Chapter 32
I walked between Vlad and Maximus down the narrow stone staircase. Every fifty feet or so, we came to a landing where we passed through a metal, guarded doorway that led to another set of descending steps. This part of the house didn’t have heat, so my breath came in white plumes. Despite Vlad giving me his coat, I couldn’t stop shivering. It also didn’t have electricity, so if not for the torches he flamed into light, I would have been blind in the stygian darkness. I knew it was my imagination, but the walls of the tunnel seemed to shimmer with despairing essences, adding to my sense of dread. The dungeon was the last place I wanted to go to, but it was where we were headed.
The last guarded door opened into a cavernous area that was pitch black until Vlad lit more torches with his power. The first thing I saw was several sets of manacles embedded in a huge stone pillar in the center of the area. When we approached it, I saw that these manacles were unusually thick, with silver spikes lining them that faced inward. From their varying heights and sizes, I calculated their purpose.
Side ones were for the wrists. Bar between them, the neck. Lower, wide bar for the waist, the two below that, the thighs, and the ones closest to the floor, ankles. The pillar faced the thankfully empty cells cut into the rock across from us. Knowing Vlad, their positioning was so that any prisoners could see whatever was done to the unlucky person restrained here. Between the pillar and the cells were three deep holes, and from the dark stains lining them, I guessed that they were normally occupied by thick wooden poles. The outdoor area must not be the only place Vlad where got his impalement on.
“I regret that this is necessary,” Vlad stated, grasping the wrist manacles.
His words echoed in the subterranean surroundings, ominous and eerie as they bounced back. I wished this wasn’t necessary, too, but I said nothing as I took my gloves off, tucking them into his coat. Then I walked over, leaned back against that looming rock wall, and felt the weight of icy, unforgiving metal as Vlad set the clamps against my hand.
I have no idea how long I screamed, but my throat was burning by the time I regained control enough to distinguish reality from other people’s memories. My face was also wet from tears, and shudders wracked me so violently that the ache in my limbs wasn’t due to phantom pains, but from being so lost in the horrific memories that I’d managed to hurt myself with my reaction—something that had never happened before.
Of course, in all the recollections I’d relived, I had never experienced anything like this. When I realized that I was sagged in Vlad’s arms, my first reaction was revulsion so deep that a roar tore from my wounded throat.
“Getawaydonttouchme!”
He released me so abruptly that I fell onto the floor. Instinct made me curl my right hand to my side instead of using it to break my fall. I sprawled into a heap, but the action meant I didn’t pick up any new memories from stained stone ground, which was the most important thing.
“Should I help?” Maximus asked in a carefully neutral tone.
I doubted the question was directed at me, but I answered anyway. “No. Give me a minute.”
My voice was still raw. I sat on the floor, trying to paste together my fractured emotions while hugging myself for warmth. That was a mistake I wouldn’t have made had I been thinking clearly. As soon as my right hand came in contact with Vlad’s coat, another memory assailed me.
I stood naked in front of a closet on the far side of my bedroom. With the press of a button, row upon row of clothes whirled by, some casual, some formal, and a few so ornate they were meant only for ceremonial events. I stroked my jaw as I considered my choices. I couldn’t meet her family wearing just anything. She deserved better than that. Finally, I selected a long coat inlaid with black sapphires at the collars and cuffs.
This would do. Perhaps the gloves would also help to soothe her ire. Their completion came not a moment too soon.
That image faded, replaced by Vlad looming over me in this oppressive dungeon instead of gloriously naked in his bedroom. I stared up at him, the memory of his actions shocking me for a different reason this time.
“You dressed up to meet my family?” The unexpectedly thoughtful gesture made me choke on a laugh. “How can you be the same person that did all those other things? You’re not just versatile and complex—it’s like you’re a schizophrenic!”
Vlad knelt next to me, an emerald sheen encompassing his eyes like a cat’s when light shone upon them.
“We are all more than the sum of our sins,” he said in an even voice. “You know that better than most people, Leila.”
Then he held out his hand. I stared at it, what I’d experienced through the multiple essences contained in those manacles making horror flit over me. Then other images covered those, my memories of Vlad, so different in comparison. Very slowly, I placed my hand in his and let him help me up. I walked back to the manacles, repressing a shudder. The second time is always easier, I reminded myself. Vlad had ordered my family pulled in, but Maximus had been unable to reach Marty. He might be fine or he might need help, and the only way to find out was to follow the essence trail Marty had left in these restraints the day Vlad had questioned him.
Before I grasped the wrist manacles again, I fingered the edge of Vlad’s coat and gave him a faint smile.
“Nice choice. You looked great in this.”
His brow arched. “Of course I did.”
His indefatigable arrogance made me shake my head, but it also gave me the last bit of strength I needed to grab the metal clamps again. That same swarm of horrendous images bombarded my mind, but as expected, they were fainter, allowing me to fight through them and find the essence thread I was looking for. Once I did, I concentrated until everything else fell away.
To my dread, the new surroundings I found myself looking at didn’t appear much better than the ones I was actually in. Instead of dark stone walls, concrete was all around me, the few splashes of color a wooden door in the corner and blood staining the front of Marty’s shirt.
Mihaly Szilagyi stood in front of him, wearing another nondescript outfit and holding a knife dripping with red. The silver-haired vampire who’d snapped my legs and left me to die was there, too, restraining Marty while chewing an unlit cigarette and looking bored.
I dropped the link with a snarl that came from a part of me I hadn’t known existed.
“I found Marty. Szilagyi’s got him.”