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The Writing on the Wall CH23Both of my questions went unanswered. Chrysander seemed to have entered a kind of bounty hunter trance and pulled me cautiously along, his eyes sweeping the tunnel for further clues and pieces of the trail, and Demetrius, though he fell into deep thought, must not have had any ideas. Or he just didn't want to share them.
I considered repeating myself, then abandoned the idea as a foolish one. We had finally found something that was if not comfortable, than at least silence.
Then Chrysander stopped again. I followed him to the ground, kneeling right with him and examining the ground at least as closely. There were flecks of something, and a tuft of... "Is that hair?"
"Why are you whispering?"
"Why are you?"
"Because you are. I thought it'd be polite to let the lady set the volume of the conversation."
It sounded perfectly ridiculous, and for some reason, my mood lightened. I felt guilty for it, but e
The Writing on the Wall CH22"We should get Noni. She'll throw a monumental mardy if you try to leave her out."
Demetrius shook his head vehemently. "It's better that she stays here. I'll leave a message with one of the butlers, he'll keep her here and safe."
"You don't know that it isn't safe where we're going," I pointed out.
Chrysander increased his pace to stand beside me. "Look, no matter the blasted hurry, you can take five minutes to go and talk to your fiancee about what you plan to do, make her bloody stay here, and then meet us back here." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I've got to find a handkerchief, and unless those red and brown marks are decoration on our Athena's shirt, she needs some medical assistance before she's going anywhere."
"She isn't going anywhere," Demetrius said firmly. "And neither are you. If you can't help me find my father, then you're just a useless lump."
Delayed retribution caught
The Writing on the Wall CH21"By rights, you should be arrested again," Dr Cordet said, her hand over mine. Her knuckles were white, and my fingers hurt, but it was almost a nice reminder that we had not died.
I laughed, rather unsteadily as I worked my fingers free, dazed after travelling via hasty sigil. It was the first one I had ever made. That thought kept on repeating in my head, so that I was barely aware that Dr Cordet was speaking at all. I had to focus to understand her words.
"As for myself, I have spent far too much time away from my own bed. I have to compile the data gained from our little excursion, which I believe I shall do in combination with a nice hot bath. Tomorrow afternoon, I shall call on you all again." With that, she turned on her heel, with less precision than I would have normally expected from Asclepia Cordet, and left the mansion.
The fact that we had ended up there was more than a little unsettling to me.
The Writing on the Wall CH20The light grew fast, but thankfully that was because Demetrius had helped me to stand and started walking toward it, taking long strides. He seemed excited to have a goal. Or perhaps that was just me. He could have been embarrassed by his faux pas and wanting to leave it behind, as if it were a physical landmark.
It would have been easier to convince myself of that if he had shown at least a bit of remorse over what he'd done, but that was not something to dwell on. He would never make sense to me, I decided, and that was that.
All thoughts of this nature dribbled out of my head like beads of wax down the sides of a distressed candlestick when we had come close enough to the light to discern its nature. It was a cavern, carved out of the rock by deliberate hands.
I let go of Demetrius, pulling my arm away from his shoulders, and walked over to one of the walls. Placing my hand on the rock, I rubbed my fingers over it.
The Writing on the Wall CH19"That's impossible."
It didn't matter who said it, I wasn't listening terribly closely. All of my attention was on the Hollow Child and its lack of teeth. Hollow Man cried out somewhere. Like a caged animal. "Being used by..." That was the question they should have been asking. Who was using him?
Or perhaps I should have been asking myself why I cared. The other person inside me twitched, and I fell to my knees, retching. Oh, Dr Cordet, thank you so very much. Focusing or thinking, whatever it was she had told me to do, had not just woken up some connection. Nor a magnet pull either.
Someone held my hair back out of my face while everyone else kept their shoes clear of my breakfast. I coughed and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. The Hollow Child flickered in and out of my vision now, as if whatever had made it so hard to shake had gone out of me with
The Writing on the Wall CH18Out in the natural light of the world, I had to cock a grin. It was like going to another country, but as another person. I was a licensed sigil artist--a courier had brought the license with a dry letter from the king, both of which were in my modest rucksack.
The sheer rush of it, of being outside and official, were enough to flood my emotions. I could obscure from myself the fact that we were already leaving the outside in favour of a dank cave where the walls dripped and the king's men had insisted we would find the Hollow Man.
At the head of our meagre party, Soterios and Demetrius walked like soldiers. Soterios, rather less so. Although he didn't look foolish with a sword bouncing against one hip as he walked, the pistol on his other side made for a funny contrast. I couldn't say why. He followed a step behind Demetrius, who had geared himself up to look exactly the way he had when I'd first met him.
The Writing on the Wall CH17To know a thing, my mum had used to say, was to no longer know any fear of it. This had once seemed to me to be the most abject of wisdoms, comparing it to the monsters I knew. The things that rattled and bumped in the night. The fears I knew.
What the Hollow Man did to his victims scared me no less when I had finished the log than it had before. This might have seemed unfair to me had I taken a moment to try and soothe my mind with something so comforting as simple irritation.
I didn't want to talk about it to anyone. They didn't ask, even after I had shut Ser Naderry's dusty old book and covered my eyes. He had been a good writer, in his own plodding way. Not like a writer of tales, but as a record keeper. He did not leave anything to the imagination. I could almost be grateful. My imagination was a bit too skilled in filling in gaps with horrible things.
The states of the Ho
A Cuckoo Sings Inside Me CH3He looked at her the same way that the rest of them had. Trying not to screw up her face and say something privately unpleasant, Eleuin let her eyes drift about. She could not quite explain why this young person had given her the faint glimmer of hope he had. Possibly it was that he was even dirtier than the people she saw day to day.
Or it was because he was such a vivid piece of the world outside the window. It was not likely that he was the brown-cloaked man she had seen that afternoon, but she had been told that beggars all wore one like it. Eleuin tended to remember what she was told.
They sat there in uncomfortable silence for what seemed like hours to her, but may have only been a handful of seconds. Time passed so abominably slow on this planet.
Finally, she broke down and spoke again. He had been spending the interim inching away from her, like a worm retreating a dry spell. "It's true," she insisted.
A Cuckoo Sings Inside Me CH2When an insect sees a weaker insect, all it sees is another bug. When a cousin sees a cousin of lower caste, he may call him 'lesser', but he loves him as his own.
Gremlin sat on the edge of a box and counted his take for the day. It was slim pickings by the docks, but he got less kicks than when he braved the merchant's run. There was enough for bread at least.
Kicking up dirt and grinning, he made a beeline for the bakery, a good indoor shop that he was only allowed into if he wiped his feet before entering. To be sure, he had to dodge the odd swing from a patron who disliked the lack of humble hunch in his youthful shoulders, but that was all down to instinct. Gremlin was already seventeen, after all. Two years a man, and proudly waiting for the stubble on his face to become a proper scruffy beard.
He had little enough to be proud of, after all.
The baker looked up as his coins clanked against the wooden counte
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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