I wake up handcuffed to a small bed. The first part of that sentence is more shocking to me than the second part. Although the second part should probably bother me more than it does. I have no energy to care. I can’t move my body or even lift my head. My eyes don’t want to stay open. I can’t move.

But I’m alive. How am I alive?

“Finally awake, are you?”

I don’t have to open my eyes to know who it is. I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Spencer.” My voice drips venom.

Why is he here? What does he want? Where is here? Where am I? My panic makes me tug at my restraints and both my wrists and ankles immediately hurt where the metal pushes against the flesh. Like I’ve been doing this for a while and now they’re sore.

I was struggling in my sleep? Why?

“Lord Spencer. Or sir.” His voice is dull, monotone. Like he’s bored. Like he’s done this before. “Considering where you are, I would start minding your manners.”

“I’m never calling you that. I won’t call any of you by titles you haven’t earned from me.” No way in hell. “And I haven’t any manners to mind, sorry.”

“What if we made a deal?”

A deal with the devil. Right. That’s never a good idea in movies.

“This isn’t the movies. How about I tell everyone here to call you Kara. Not Miss Lowe, Miss Kara, or Kara Rosemary Lowe, just Kara. How you like it. And in exchange, you call people what they would like to be called.”

“Get out of my head, Spencer! You fucking parasite!”

I struggle again but it hurts, and I stifle a whine. How can he talk so casually when I’ve obviously been tortured or something?

“No one has been tortured, Miss Lowe. Everything that’s happened since you left the hospital has been your own doing.”

I cringe at the name he uses. I really don’t want people calling me that all the time. Maybe calling him Lord won’t be so bad. It’s not like I’d be meaning it. That would be asking too much.

“Yes, that’s fine. I wouldn’t expect that much from you anyhow.”

“I told you to get out of my head! Or there’s no deal. And the name I call you going forward will be much worse than just ‘Spencer.’ Since you monsters like invading me and my mom’s personal space so much, I’m sure you’re well aware of how bad or embarring those names could be.”

“I’m surprised you even have the energy to be this hostile.” His tone doesn’t betray any shock or any emotion. “But I accept your terms.”

Suddenly I realize that may have been a bad move. Up until now he’s been open about reading my thoughts by simply adding them to the conversation. He could easily continue listening and just not inform me that he’s doing so. But I decide it doesn’t really matter. Either way, I still know what he’s doing. At least now he might talk less. I’ll just try to be careful of what I’m thinking about.

“I thought you might feel that way. I’ll have you know I’m a man of my word. Up until now, I thought it prudent to monitor you, but I’ve personally had no direct orders to do so. If you agree, then I won’t monitor you going forward, unless ordered to. I’ll even throw in a bonus, and I’ll inform you if I ever receive such orders. Would that work for you?”

“You’ll lose your ability to violate my mind just so I’ll call you Lord or Sir? A bit narcissistic, don’t you think?”

“This isn’t about me. This is about you.”

“More fucking riddles.” I am so sick of these half answers.

“There are people you are going to meet, either soon or down the road, who will be a lot less forgiving than me, if addressed incorrectly. This is a benefit to us both, and I don’t feel I’m losing much in the deal. Contrary to what you might believe, your thoughts are not all that interesting.”

Ouch.

“So I ask again, do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, sir.” I try not to sound too sarcastic but that’s nearly impossible. I don’t have the energy to do anything.

“Then we have a deal. Oh, and need I remind you, during our first meeting I informed you that you and your mother’s memories weren’t fiddled around with by us.”

“I know what you said.”

“Then-”

“I will never believe anything that comes out of a monster’s mouth ever again.”

“You’ll need to stop using terms like that as well-”

“Stuff it, leech.”

He sighs lightly. “Kara, going forward your life is going to go only one of two ways. It will either be difficult or extremely difficult. Which one will be influenced by your own actions. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yup.”

“Good. Then-”

“You’re saying it’ll be difficult either way. So who cares? You thought that would work? You freaks are dumber than I thought.”

There is a pregnant pause, before he mumbles something about disliking children.

“I’m sure most children dislike you, too. They can sense evil, you know. That’s what they say. Hell, even your own brat is terrified of you.”

“As he should be.”

He smiles then, but it’s an incredibly sinister smile. Because it’s not a smile. Spencer doesn’t smile or show genuine emotion. The emotions he does show are on purpose, always for a purpose. I’ve given and received fake smiles, and this isn’t that. This is an animal baring its fangs. This is a warning.

