Hold Me Never (Holding Never) (11 page)

I press the heels of my palms over my eyes, trying to
stop the bleeding images.

No! No! No!

Hani is right.

A few hours can drive you mad.

“
Sleep,” I tell myself in a choked whisper.
“Go to sleep!”

I curl up on my mattress and bury my head under that
thin blanket.

Have you cried yet?

I haven't. I haven't really cried since I came to the
Palace.

Biting down on my hand to muffle my sobs, I let my tears
drip onto the cold, hard mattress. I cry soundlessly in the dark,
hoping that my tears will run out before midnight. For a long time,
I cry, until finally, my tears run out. I don't feel my tears
anymore. And I don't feel anything anymore.

But even though I can't feel anything, I can still see.

Even in the inky darkness, I can still see. I can see
pictures and faces, faces that grow more frantic, more frightening
and more familiar. I can't tell if they are memories or dreams,
imaginings or premonitions. Faces, voices, places...everything swims
before me in a whirl, spinning in terrifying circles all around me.

I am no longer in the cell, but back in the factory.

But Officer Goddot isn't there. There is no one there.
I am all alone. The work benches are empty but the conveyor belts
continue whirring and chugging along, spewing out crooked, black
metal parts which seem to be twisting and moving on their own. The
portraits of the Emperor and Empress stretch and spread across the
far wall, becoming larger and more lifelike. I see those cruel,
mocking eyes blink and glint as the Emperor turns his head to face
me. His brightly painted lips curl up as he mouths my name.

With a scream, I back away just as two figures separate
from the shadows and advance towards me. They approach with a stiff,
awkward gait, stretching out their decaying arms and fingers to me.
The shadows shift and morph into the corpses of people I know. They
lift their heads and I see their faces. I know them! Emilia, Hani,
Gwin, the girls in the factory, the Sirens, the Matrons...they are
all here. Coming inexorably towards me.

Their eyes are blood red and unseeing, their rotting
flesh falling from their bones as they stagger towards me. “Zoey,
help us. Help us, Zoey. Zoey...Zoey...” they drone.

I clap my hands to my ears and stumble through the door
out of the factory. Sunlight hits my eyes, and suddenly I am in a
field full of flowers. The sky above me is blindingly blue and I am
standing in a sea of fresh, blooming flowers and soft, green grass.
Despite the peace and beauty all around me, I start to run
immediately. There is no relief, no respite from the pervading sense
of fear and danger. Something is after me. Not the dead girls and
women. What is chasing me is alive, and far more dangerous.

Instantly, I hear the clatter of hooves and swords
behind me. The taunting shouts and laughter grow louder, bearing
down on me. The field of flowers rapidly recedes from me as I hurtle
blindly into a thick fog. A voice whispers in my ear and I flinch,
as mocking laughter echoes all around me. Fingers brush against my
arms, trailing down my body and wrapping around my wrists and ankles.
Flailing and struggling, I find myself pressed against hard, cold
metal. A monster with Dr. Rolin's head bends over me, wielding all
sorts of deadly, torturous looking instruments in its tentacles.

“
No! No! No, get away from me!”

I struggle harder as hands grip my shoulders.

“
Don't touch me! No!” I scream.

“
Zoey! Wake up!” An insistent voice cuts
through my scream. “Zoey, it's me, Hani!”

“
Let go...you...w-what...” I sputter, my
eyes flying wide open.

Hani's face wobbles and splits into two separate heads
before finally coming together. I blink hard, and promptly burst
into tears.

“
Oh, Zoey. It was just a dream. Whatever it
was...” She folds me into her arms and rocks me. Her voice is
soothing but impassive. She knows what it was. Whatever it was, she
has been through it as well. Many, many times.

She continues speaking softly, but I don't hear her
words. Just her heartbeat. Her voice is soft and calm, but her
heart doesn't lie. It is beating hard, forcefully and painfully
against her chest. She is just as scared as me, maybe even more so,
since she has seen more. She has seen Abigail disappear, seen what
they did in the Great Hall. She knows what is coming. She knows the
horrors that await us. I can only imagine them.

Can imagined fears be worse than real ones?

I swipe my tears away roughly with the back of my hand.

“
I'm fine, thanks,” I croak. “Really.
I just had...it was just, just a...”

“
I know.” She releases me and breathes a
slow, shaky breath. “I know.”

“
Did you...manage to take a nap? Did I wake you
with my, you know, crazy screams?”

She smiles. “Nah.”

“
Who...” I begin abruptly. “Who
captured you?”

Hani frowns. “Why? Does it matter?”

I bite my lip to stop myself from blurting out, yes, yes
it does. Somehow, some crazy part of me doesn't want it to be Jaxon.
I don't want to think about his powerful arms around her waist, his
strong hands grabbing her slender wrists and pinning them to her
back, his mouth against her silky black hair gritting out a warning
as he cuffs her. The image is too intimate, too unbearable.

Great, I'm getting paranoid and possessive over my
captor. Just great. I'm crazy, I've completely gone and lost my
mind.

I press a hand to my forehead. Oh good God, why am I
even thinking such things? I shouldn't be thinking of him. I should
hate him. Yeah, I hate him! I do! Totally.

Hani cocks her head at me, studying me intently. When I
don't say anything, she grunts loudly. “You were asking...?”

I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“
Hmm.” She scrunches up her nose and
sniffs. “Honestly though, I can't remember. It happened so
fast. There was the Emperor, and a few soldiers, and they put a gun
to my father's head. All the cakes in the bakery were splattered
with his blood.”

She keeps her eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

“
When I finally stopped screaming, I wasn't in the
bakery anymore. I was in the back of a truck, in a cage. I cried
till I couldn't see, couldn't breathe anymore. And when I could see
again, I was clamped down on a metal table, hooked up to machines and
needles.”

