Rhian

I’d avoided Strauss and Michael as much as I could leading up to The Plan That Was Better Than the Other Plan.

They’d both know I was up to something, and if they figured it out, they’d have tried to stop me. They’d have come up with good reasons, and I’d have argued their good reasons with my good reasons. It would have gone nowhere slow and I was in a hurry.

When I got to the church that night, the barricades and boards on the door had already been taken down. No big surprise. I knew Strauss planned on stopping by earlier, but I was surprised he left the door unlocked, and when I stepped inside, it seemed someone had misplaced their blood all over the floor.

I reckoned I’d do a quick sweep of the place.

The corridor was clear, the mortuary was clear, the office was clear, everywhere was clear, and Strauss’s room hadn’t changed apart from a toppled chair and an arse print on the bed. Struck me funny. Strauss would never leave a toppled chair and an arse print on the bed.

If something happened to him, he was probably bait and I was already baited.

The stakes were risen, no time to panic.

I left the room and headed for the hole in the wall leading to the crypts.

“Not as bright as I thought,” said a voice. “Going down there alone.”

I might have been planning a trip into the crypts by myself, but alone? Bugger that. I spun around to face a mess of a man with matted blonde hair held back with a strip of leather. He must have been hiding out someplace. Or he’d just walked in. Or he was one of Those Things coming out of nowhere again. (He wasn’t.)

The man was a Partisan, and a Strachan. This explained the excellent sneaking.

He smelled of Hocks and something else I couldn’t place.

“Who the hell are you to say how bright I’m not?”

“Someone who knows a lot better than you do, lass.”

“Right-e-o,” I said. “Nice meeting you and so on. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna carry on doing what I was doing without making anymore goddess-be-damned noise.”

The old man didn’t stop me. The pain in the arse followed me to the hole in the wall instead.

“You sure about your equipment?” he asked.

I looked down, checking to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my trousers or whatnot, but the man was questioning my choice in arms. He carried a crossbow a lot like Gus’s—one-handed and decent in short range. I had daggers, a lantern, a satchel, and a couple of pouches. I was four-fifths the way sure, so I said as much.

“Your funeral.” Random Man #2 shrugged. “The fuck did Rick teach you lot?”

“Who the hell’s Rick?” I asked, and why was that name ringing bells?

“Emerich.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, the man didn’t teach me anything, but to be fair, I was away. How is good old Rick these days, anyhow?”

Random Man #2 stared a while. “Dead.”

“All right.” I nodded. “Wasn’t sure if you knew.”

Clearly the man had a staring problem.

He spit a wad of brown filth to the side. Tobacco I reckoned. “Clock’s ticking, lass.”

The first chamber through the hole in the wall was the same as we’d left it. The four caskets were still there, and the one I’d opened was still empty. The rest of the place was a goddess-be-damned maze apparently. All the rooms looked about the same, except the names on the plaques on the walls I couldn’t read. Lucky for us, we didn’t run into any of Those Things along the way. We didn’t talk, neither. Even if I’d known straightaway who Random Man #2 was, it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. We were both stubborn like that.

So, the crypts were dull. I knew what I was looking for, but after about ten minutes searching, I started thinking about dying. Of boredom. Or dehydration. Whatever. It wasn’t pretty in my imagination. While we walked through the catacombs, I compared the names on the plaques with the names written on a scrap of parchment.

“What, can’t read?” Random Man #2 asked.

I shook my head. He turned and spit.

And that’s when I saw it. STSIN6 on the back of his neck in blood-red ink.

ST for Stracha. SE for Seneca. A for Amalia. Reckon you’ve got the rest covered. The next part’s a bit trickier, mind you. SIN might have stood for Singer all the same as it might have stood for Sinclair. When Palisade was brand new, this wasn’t so much a problem. There weren’t all that many bloodlines anyhow. By the time it became a bit of a problem, it wasn’t enough of a problem to change a system already working fine.

The generation number at the end usually helped in avoiding mix-ups.

As it turned out, Random Man #2 was my Random Father. Any other person in my position might have been curious, happy, or confused or some such sensible thing. But I was annoyed. Who in the hells did Rhydian Sinclair think he was, coming around now, arrogant and free as a bare-naked willy? Of all the ways I’d imagined I’d find my father, lost in a crypt armed and ready to take down a four-hundred-year-old sixteen-year-old lass wasn’t one of them. It was horseshite, and I wasn’t in the mood for thinking about feelings.

Besides, we’d finally found it. Four drawers lined up like dead ducks in a row.

The Ruzas—Lidia, her parents, and baby Victoria. I felt sorry for Alexander being left out of the family plot, but I felt a lot sorrier for his parents being buried with their killer.

Lidia’s drawer wasn’t caked with dust around the edges like the rest, so I knew I was on the right track. I reached for the handle.

Then, like a crazed maniac out of nowhere, Random Father lunged at me.

I ducked, spun, and kicked him in the gut.

“The hell is your damage?” I asked.

The man smiled a smile a lot like mine. “Just checking your reflexes, lass.”

“Arsehole,” I said.

And then I wondered what my mother was like.