“I’m going to give you a shot now. It’ll give you a boost.”

“Wait, what? No you’re not, no way, you can’t just- Ow!” Motherfucker- That asshole. “I did not consent to that. Not at all.”

But I can feel it working already. It makes me uneasy as I feel the energy surging through my veins. It reminds me of when I was dying in the alley, except instead of feeling blood burning as it poured out, I’m feeling something burning as it pours in. I have to admit it’s much nicer this way around.

“What did you give me?”

“It won’t hurt you, not in this dose.”

Not exactly the point of that question but arguing with this man has proven pointless.

“Am I going to be stuck chained to this bed for the rest of my life? Is this a hobby of yours? Tying underage girls to bedposts?” Now that I’m reinvigorated, I’m not as interested in lying here. “And are you going to tell me where I am?”

“That depends. Have you calmed down?”

“Yes, sir.”

I remember the train platform and feel a twinge of guilt. I hurt some people. But at the same time, I feel anger. It’s quickly becoming an old friend. I wouldn’t have hurt those people if I hadn’t been there, or if I hadn’t felt the need to defend my life. It’s all their fault.

I sense His Lordship’s presence being much closer than before and then ice on my left ankle. In reflex I kick back and make contact with a solid surface. Suddenly his presence is father away again. His touch is just like Ringleson’s. No, it’s not quite that bad. But still much, much colder than it should be. Is that because he’s a vampire? Are they really dead beings like in the stories?

“If you’re going to freak out, I’m afraid we’ll need to wait a while.”

“No. I should be fine. You just remind me of the Ice Doctor.”

“Ice doctor? …Ah, I see.”

He removes all the cuffs and I sit up on the bed. Dark red and deep purple rings wrap around both wrists and both ankles. My skin is paler too, in general. What happened to me?

“You went through the Second Phase earlier than we’d have liked. Brought on, no doubt, by acute stress. And before you accuse me, no, I’m not reading your mind I’m reading your face.”

“I see someone’s loose lipped all of a sudden.”

He’s wearing a different suit than he was wearing in the dreamworld, but it’s still grey. The red tie is the same. Though now that I look at it more closely it’s more of a maroon. Same shade as those monk’s robes almost. Is he part of the council then? Or is the colour a coincidence?

“We believed overloading you with information, some of which you would undoubtedly dislike, while you were still in recovery might bring on the same stress that occurred despite our efforts.”

“Not despite of, because of. You dolts. Don’t you dare pin this on me. You completely brain-dead fucks actually believed that withholding information from a girl who’s been investigating your freak society for two years was the right call? You thought that would be less stressful?”

“Yes.” He deadpans.

“Your government is a garbage, low budget circus. You all belong in an asylum. Not me.”

“We understand there was a confusion which led to your untimely flight from Sanctuary. Lord Owens told us you seemed to think he was attempting to kill you, along with other misunderstandings.”

“You mean Detective Owens?”

“Yes. I suppose, unlike the rest of us, he would prefer that title to that of Lord.”

“You claim calling people by their preferred names and titles is important. I suppose it’s only important if you agree with it, though.”

“I believe in calling everything by its proper name. For you, I am making an exception. I will not do so for others.”

“You must be great at parties.”

He’s very tall, but not as tall as the detective. No one’s that tall outside professional basketball. I didn’t notice that so much during my dream, but he’s probably close to 7 feet. That combined with his disgustingly posh attitude and posture makes him seem even bigger than he is.

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He’s peering down at me like I’m an ant. I hate this guy.

“Do you wish to trade barbs, or information?”

“Difficult choice, really. But no. I could never in good conscience engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed person.” I put on a fake air of sophistication.

He generously rolls his eyes. “Please be serious, this is no joking matter.”

“Well, you’ve been treating me like a joke since I died and messed up your perfect little freak society somehow, so pardon me if I happen to add my own punchline or two.”

Anger fills me again, but I have better control of it. But right now seems like a good time to air my grievances. I might not get another shot.

I stand and it hurts. Everything hurts. But mostly my ankles. They don’t appreciate the weight I’m putting on them.