Her expression is stoic as she stares straight ahead,
her dark eyes unblinking.

“
I'm so sorry,” is all I can whisper.

She frowns at me, her eyes hardening.

“
I mean...I'm sorry for waking you.”

“
Oh.” A short, abrupt laugh bursts from
her. “Well, I think it's almost midnight anyway. They've
turned on the light, so that means they'll be coming to get us
anytime now.”

I jerk my head up. I hadn't even noticed the light.

Lingering images from my nightmare continue ghosting
through my mind.

It's almost midnight.

The Midnight Feast.

I shake my head hard but the gory images from my
nightmare refuse to go away. I saw dark red liquid spilling from
those beautiful crystal wine glasses. That was just wine, not blood,
right? Right?

My throat feels too tight and dry. I gulp and turn to
ask Hani something about the Midnight Feast. But before the question
can leave my lips, I hear a click and the mechanical whir of the cell
door.

The steel door slides open to reveal Mam Mallisa flanked
by two Matrons. Mam Mallisa's hair is piled into a different shape
on top of her head, with neon-colored feathers and spikes sticking
out at odd angles. She seems to have applied a fresh coat of makeup
to her face, painting it a riot of shimmering colors. Even her eyes
seemed to have changed colors. They glow green for a moment, then
subtly change to blue and finally to pink. The colors seem to
change with her moods. And from the frequent color changes in her
eyes, it seems her mood is all over the place right now.

“
Everybody out! Quickly, don't drag your feet.
Up, up, up! Come on, it's time!” she announces, snapping her
fingers rapidly. “Out of your cells! Hurry! To the Grooming
Room now. All of you! You have to get dressed for the Midnight
Feast!”

I follow Hani out of our cell and join the cluster of
girls at the foot of the winding stone stairs. Some of the girls are
rubbing their eyes, but as soon as Mam Mallisa stalks up the stairs,
ordering us to make haste, the exhaustion in the girls' eyes is
replaced by a silent dread. We file up the stairs after Mam Mallisa,
with our heads bowed and our arms at our sides. The only sound I
hear is the pattering and shuffling of our bare feet against the
stone steps.

When there is a loud sniffle at the rear of the group,
everyone seems to freeze. This is immediately followed by low
murmurs and whispered warnings. There must be no outward expression
of our terror. A small sob, a frightened whimper, a glimmer of tears
and blood will be spilled.

I saw the blood spilling from the wine glasses to the
floor in an endless torrent in my dream.

Was that just a dream, or a shared consciousness? Did
some of the girls dream the same dream? Was it more than a dream? A
common fear and memory seeping into every cell in the dungeon?

I gasp and mumble an apology when I collide into the
shoulder in front of me. The girl glances at me over her shoulder
and gives me a quick smile. I recognize her. It is the same pretty
blond girl who smiled at me when I first entered the Grooming Room.
Her smile is the same, so sweet yet so sad.

I don't have the chance to ask her her name. We have
reached the Grooming Room, and the bright lights and perfumed scents
beckon us. The Matrons are already standing in position in front of
the platforms, holding out our—costumes.

One by one, the girls step up to the platforms and the
Matrons spring into action. The Matrons undress the girls, and start
wiping them down, like they are just statues or mannequins.

I move to the end of the line where Gwin is waiting.

“
Come, Zoey,” Gwin says once she sees me.
“Step up carefully.”

Gwin unwraps the brown cloth around my chest and hips.
A cool damp towel mops down my arms, legs and torso before a fine
mist of perfume envelops me. My eyes start to water, and I blink
quickly just as a sheer, gossamer shift dress drops over my head.

I look down at what I am wearing. The light blue
material is so sheer, so paper thin that it covers hardly anything at
all. I feel more naked and exposed than ever.

“
Um...is this...isn't there anything to...?”
I stammer, staring down at my naked body through the dress, which
isn't a dress at all. Don't we get any undergarments, or anything
else? Anything not so transparent? Anything to cover me up?

Gwin smooths out some unseen creases on the flimsy
material. “I'll comb your hair now,” she says, her head
still bowed.

I step off the platform and stand rigidly as she runs
the comb through my wavy brown hair. She doesn't look up as she
works. Pain flickers across her scarred face every now and then but
she carries on brushing my hair stoically, silently.

Finally, she steps back and says in a tremulous voice,
“You are ready, Zoey.”

Ready for what? For pain, death, humiliation?

“
Thank you,” I manage in a monotone.

She raises a hand to the corner of her eye and turns
away.

“
Thank you, Gwin,” I swallow and say again.
Should I...hug her goodbye?

I drop my arms to my side. There's no point. If I
pulled her into a farewell hug, it would crumple up this ridiculous
dress and land her into so much trouble.

Mam Mallisa calls out last minute instructions to the
Matrons to smooth down a stray strand of hair, spray more glitter or
perfume here and there, check that our transparent dresses are fitted
nicely—all of them meaningless actions to me. Finally, she
claps her hands loudly. “All right! Let's go, Sirens! Off
you go to the Great Hall!” Exiting the Grooming Room, we
follow her down the short corridor. She flounces to a narrow gray
door in the wall and jabs at the beeping, glowing panel at the side.
The door slides open quietly and she hollers, “Come, now! Move
quickly, everyone! You should be in the Great Hall by now.”

We troop through the door and gather in a bare, circular
space. There is a single lift in front of us. The wide lift door
slides open after a few seconds. I gape at the industrial size
interior. This lift looks like it should be used for transporting
goods and vehicles, not people.

Mam Mallisa herds us into the lift, instructing us to
stand apart from one another so as not to damage our flimsy little
costumes.