“It’s okay, baby. I got you.” His feet parted, his hand coming down to grab my arm, just as my body spun, slipping forward at full speed toward the cage until I wore the bars like a metal pair of underwear, driving into my flesh, threatening to rip me apart from the middle, up. I screamed out as my shoes came away, then the legs of my jeans, leaving my shins and ankles bare, cold. I couldn't kick, couldn't drag myself away from the cage. And Mike pulled, lifting my arms above my head, fighting a battle of tug-of-war with starving immortals.
“Get back!” a thunderous voice sent a shockwave of fear over the tunnels.
Mike and I flew backward into the wall, landing in a tangled heap as my legs suddenly came free. High-pitched shrieks wailed through the air, circling around and disappearing like a banshee’s echo, the children retreating to the rear of the cell.
I struggled to my feet, with a little help from Mike, clutching the base of my neck where my hair was missing, and hobbled over to the cage.
“You. Know! The. Rules!” the caretaker jammed his metal stick into the floor on each word.
My eyes strained against the darkness, with the torch lamps dim, lying sideways on the ground. But as I peered through the bars, wrapping my fingers around them, saw something shift under the caretaker’s stick—something no bigger than a pillow.
“You rotten little maggot!” he growled.
“Ah!” A boy howled, tucking himself into a ball as his ribs wore the brunt of the caretaker’s fury. He sounded like any other child, not some demonic immortal; his small voice quivered, laden with panic, calling through his hands for his mother—an instinct so human it broke my heart.
“Stop it,” I screeched, dropping to my knees, reaching in through the bars. “Stop hurting him.”
Mike landed in the dirt beside me, grabbing my shoulders. “Baby, stay back.”
“No.” I tried to get up—to go to them. “Let me help them.”
“Baby, you can't. It’s okay. It’s all right.”
“No. It’s not.” I grabbed his shirt, hearing the desperate shrieks of that child became nothing but a whimper. “He’s just a little boy.”
“Mate,” Mike called out. “That’s enough!”
“I decide when it’s enough.” The caretaker jammed the stick down again, and this time, the child didn’t even move.
My throat trapped my breath, tears coating my eyes. I felt Mike shift, felt him go to stand but stop. Then, he took a larger breath and yelled in his thunderous cop voice, “I said that’s enough. Leave the boy alone!”
The caretaker stopped mid-thrust and groaned. “As you wish.”
From the border of the shadows, a hand came out and grabbed the limp boy’s wrist, dragging him into the darkest corner of the cell, leaving a trail of blood behind in the last dregs of light from the lantern.
Mike hauled me away from the bars, and I heard the great, groaning creak of the door slamming shut.
“How could you?” I wiped my face, looking up at the haggard old man, sobbing so hard I had hiccups.
“How could I?” he said. “My lady, if I had not, you would have no scalp.”
I jumped to my feet. “There are other ways to deal with children! This is not acceptable.”
“Baby—”
“No.” I shoved Mike off me. “I won’t stand for this.”
“The boy will heal, Ara. He’s immortal, remember?”
“How can you say that, Mike?” I clenched my teeth tight enough to taste blood. “How can you think this is okay?”
“I don't. Not even a little bit. But there’s nothing you can do for them, baby. They can't be taught. They live by instinct—like animals.”
I shoved him again when he tried to hug me. “Even animals deserve better than this.”
“And what do you propose we do?” asked the caretaker.
“Try. I don't know. But we have to try.”
“Come here.” Mike took my shoulders and turned me to face him. “You're shaking.”
Of course I was, but I couldn’t feel it. I felt only numb—the beating of that boy repeating itself in my mind—blending with the horrible thought that it probably wasn’t the first time. And for what? Probably to satiate the caretaker’s own wicked needs to feel like a master.
Hatred for him burned through me, coming out in a piercing gaze. “How often are you in charge of these children?”
“Only during feeding times,” the caretaker said. “Then, they’re on their own.”
“How long have you been their keeper?”
“’Bout—” the man paused, taking a breath, “—two hundred years, give or take.”
“Well—” I walked away from Mike, rubbing the ache of torn hair at the back of my neck. “As of now, you're fired.”
“What?” both Mike and the man said at the same time.
“You heard me,” I said. “Mike? See Mr. Keeper to a new position in the manor, would you? Perhaps toilet cleaning.”
“Ar, come back, baby,” he called after me.
“No!” I walked away, barely aware that Mike hadn’t followed, unable to see but in no state to care. I felt my way along the wall in the darkness, tripping when I found the stairs suddenly, then clambered up, using my hands to feel the curves of each one. I have no idea how long I climbed those stairs for, but it felt like forever, moving inch by inch, one at a time, on my hands and knees until my head hit a wooden panel—the door.
I looked back into the darkness behind me; Mike’s torch was nowhere to be seen. He probably went the other way.
When I pushed the door open and landed in an exhausted heap in the calming but dim light, I’d never been so happy to breathe warm air in all of my life. I laid on the slightly turned-up rug, my arms out wide, letting my heart beat its erratic tale until it eventually calmed and my breathing finally slowed—allowing me to feel the pain of my broken flesh from the scratches the children left.
“Okay, I’ll go check on her.” Mike’s scuffing steps came up the stairs; I jumped to my feet and darted behind the curtain. “Okay, mate. See ya later.” He slipped his phone in his pocket as he surfaced, then stood for a second and looked around; I stayed hidden, peering out through a small gap. “Ar?”
I held my breath.
“Ar, you here, baby?” He shrugged, then walked away, closing the throne room door behind him, but left the secret passage open.