“Contrary to what you elitist bastards might think, everything that’s happened to me this past week, the past month, no, the past two years, has been your fault. The fault of you, your son, your son’s pet puppy, your idiot detective, the fake friends you sent as spies, and everyone else who’s been messing with me since I got to this dump, but not mine. I’ve simply been caught in the crossfire of all your bad choices.”

I shove my finger in his face then cross my arms.

“You talk like you think you’re such a smart guy, but the choices you’ve all made have all been beyond stupid. Especially the one about keeping me in the dark and thinking that would help my anxiety. Have any of you ever met a Normal human? Because that’s what I was raised as, and that’s how I’ll react. I don’t have the fucked up common sense of you circus freaks.”

His mouth twitches into a brief snarl at my words. I know I might be pushing it, but I don’t care. I’m getting this out there before they try to silence and wall me off again.

“You wouldn’t tell me anything, and what you did say, scared the shit out of me. After Ringleson attacked me, you know what that stupid, giant, oaf said to me? The attack was premature. As in early. Not unwarranted, not a horrible act that would never be repeated or condoned, but early. When I asked him if he would be the one to kill me when the time came, he didn’t say yes but he didn’t say no either. Everyone knows what that implies. Well, everyone with a brain that is. In case you didn’t know, Normal humans have brains. You might view them as inferior to yours but they’re there.”

“In hindsight, considering your… human-like sensibilities, we could have handled this-”

“Much better. Fuck off with that diplomatic language. You still think you can fool me with it? You can’t. You could have handled this much better. Now shut up, I’m not finished.”

He gives me a curt nod. Not that I needed one, I’m not stopping now.

“I was classified as Undesirable. You know what that means, smart one? It means not wanted. And in Victor’s notes I saw that my unwanted status had been confirmed. Then in the garden I saw the detective talking to two weird ass looking monks, and while I couldn’t understand everything, I did clearly hear them say ‘the decision is made’ and ‘she can’t be allowed to run amok’ and ‘no leniency.’ Now, what do think a person with a brain would think if they added all these events together?”

“Yes, this got away from us.”

“No, no, no. You don’t get to write this off. I won’t stand for any more gaslighting. You’re not sweeping this under some fancy Persian rug. I want to hear you tell me what this Council group of complete imbeciles thought would happen in this situation.”

I’m in his face now. I need to strain my neck to look him in the eyes this close, and I feel an uncomfortable tug on my neck wound which has only begun to scar over. I don’t care. This bastard owes me. They all owe me an explanation.

“Come on, tell me. What was this brilliant plan of yours that went so horribly wrong at that train station?”

“There’s no explanation or excuse. We handled this carelessly and people got hurt. We do apologize.”

“That’s it? Some people got hurt, oops, let’s move on?”

“If you’re concerned about retaliation or compensation seekers, I assure you that-”

“I’m not concerned about that.”

“Good. Now-”

“If they want to retaliate or seek compensation, they’d have to go to you, anyway. I was only there because of your complete and utter failure in basic competency.”

His blink lasts a little too long, but other than that he betrays nothing. As usual.

“Right. Well. Now that this bit of business is done with, should we go?”

Inside I’m still reeling from the influx of information. “Go where?”

“Look outside. Where do you think you are?”

I trudge over to the large window and gasp. High. We are really high. We’re in the Ivory Tower, as I’ve called it. I never did find out its real name. But it’s that impossibly tall, white tower at the center of Center Town, the one that’s ‘supposedly’ a hotel.

I can tell from both the height and the fact that all the main roads I can see from here converge at the base of this place. There’s the government building, or Palace really, across the street. I can see a long, long way. We must be on the top floor, or close. I can even see the tops of some of the mountains.

Something else I notice is the patterning on the wall. It’s the same odd stucco siding as the walls in Limbo. The walls are all white too, but somehow not as pure at is it was there. Is Limbo connected to this tower?

“Our kind does all sorts of business here.”

“Including the imprisonment of underage girls? Or is that just your own personal hobby?”

“You were never imprisoned. You were restrained to prevent you from hurting yourself, or anyone else, while you went through the Second Transition. You should be thankful we sedated you for it, not everyone is so lucky.”

Looking at my bruises I suppose he might be right about that, but I’ll never show any gratitude to these people. However much they give me will never replace what was taken.

“How many Transitions are there?”

“There is no answer to that. Now don’t look like that, it’s because all species are different. There are even variations within species. Especially in your case, it’s just not possible to know at this point.”

