Page 89 of Tainted Souls
CHESTNUT HAIR CLINGSin short, uneven strands to a broad face, set above a stocky build that couldn’t be more different from my brother’s sinewy frame. His skin is sallow in the torchlight, nothing like Saul’s more rosy complexion.
There’s no trace of the charcoal hair we share either.
“That’s my name, yes.” He throws a quick glance over his shoulder. “You really picked the worst time to be so slow.”
How is this possible? Is it the herbal fog? Starvation haze? A trick of the torchlight? For a moment I wonder if I’ve finally snapped, if I’ve conjured Saul out of desperation, given some poor fledgling guard my brother’s voice just to cope. It wouldn’t be the first time this place has warped my grip on reality, although it would be the most extreme yet.
But he moves like my brother. Speaks like him. Even if the body is all wrong. The wrong colors. The wrong shapes. None of it adds up.
“How?” I whisper. “You don’t even look like him.”
He exhales through his nose, pulling a small, corked vial from his pocket. It glows a faint, sickly green. “Illusion potion,” he says. “Cursed stuff. Smells like piss and pine needles. But it does the job.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, just casts quick glances toward the doorway, every muscle suddenly tense. “Now move, before Cain’s goons get suspicious and come sniffing.”
With haste, I step out of the bath, wrapping the towel around me. “Mom is here, Saul. I saw her.”
“I know.” He tosses a bundle of clothes at me—a guard’s uniform.
They look used, but I don’t question what was done to the wearer, survival preceding.
His jaw ticks, eyes flicking to the ground for half a second, just long enough to betray the frustration he tries to bury.“They’re keeping her somewhere we can’t or don’t know how to get to.”
“You knew and you never thought to tell me?”
“Questions later,” he hisses, checking the corridor again.
I dress hastily, my fingers clumsy from the herbs. The uniform is too large, but it’ll have to do. The stiff fabric smells of something worn too long in the dark. Matte black from collar to boot, it is streamlined for optimal motion. The chest armor is heavy, molded and reinforced, probably resistant to tungsten blades and bullets. It fits awkwardly over my ribs, too wide in the shoulders, but I tighten the clasps anyway.
Over my heart, I catch the faint impression of a sigil: a fang encircled by a ring of thorny vines. If I hadn’t turned just so, the dim light grazing it at the right angle, I wouldn’t have seen it.
Even the hood, when pulled up, casts a shade that entirely distorts the wearer’s features. It’s a uniform that hides its wearer, erases their identity, and turns them into part of something bigger.
Something built for assimilation.
Right outside the bathing chamber, another guard waits, moving with the same distinctive mannerisms as my brother. I’m led through a series of narrow passages, different from the ones on the way here. We pause at intersections, Saul signaling with quick hand gestures. Left. Wait. Now right. At one junction, he pulls me into a shallow alcove as two vampires pass, their voices echoing.
“—is madness,” one says. “Why would we send half a patrol over a flickering tunnel?”
“Lord Cain has decided to treat every flicker like a breach, especially with what’s coming up. ”
Saul doesn’t react, but there’s a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, gone before it settles. When they’ve rounded the corner, he pulls me forward again. We eventually reach a crypt where two more figures wait.
One of them wears the face of Egon, one of the vampires that infiltrated Penn City through Viktor’s tunnels. Back then, he’d quaked at the mere mention of the Ravens, and now one of them has claimed his face. Poor Egon.
They surround me in formation as Saul leads us upward through more tunnels. The air grows cooler, fresher, as we near the surface.
Twice more we hide from patrols, pressed against cold stone until danger passes. Then, rounding another bend, a low voice calls out from the shadows.
“Who goes there?”
One of three guards steps forward, his silhouette blocking our path. “Identify yourselves.”
Saul doesn’t skip a beat. “Just a routine check,” he answers, his tone flat and rehearsed.
The guard doesn’t buy it. “Routine at this hour? And who is this?” His eyes flick to me, narrowing.
There’s a brief silence as the guard takes in my features, most likely my hair. My bad for not tucking them better into my hood. I can feel Saul’s pulse quicken under his calm exterior.
Recognition seems inevitable. “That’s the dhamp—”
