Page 28 of The October Trials

Susan is weeping so hard she can barely see. She picks up the lead cup with two shaking hands. She thinks if she follows the rules, the house will let her go. They always think that. The delusion of the prey is the sweetest part of the hunt.

She tilts the cup back.

She swallows the first mouthful. Then the second.

On the third, her throat locks.

The cup slips from her fingers, clattering against the table and splashing the dark, corrosive liquid across the linen. Susan’s hands fly to her neck. Her eyes bulge, the veins in her temples swelling thick and purple against her skin.

She tries to breathe. She can’t. The black liquid only lets those go with innocent souls. It’s no wonder she didn’t pick truth.

The lye is already searing the lining of her throat shut, the nightshade hitting her heart like an electric shock.

She stumbles backward out of her chair, hitting the floorboards with a thud. Her legs flail, catching on a side table. It tips, bringing down a crystal decanter that shatters to the floor.

I stand over her, watching the color drain from her face, watching the dark froth bubble at the corners of her lips.

The sight is magnificent.

It’s pure.

It’s the house claiming its rent in real time.

After a great struggle, her hands fall away from her neck and silence rushes back into the dining room. The air is thick with the smell of voided bowels.

Above us, the intercom clicks once.

It’s my mother, clapping her hands together in pure admiration. “Well done, son. That was riveting,” she cackles.

11

Blair

Apressure builds low in my belly. Ugh, I have to pee.

My dad was a urologist, and he was always warning me about how bad it was to hold in my pee. Instead of the tooth fairy, I got the pee fairy when I finally became potty trained. Fifty whole bucks and a bathroom-themed gift basket.

Looking back, that was kind of silly, but that was the man he was. Always joyous, always finding some silly way to make his family smile. Then mom got sick, and he cut half his hours to take care of her. Until eventually he stopped working altogether.

God, I have to win tonight for him.

“Are we allowed to use the bathroom?” I burst out, shaking the sad thoughts about my dad away.

Archon laughs. “Do you think I’m stupid, number seven?” He sets his over-the-top-looking black and silver cup thing down.

Heat rushes into my cheeks. If I don’t go, I’m afraid I’ll—

Cage’s words cut in from the shadows near the wall, and I curse myself for being able to immediately tell it’s him. There’s a certain inflection to his voice, a dark cadence that I’ll never be able to forget.

“I’ll take her. Make sure she doesn’t try anything.” He clears his throat. “She’s shaking. And I hardly think you want bodily fluids seeping out of her just yet.”

Yet?

Cage and his father stare at each other.

The air between them changes temperature. I feel it on the back of my neck, that drop, the particular cold of two men both sharpening their knives and puffing their chests.

Finally, Archon speaks. “Keep her on a short leash, commander.”