Che. Whatever. It’s not like I’ll believe anything you say, anyway. I’ve already resolved myself. I’ll only believe what I determine as true on my own. Everything they say will be served with a large side of salt. Like Granny’s infamous spaghetti level side of salt.

“Come along now. Our business is not here, all politics are dealt with in their proper place.” He points outside to the government building I’d been eyeing. “The Queen has called for a State Meeting of the House of Lords. It’s rude to keep people waiting.”

“It’s also rude to kill people, but I guess that’s not as high on the list, huh?”

He ignores my comment and motions towards the door. “Your escort is outside.”

“You’re not taking me?”

“Heavens no, that would be inappropriate.”

“Then who is taking me?”

He taps his watch and again motions me towards the door. Fine, impatient git. Guess I’ll find out soon enough. I grab my coat and leave with a parting glare.

I step outside and it becomes obvious who His Lordship meant, and why he might not have wanted to tell me himself.

The giant terror is leaning against the wall right beside the door, arms folded. He’s paler than I remember and has a bunch of bandages all over, some even on his face. Guess I did a number on him.

When he sees me, he straightens up quickly. “There you are, lass. Feelin’ better?”

“Fuck no. Not happening.” I rush back inside my temporary prison cell but somehow the vampire has vanished. I didn’t know they could actually do that. “Are you kidding me?”

Was there a puff of smoke, or did he turn into a bat? I really wanna know.

“Yeah, he does that.”

I jump and back away. He’s way too close. The detective looks concerned.

“Lord Spencer told you I never meant to hurt you. Ye don’t need to be afraid.”

“Oh, so you were eavesdropping.”

“I was doin’ my job.”

Great, he heard everything. “Were you doing your job when you left me struggling in the dark for a whole damn week?”

The rest of his face has an apologetic look on it, but his eyes are hard and bitter, same as always. “Yes, I was.”

I let out an annoyed laugh.

“It was never anyone’s intention to-”

“No. Stop. Don’t talk to me.” I wave my hands like I could wash away his words. “I don’t want to hear it. Any of it. Let’s just go.”

“Kara-”

“I said shut up!” I don’t why I’m so weak despite the miracle juice in my veins. I feel like I might cry again. “One fucking sentence, Owens. One bloody word from you and everything would have been fine. I would have been fine. One goddamn answer.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks it, for the most part. But like so many of these creatures the emotion doesn’t reach his eyes. I find no apology there.

“You guys keep saying now, after the fact, that I was never in danger and I misunderstood. But I asked you point blank if you were going to kill me, and you didn’t say no. That means, the truth is that at that point you people didn’t know. Otherwise, your slave master would have allowed you to say no. But you didn’t say no, which means back then there was a possibility you might kill me. You guys can try and cover your asses all you like, but you aren’t dealing with a kindergartener. I’m the one dealing with kindergarteners. You monsters don’t intend to kill me anymore, or so you say. Cool beans. But there was a point in time that murdering me was on the table. Which means I will never trust any of you. Ever. That kind of trust is irretrievable.”

“What ye say makes sense, I won’t refute that. But in time I hope you’ll understand we were under a lot of pressure as well. Things aren’t always so black and white. For your own best interest, it would be safest to learn to trust us, at least a little. Everyone needs allies.”

“I don’t care about your circumstances. If you’re going to value orders over people, then we can pretend yours haven’t changed. If you want to be all tight lipped and mysterious then that’s what you can continue to be. You can take me where I need to go, and only speak when spoken to. Or I can find my own way there. It’s a fucking palace across the street, I think I can manage.”

I shove my way past him since he’s blocking the entire doorway. He leans away from my shove, which is probably the only reason I don’t break my shoulder. He’s like a freaking brick wall. In more ways than one.

“Oh, right.” I turn back briefly. “And you don’t need to worry. If I need allies in the future, you would never be considered anyway. Don’t pretend to care. It disgusts me.”

I storm down the surprisingly long hallway with no other visible doors for some reason until I reach the elevator. It’s a fancy one that looks more like a white entrance to a tomb than what it is.

Seriously, there are a bunch of rune-like symbols along the pillar-like sides of it, and gold plating around the doors. Strangely, instead of a simple up or down button the buttons for all the floors are outside of it, on a large elaborate panel.

