hurried to Channing's side, the expressions on their faces telling Braya all she had to know. They were going to force her to marry Page.

“I was going to use your precious mother,” Channing admitted, tightening his grip on her hair, “But you've proved more useful. I'm ever so glad that I thought of using you to implant all those boosters over the city. I led you into it, too. Don't discredit me by thinking any of this is a coincidence. It gave me the perfect chance to watch over you and make sure that you stayed alive until I needed you dead.”

“What do you mean?” She hoped to stall for time. If Asher could regain enough strength to...

That's the funny thing. I don't even know. Someone mailed the tickets to me.

The memory had come out of nowhere, and admittedly wasn’t the most helpful thing for her current situation, but decided it might buy her some time if anything.

“You—you were the one who sent Brielle the Moon Tamer tickets!” Braya realized in horror.

“I'm surprised you realized that,” Channing said, looking at her with a strange expression. Braya was surprised, too. “Anyway, yes. I had the twins lure you, I made sure one of the Locers was connected to you with the master-slave link—though what a grave mistake it turned out to be letting Asher take that job—and, well, you know the rest.”

“You know your twisted plan won't work!” Braya exclaimed, at a loss. “Leraphone and my brother are still alive!”

“You Venusians think you know everything,” he shook his head. “I don't need all your family members dead for this spell to work,” Channing said, his voice steel. “It just helps that there are less alive to share that loyalty with. If all members of the family are dead, the Sare would be mine wholly. But if any remain, I will have to share that power with them. I am...adding myself into the family, as it is.”

“Then why do I have to marry Page?” She grimaced in pain. He had a nightmare of a grip.

“An additional safeguard to the spell. Unnecessary, but helpful to have my family connected to yours in any means possible,” Channing said.

Asher was standing now, advancing.

“Mister Benedict,” Channing said, turning to engulf Asher in his heated stare. “Do exercise caution in your hurry to rescue your dear love. I have something you might like to hear.”

A scorching pain assailed Braya. It was like her skull was on fire, and the harder Channing dug his fingers into her head, the more it hurt. She wailed in pain, throwing herself to the ground.

It abated, and Braya was felt to quiver on the ground. Channing's hand lifted, and Braya took in deep, shuttering breaths. Asher had halted, staring on in rabid horror.

“Marry them,” Channing ordered the officiant. “Quickly.”

Then he turned back to Asher. “If you take one more step closer, I will hurt her again.”

Asher looked uncertain. The officiant appeared next to Channing, and Page crouched down to help Braya into a sitting position. She felt weak and fragile, and hated that she had to be so close to Channing.

“Do you, Page Arlington, take Braya Vace to be your wife?” The officiant squeaked. He was scared to death, Braya realized, prompting the shortened version.