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After opening Lidia’s drawer, we slithered through the passage only to come out the other side through a portrait of Alexander hung on the wall like a door. Inside, the Crazy Bitch’s bedroom looked the same as it had when she was alive. There was a bed, four-post and pretty. Looked comfortable. (It was.) And then there was the cabinet full of dresses, and the butter-yellow drapes on the wall where there wasn’t even a window.

The room had an opening at the opposite end, leading to a corridor.

So, when I said I had a plan, I might have been exaggerating a lot. The crew had their roles. I had a goal. I had variables. I had odds. Adjust as necessary. Oskari needed Michael and Strauss, and any number of my dodgiest scenarios were better than putting those two out to slaughter.

‘Course, any number of my dodgiest scenarios hadn’t counted on Random Father showing up out of nowhere.

“Get in the cupboard,” I said. “No—wait, give me some of that shite you’re chewing on.”

Random Father didn’t get in the cupboard. He didn’t give me any of the shite he’d been chewing on, neither.

“Look,” I said. “We're better off with her thinking I’m alone.”

“Reckon a bit of tobacco’s enough to stop the bitch sniffing out the man in the closet? You’re dreaming, lass.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged. “If she calls us out, we’ll dance a merry jig and move on. At least we’d be one man up. Get in the cupboard.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The tobacco tasted terrible, but it gave me a bit of a rush.

The truth is, I had my own reasons for stuffing the old man away. I didn’t figure Random Father was the sort to come clean while squatting in a cupboard. There’d be no talking about feelings, or fathers, or anything else reminding me there were still things I hadn’t done. Things I’d never know and whatnot. All my life, it’d always been about the minute. To the six hells with a future that didn’t exist. I couldn’t stop to think about the baby who I still wasn’t convinced was a good idea. Or about Feargus who I still wasn’t convinced was dead. Or about The Place. Or about Strauss being hurt, or the fact he’d probably met my father afore I did.

I had a mission to accomplish, and Lidia Ruza was my top priority.

At the minute.

Time passed, and once I got bored of standing around, I jumped on the bed for a while. Boing, boing, boing to my wee heart’s content. I stopped when the portrait of Alexander swung wide open. The Crazy Bitch had on a blue dress. It would have been pretty if it weren’t singed. Or missing buttons. Or all torn up at the hem.

“Amalia’s ass, Rhian,” she said. “That girl is really annoying.”

Adeline. Even though we expected it might happen, I wondered where and when they’d run into each other. At least she hadn’t said, “Was.”

I hopped to the ground. “By the by, have you seen Strauss?”

The Crazy Bitch shrugged. “Last I saw, he was curled up in a heap bleeding to death.”

If that were true, I wondered where he’d gone half-dead and bleeding from wherever. He might have gone back to The House. He might have been with Michael, and That Varis, and my Crazy Bitch decoy. Then I realized there would have been tracks leading out of the church. Why weren’t there any tracks? Then again, I reckoned I’d have heard about it if he’d been found dead in the middle of the village or what have you.

That was mostly comforting.

Lidia sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her.

“Eh, what the hell,” I said. And then I sat.

“Thanks.” The Crazy Bitch smiled, and it was more sad than it was crazy. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had visitors.”

Even after everything she’d done, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for a second. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—about the violence.”

“And?”

“And I think you might be right," I said. "Ivan’s death was on me, and you didn’t actually kill most of the villagers, and—”

“Well, technically I did, but only temporarily. Not the way you do it, right? Besides, they were already dying. I like to think I saved them.”

“From what?” I asked. “Were they sick?”

“No, I never said they were sick. I said they were dying. You’re all dying, Rhian.”

I couldn’t argue with that without opening a bag of worms.

Besides, arguing wasn’t my angle.

“Fair enough,” I said.

The Crazy Bitch looked to the ceiling and smiled. “I knew you’d come around. We really do have so much in common.”

I shouldn’t have been stalling for so long. But there I was, still stalling.

“So, erm—your cavern. It’s cozy. Ever thought about plants? Liven the place up some?”

“Is that a joke? If so, I don’t like it.”

“What? No,” I said. “I reckon a splash of green in the corner could do wonders.”

The Crazy Bitch frowned. “I tried keeping plants once but like everything else, they wither and die. I couldn’t do anything to save them.”

That was interesting. I couldn’t remember seeing any plants in Alexander’s house, either.

Alexander—where the hell was he? He was supposed to be following.

Lidia sighed. “I’m so bored.”

“I mean, I know I haven’t won any trophies in conversating, but—”

“I’ve changed my mind, Rhian. You need to leave.”

“But I thought we were having a girls night?”

“No. You need to leave. Leave me alone, and I’ll leave you and your friends alone.”

“You’ve already gone after my friends,” I said.

“And whose fault is that? I’ve been nothing but honest with you this whole time, or do I need to draw you another map? You think you have it all figured out, but my brother is using you. He’s going to take you, and hold you hostage in that big house of his. He’ll make sure nothing happens to you or that baby in your belly. And then your friends will look for you, because they love you, and then I’ll be forced to kill them because I love him. But for some reason, you’re still here! Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”

Cursed to repeat. Alexander had it all, and then he’d lost it all. Somehow along the way, I might have become the lass that needed rescuing from the big, bad world. Knowing that, I still believed Alexander was on my side until his Crazy Bitch sister was out of the picture. He couldn't lose anything if she wasn’t there to take it.