The buttons are all touch, not press, with what might be actual diamonds above each number. And there are a lot of numbers. Up to 75. Funnily enough there’s one for floor 13. Every other tall structure I’ve been in always skipped that one. Still, seventy-five floors. I knew this tower was tall, but damn.

I move away and grip my coat tightly when the detective presses the button for floor ten.

“I thought we had to go outside to get to the government building? Why ten?”

“Floor ten is the main level.”

Wow, so there’s nine basement levels? That’s not creepy or suspicious at all.

Even though I like getting answers I don’t like talking to him. It’s too bad because our conversations were always kind of fun, but always dampened by his refusal to give any of the answers he’s just fine giving now.

Spencer called him a Lord but he’s more like a Lackey.

The inside of the elevator is solid brass. So shiny I can’t help but stare. There’s a silver flat rail all along it at a height more comfortable for me than would be for Owens. He almost touches the ceiling, in case you wondered. He also takes up half the space width wise despite this being the largest elevator I’ve ever been in. Besides us, all that’s inside the elevator is a yellow emergency button. Kind of a weird set up.

I go to the back-left side, the furthest spot from him, and lean against the railing. I wonder what’s going to happen at the meeting? And who will I meet there? I suppose the big ‘misunderstanding’ was that Detective Idiot had been sent to bring me there, whether I want to go or not, and not to kill me.

But then what was that about mercy? No matter how I look at it, it didn’t sound as simple as just this. The only thing the giant idiot told me in the hospital was that this Council would answer my questions. Is the Council the same as the House of Lords? If not, why am I meeting them first and not the Council? And why does a city have a House of Lords anyway?

Oh, I guess because this is the Capitol for the Shifter Region of Canada. Never mind.

And did Spencer say the Queen called them to gather? The one from England? Or someone else?

The giant coughs. “When we get there-”

“Did I ask you a question? I said no talking.” I snap at him.

“And it’ll be as you ask, once we leave this elevator.”

I sigh in annoyance. “Very well, Lord Owens, what precious information did you suddenly feel like sharing with the class?”

If anything I say against him has an affect, he doesn’t let it show.

“I understand your frustrations with me, but for your own benefit when we’re in public you should treat me with respect. Fake or not.”

Fine. “Oh, it’ll be fake.” I scoff.

“Also, I prefer Detective Owens. Or just my first name.”

Like me then. Too bad. “Yeah, that’s what His Lordship said. But I don’t remember your first name.” I admit it. I’ve honestly forgotten.

“I gave it to you when we first met.”

“I’ve just been calling you Detective Idiot in my head.”

I wish I could see his face. His tone of voice doesn’t express any concern, but I wonder if his face would. Even by my own standards I’m laying on my dislike for him pretty thick.

“It’s Michael.”

Really? Like the archangel? “Bit of a misnomer.”

“You think so?” His voice is casual, but I catch a hint of something. Like some of his expressions, I can’t place what it is.

“Yeah. Thought that angel was a protector. Doesn’t really fit.”

He doesn’t have a response, or if he does, he doesn’t share it, and the last few floors are quiet. We finally reach the bottom and exit to a busy lobby. Every single person we pass or who notices us freezes and stares at ‘Michael.’

They feel it too, the fear. It’s not just me. I try not to look too shocked and follow him out. I see a couple people get over the detective’s effect on them and stare at me, and then there’s another new look of fear on their face. Huh, why am I so terrifying? Oh, do they know his bandages are my fault? Cause that would make sense.

I wish I knew what this man was, but no matter what I refuse to accept he’s not at least a quarter giant.

He holds a door open for me, but I intentionally open the one beside it and step outside. We just have to cross a quiet street and we’ll be on government grounds. Michael picks up the pace now that we’re not in a cramped, for him anyway, building, or surrounded by people.

I’m more interested in our surroundings since I’ve never properly explored Center Town, because it’s always given me the creeps. It still does, but not as bad. Everything is quiet and calm, and neat and tidy. A perfect mask for the obvious chaos underneath. It’s all so fake.

“Don’t fall behind.”

“Don’t order me around.” But I hurry after him. I’m keen to get to this meeting.

We pass through the governmental gardens first. A well manicured mini oasis littered with pathways and rosebushes and larger bushes trimmed to look like various animals. I’m taking it all in when Michael stops and I almost bump into him.

“Don’t react.”

To what?

I step around him and I see what.

Fuck.

It’s Clifford the Big Red Dog.