Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (61 page)

"Mama... I'm so sorry!" She sobbed. "I thought-- I thought-- and Baba--"

"Get out of here, Zeika! He's crazy!"

"No! I'm not leaving you! I'm getting you
out
!" Zeika lifted her hand.
 

"DON'T!" Mama threw her back, away from the cell bars. " JUST GET OUT OF HERE!"

Zeika started forward again, but Sal grabbed her collar and yanked her back before he hit the lever again. The cold and solid stones slammed down, muffling her mother's cries.

"DON'T, ZEIKA! DON'T DO IT!"
 

That's all her mother shouted through the sheet, and Zeika already knew what she meant. Don't use your powers.

"Mama! Baba!"

She ran up to the door and pounded. Each raging slam against the door rocked the bones in her hand. She hated it, feigning powerlessness. She hated pretending, hated that she could get them out but couldn't, all because an Azure was standing right there, watching. Because Manja was still alive. Because if Zeika blew her own cover, she'd blow Manja's as well and resurrect the Vigils, and she couldn't do that, especially not if she and her parents were going to die here.
 

Her body heaved with sobs, and with her forehead smushed against the cool rocks, she slammed her fist into the faux door again and again, bruising and bloodying her knuckles-- and she screamed, long and loud.

She whipped around to face Sal, her eyes filled with tears. "LET THEM OUT! PLEASE!"

Sal smiled.

"Please..." Zeika choked out. "What do you want? What do you want me to do? What do you want? Money? I don't have any money. But-- but I can get some. I promise you. If you just promise to let them go. Please, Sal. My father-- all of them-- he'll die in there! Please!"

Sal "tsk-tsked" and shook his head. "Sorry, darling. There's no way you'd be able to earn enough for an exchange. But... cash isn't the only currency I accept."

She felt the hate compound. "Done running my mother ragged?"

Sal smirked. "Everything has its time of glory and its fall."

"For everyone but your kind?! Is that it?!"

"I'm glad you're finally beginning to understand."

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Yes is the only response I'll accept, my dear. What's it going to be?"

Zeika slapped her hands to her face and leaned against the metal sheet. She could still hear her mother through the wall:
Don't.
Tears dripping through her fingers, she nodded.

"That's my good girl. Now, shall we?"

She looked up to see him gesturing towards the stairs. She wiped her eyes and staggered past him, up and out of the dripping dungeon. His footsteps resounded against the stairs behind her, around and through her-- dark pulses of Azure triumph enclosing her like an invisible fist.

It hurt. After over a century of painless and pleasurable existence, someone had actually injured him, and now it was time to regain control. After the Faustian creature, and then the child Alchemist, and then his foolish hobble into Rai's sights, Xakiah needed this. He needed someone to understand that this was his mission, his world, his rules. So when he felt Beige tremble beneath his gloved grip, he began to feel alive again. He began to feel like himself.

"He-- he said he knew how to activate it! He said he knew how to get it to work! He said he'd make it worth it! For the Order! That's the only reason why I'd ever-- please... please! I-- I only sold half of it, I swear!" Beige was on his knees, and Xakiah tightened his grip on his hair as the man tried to turn and plead. "Cotch! Cotch, please. Reason with his Lordship. I-- I made a mistake! I've trasspessed--"

"Trespassed, you blithering fool," Xakiah muttered, barely able to keep the smile off his face.

"TRESPASSED! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, God!"

Vassal Moss stood in front of Beige, ever silent, no emotion betrayed on his face. There was nothing left to discuss. After the freight had crashed, Xakiah had primed the traitor as ordered and had brought him here to the edge of the Seventh, far from Beige's mansion in the outer hills. Beige had already hemorrhaged the information they needed: the buyer of the other half of the Page, the place it was located, the details of the sale, the admission of guilt. He'd said it over and over to him, and thrice more when Vassal Moss had finally arrived.

"You said you'd erase my record from the Silver Pact!" Beige babbled, frantic. "When I checked it-- you hadn't done a thing! I was scared, can't you see that? Scared for my life!"

"So your impatience led you to betray your brethren," Vassal Moss said. It wasn't a question.

