Ada stands on the rickety wooden porch, dripping hot blood from her arms and hair. It drips from her eyelashes. It soaks her clothes to the bone. Red footprints trace their way from the basement cellar to the balls of her bare feet. Panting in exhaustion, a cold chill of wrath shivers down her spine. The twisted remains of vengeance lie behind her but not her own. Each of the grey cloaks she encountered on her path meth their demise by her hands. The girls within her cry out for the men’s blood, she delivers it, and she gives them plenty.

But where is Malachai? She drank in each of the men’s tormented faces but the old man that had betrayed her remains elusive. She tilts her head to the side until her neck cracks and takes a step down toward the dying lawn. The essence drained from the wicked greys courses through her veins like hot venom. She is a boulder crashing down a hill, smashing the trees to powder. She is fury unleashed.

“Give us blood.” The voices cry inside her mind like a sorrowful harmony. “Avenge us, sister.” She sees their torments in her inner vision as if it were her own. Ada digs her nails into her palms and clenches her teeth.

She swallows down bile. “I will find them all.” She promises them. “I will give you blood and marrow. Take me to Malachai. Let me have my vengeance.”

She sniffs the air. She can smell his scent hanging in the air. If she were to close her eyes, she swears she could see it like a smoke trail off a lingering cigarette. Her stomach churns at the smell of him. Her lips curl with hatred and disgust.

She follows the scent into the trees. It is dark. The lights are out on the garden level, simulating night. The plants are resting. The bird's songs are absent, unable to heal her ravaged heart. She is alone in the darkness and silence. Only the rustling leaves and the hateful screams in her mind offer her comfort.

She wants to drag her claws through the bark of the trees, to break something, to kill something. She wants to cry. She is free, she is safe now, but the voices cry out, “You are not.” She shakes her head to banish the dizzying visions they cast upon her. Lashes with glass-tipped whips, insatiable hunger, and thirst. The smell of rotting flesh and their own blood. “They are more alive.” The voices demand. “We are not safe.”

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Ada streaks through Darkwood Farms like a wraith following the scent of her captor. She crosses a wooden bridge and enters Halven Gardens, where the scent of lilies and sunflowers intermingle with the scent of Malachia. She falters for a moment but finds him amidst the competing aromas. It is choked out, but his scent is a stomach-churning sweet lotion and oils.

Closing her eyes, she envisions his yellowing fingernails and rancid teeth. She can feel his bristle-covered cheeks against hers. She can see the lust in his grey eyes. She swipes out and smashes a swath of flowers in the darkness. Tears wash away fresh blood from her cheeks. She screams a violent, blood-curdling scream.

Then she finds the wall of the garden and she traces the stone with her fingers, dragging her nails along its jagged surface. His scent follows the wall all the way to the silver doors. An elevator her fractured mind offers up. She knows these doors. She has seen them before. They are similar to the doors of her own garden.

Tears threaten to fall from her eyes again. She remembers the wonder of her garden for a fleeting moment. She leans on the doors and pants for a moment to collect herself. That was a lifetime ago. Her gardens are gone. There is only forward now.

She presses the button and the elevator dings. The doors slide open revealing an overpowering scent of Malachai. He was here. How long ago? Hours, some part of her primal mind offers up.

She steps onto the elevator and looks at the card swipe. Her hand reaches for the badge that hangs from her neck. It freezes there. The badge is gone. Her knees buckle at the realization. She is threadbare. Just tatters of her dress remain. The badge is no longer at her neck. She can’t get to him. He is protected from her somewhere up on the surface.

She collapses back onto the floor of the elevator. Exhaustion presses down on her like a mountain. She sobs aloud and the women from the tree sob inside her mind. The spirit of the tree stretches out from her seeking a way. Then her eyes fall on the door on the ceiling of the elevator car.

She holds her breath for a moment and blinks away the tears. The emergency escape door is at the top of the elevator car. That is what the tree reaches for. Her heart hammers with renewed zeal. She climbs to her feet and jumps swatting the door upward and out of the way, then stares up at the dark tunnel overhead. Cables stretch up from the top of the car and vanish in the darkness far above.

Grim determination pours into her flesh. His scent is up there somewhere. She can find him. She will find him. She smiles and then lets out a deep triumphant laugh.