At least, I sincerely bloody hoped.

“I thought it would be different this time,” Lidia said. “If I stopped him from getting what he needs, then I couldn’t take it from him. As I said, I don’t want to hurt you, Rhian. I like you.”

The portrait-door squeaked open, and straight out of Alexander came Alexander. He’d taken his sweet time showing up, but I reckoned he was just in time. And in other news, Random Father was doing a fine job hiding in the cupboard. The age old Strachan art of.

“Bragging about me again, Lidia?” he asked. His voice didn’t give away much, but the look on his face sure as shite did. Stepping into his Crazy Bitch sister’s room must have felt a lot like stumbling back in time.

For about three seconds, it seemed Lidia couldn’t work out how best to respond. First she seemed confused, and then she seemed uncertain. After that she frowned, and then she sniffed, and then I reckon she decided she didn’t care how her brother knew where to find her.

“I’m annoyed. I’d like you to fix it, Alex.”

“What has you so bothered, my dear?”

“It’s her.” Lidia pointed at her. Me. Whatever.

Alexander smiled. “Hello, Rhian.”

“Hello.”

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” he said. “I believe I have a solution to suit us all. Are we interested?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged.

“Maybe.” Lidia shrugged.

“We could be a family again,” Alexander said. “Me, you, and the baby. We’ll leave Oskari and start new someplace else.”

The Crazy Bitch squinted. “What about her?”

“Once the baby is born, Rhian will be free to go wherever she pleases. She has no interest in being a mother, isn’t that right?”

“On the nose,” I said. The truth is, I wasn't sure how I felt about it. Once this was all over, I'd give it a think.

Also, I wondered how Random Father felt about randomly finding out he was going to be a Random Grandfather.

“The child will be born blessed, Lidia. Just like your Victoria. Only, he or she will be more powerful than she ever would have been. He or she will be strong, fast, devastating, and so very beautiful. He or she will be—”

“Like us?” Lidia asked hopefully.

Alexander nodded. “The child will be the one to end our curse.”

Things got uncomfortable fast when Lidia stood from the bed and took Alexander’s hands as if he were the lover she’d loved her whole stupid long life. The pair ogled one another, all smiles and whatnot. It was odd, but it was perfect.

I felt it bubbling in my gut, building in my tricky feet. Anxiety. Anticipation. The shite I lived for. Lidia turned from Alexander and looked to me.

“And you’re okay with this?”

“Aye,” I said. “I just want my life back.”

“You see?” Alexander said. “A solution to suit us all.”

Lidia turned from me and faced her brother again, wrapping her arms tight around his waist while I waited. One. Two. I whipped out my pistol—preloaded. Three, four, five. I took aim. Six, seven. Target acquired. Eight. Nine. Ten—

Bang!

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It was hell.

The one where everything’s quiet except a high-pitched ringing.

Adeline warned me. She told me I should have used wax, but stuffing my ears with wax seemed counterproductive. I hadn’t properly conceived how loud the goddess-be-damned fire-weapon would be in a tiny, underground cavern. The truth is, I’ve never fully recovered from that. But as bad as it was for me, it was worse for Lidia. I was glad I couldn’t hear the screams. It was enough I had to see it. The silver bullet lodged somewhere in her ribcage, eating away at her insides.

Life was peachy, and it was drawn out and dramatic until the portrait of Alexander swung open again.

It was Michael. Winded and half-naked, but it was Michael.

Also, it was the worst possible thing that could have happened.

“Garble, garble, something quite bloody angry!” he said.

“Get the hell out of here,” I shouted. “Please.”

He’d have to know I meant business if I was being polite.

But he didn’t leave, and Alexander was still clutching his wailing sister when Michael swooped in with Intrepi-what-the-bloody-ever.

I kid you not, Commander, Sir, Michael, Sir was raging. He grabbed Lidia by the hair and tossed her to the ground.

That was about the same time the first explosion went off.

BOOM #1!

“Something—Helena—something, something—crazy bitch,” he said.

One downward swing and it was off with her head.

And that was about the same time everything went to shite.

BOOM #2!

The cupboard was swinging on its hinges. Random Father was gone, and Alexander had been speared through the back with a bolt. Bloody, bloody hells.

BOOM #3!

That Varis slid through the portrait-door, snatched Michael, and off she went down the corridor like a Strachan out of hell. Everything was happening too damned early and too damned late at the same time. I had about thirty seconds.

Alexander. I reckoned I could save him. I reached for the bolt in his back, but he grabbed my wrist. His grip was weak. “The estate—something, something—”

BOOM #4!

“—needs you.”

BOOM #5!

“—for Peter and Teeth, instructed—something to—”

BOOM #6!

“—and Rhian?”

I felt it coming afore he said it.

I bloody hated thank-yous.

Almost as much as I hated the idea of being buried alive.