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO DIDN'T HOLD UP TO OUR DEAL, YOU BASTARD!" Beige snarled.
 

Moss cocked his head, and Beige retreated back to submission, wringing his hands. Tears began to slide down his face. "I-- I mean, I-- I didn't mean to! He threatened to release my record to the world if I didn't sell it to him!" Beige let out a choked sob. "He was sniffing around and found out about the Page and he used me. It wasn't my fault. Please... I was so scared, what did you expect me to do?!"

Moss' lip curled downward as he stared coldly at Beige. "I expected you to ascend above your own cowardice, perhaps. I expected you to act like an Alchemist. The innocent young Azure, Ryan Moreno, is dead. The Alchemic Order is now endangered because of your sale of the Page. Both served you unquestioningly, loyally, and you repaid us all with nothing but treachery and death. You are unworthy of our kinship."

Then Xakiah saw it, the slight wave of his Vassal's hand before he turned away. Xakiah drew his knife from the sheath at his shoulder.

"Vassal!" Beige shrieked, his voice breaking. "Please, my Lord-- please! Tell me what I can do to fix this!"
 

"I am sorry, Councilman," Moss murmured. "But this treachery cannot be forgiven. And even if it could, clemency is not mine to give. You have betrayed the Order. I merely act on its behalf."

"No! No, please--
bleck!
"

Xakiah blinked, surprised as Vassal suddenly slashed his hand through still air, and Beige's throat opened. The quivering head stiffened, and the body under it went slack, purging blood. A wet, shredding noise filled the air as the remaining flaps of flesh and cartilage began to give. Xakiah sighed, re-sheathed his blade, and let the head fall to the carpet, Beige's wide-open neck whispering to cold marble.

"Forgive me, Proficient," his Vassal said softly. "My temper got the best of me."

Xakiah shook his head and stepped forward to speak words of comfort. Then he stopped, seeing the coal-like burns on the wooden floor under his Vassal's feet, the wavering of his Vassal's shadow as he staggered.

In the next moment, Xakiah was at his side, catching him as he fell.

"I am fine, Proficient." Then Moss hacked, a wet and wretched sound that brought up reddened foam. "We need to get the other half of the Page."

He was right. They didn't have much time, and while Beige might have been babbling to save his life, he
had
said that the buyer knew how to activate the Final Page. If that were true, then he and Vassal needed to move. Quickly. And yet... his Vassal's body felt so limp.

"No," Xakiah said quietly. "I'll get it. But I'm taking you to the manors, first. All right?"

Moss coughed again, leaning heavier onto him. "You're too good to me."

"Not nearly good enough. Come. I will carry you."

Hoisting his Vassal into his arms, Xakiah called forth his Echo. The pet appeared, and as it opened the darkness for the three of them, Xakiah looked back at the pez-head of Mikhail Beige, wishing that Vassal would've allowed him to take the knife to him. His Vassal was suffering, and it was Beige's fault.
 

Moss' body got heavier, forcing Xakiah's angry thoughts away from the traitor.
Beige and his buyer will wait. Vassal needs me.

The Echo stepped to the side and bowed, and Xakiah walked his precious cargo into the shadows, leaving Beige's body behind them.
 

Hot water poured onto Zeika's head as she scrubbed, taking the first real shower she'd had in days. She'd washed up while on the streets, but full-on showers had turned fable weeks ago. She had dreamt of the day she'd finally get a proper dousing.

But not like this.

She felt a sob crawling up her throat, but she held it back. She couldn't stall for much longer. She'd already been in for nearly 20 minutes, scrubbing and scrubbing with the excuse that she really wanted to be clean for him... so that he had no reason to go back on his promise.

She didn't move until Sal knocked on the door. He said nothing, but the gesture was clear. She breathed out as evenly as she could, leaning her head against the tiles.

It's just flesh. Just once. Then he'll let Mama and Baba go.

Focusing on that final thought, she shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried off, careful to not strain her bruised knuckles. She looked to the boudoir on the other side of the bathroom, where he had placed the things he wanted her to use. Deodorant. Lotion. Perfume. She'd already used a razor at his request, stripping away the markings of her own puberty.

She'd done a bit of looking around before getting in the shower. She'd found that the boudoir was well-kept, stocked underneath with dozens of beauty packages just like the one she'd gotten. The ottoman of the boudoir was plush... but the top of it was slightly worn and concave, as though many had sat here before her.
 

It's just flesh.
 

She was done preparing, and wrapping the towel around her body, she opened the door.

Sal was sitting on the bed, waiting for her, nothing on his face but amusement as he watched her step into the room.

"You seem tense. Do you need a moment?" He was smiling, smug.

She looked up him, wrath in her eyes. "No. Thanks for asking."

"Of course. It's what a gentleman should do."

She gritted her teeth, almost clenched her fists-- until Baba's pained and paling face illuminated back in her mind. Sal would look for any reason to go back on his promise; it was best to not give it to him.

He regarded her for a moment, and it was then she saw another current of emotion in his gaze: worship, adulation, others she didn't understand. Only one other had ever gazed at her like that, and Sal had taken him from her. She looked away, afraid that her thoughts of Johnny would come out of her eyes and ruin everything, much as they always did.

Sal's gaze lingered, seeming to savor her for a few moments more. Then, without a word, he rose and walked over to his bed. He leaned over it to fiddle with something on the wall above the headboard. Zeika craned her neck to see that he was picking up a flat stone, about half the size of a single subject notebook. She frowned. It was a serenity rock, sitting on a polished wooden ledge, like some kind of fucked up feng-shui to bless his treachery. She didn't doubt that he had deflowered more than his share of Civilian girls under its peaceful watch.
 

He walked over to her, and Zeika wiped her mind clean of her hateful thoughts, focusing on his advance. He took her hands in his and placed the serenity stone in them.

"What is this?" She asked. She winced internally at the sound of her voice. It was meek. Powerless.

"It is a gift that can never be taken. Only given."

The rock was warm, and she could feel its heat seeping into her hands as she looked at it. Still, all she could think about were her parents in that cold cellar. The sickness in her stomach forced the warmth of the rock back. She didn't give a damn about "the gift". She didn't want it or anything else he had to give her. All she cared about was that her family was safe.
 

At the thought, the rock went cold, and the tickling sensation in her hands was snuffed out.

Sal raised an eyebrow and waited. He looked from the rock, to her, and then back to the rock. After a moment, he shook his head.

"Impossible." He turned away with a furrowed brow, lost in thought. He began to pace, hands on his hips. "Utterly, incomprehensibly impossible. I was
certain
." He was grinding his teeth; she could see it, even from where she stood. But his composure never broke, and after a minute, he looked up at her and held out his hand.
 

Zeika walked over, and keeping as much distance between them as she could, she gave him back the rock, getting one last glimpse as he put it into the top drawer of his nightstand.

He sighed, defeated. "Not as special as I imagined." He looked her over, his admiration gone. "And yet still beautiful enough to barter." He leveled his gaze with hers, waiting.

Whatever he had wanted before, however she had failed, his gaze said it was now time for her to offer consolation. The deal was still on, and if she didn't want it to expire, she had to hold up her end of it. So she lowered her eyes in submission, just as he'd want her to, and turned away from him. With trembling fingers, she began to unwrap the towel.

"No. Face me."

She did, and looking away, she dropped the towel.
 

She could feel his smile on her as he surveyed her, circled behind her, his gaze burning a path across her body. When she felt the tip of his nose graze her neck, she knew that it had begun. Hot sick slid up her throat and she held back tears.

It'll be over soon. Think of Baba...

The slightest backdraft whispered around her ankles as his clothes fell to the floor behind her. Warm, gentle fingers glided up her stomach, stroking the skin over her breasts. She reached up and gently moved his hand away.

"Please. You promised to let them off your estate before any of this happens. You promised me. Half a mile."

The gentle stroke dissipated as he grabbed her arm and spun her around, his grip like a vise.
 
With wide eyes, she saw a dark swelling emotion crashing around in his face-- one she understood as rage. Heart hammering, she staggered back, confused by the transformation, until his hand
tore
its way across her cheek. She stumbled back as swells of pain radiated through her face, and before she could regain balance, Sal had a hard grip on her arm again and was dragging her to the bed.