Page 127 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
I cleared my throat, ignoring his suggestive question. “How long have you lived there?”
“Roughly nine years.”
“I’m still shocked Gentian allows his harbingers to live outside the Shadow Court.”
“He doesn’t pay much mind to where we choose to lay our heads. In fact, he prefers that his harbingers strike out on their own. Then he mustn’t waste seeds on our upkeep. Not that he spends much on that, anyhow. I lived several years in the harbingers’ barracks. We mostly had to fend for ourselves there as well.”
“But doesn’t that make it hard for Gentian to keep an eye on all his minions? I mean, if they’re free to roam—“
Halting, Pete knelt to touch one of his ankles. A shadow tether, much thicker than mine, appeared in silvery moonlight.
“So, when you said you had no allegiance to Gentian other than the shadow tether that binds you—“
“I meant this.” He gestured toward the smoky loop, night highlighting his glower. “This is how he tracks us no matter where we’ve roamed. If he sees fit to visit, he can follow the tether. Or he can send his punishers to do his visiting for him—if he thinks we’ve gone rogue.”
Though as thick as a ship rigging, his tether was only pure shadow—no streaks of anything like ossified emerald. So, why not better his situation? And mine in the process.
Realizing why my face had grown pinched, Pete grabbed my hands, folded my fingers—looking caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to hug me. “If it were that simple, Shorty, I’d have roasted the damn thing years ago.”
“It can’t be burnt?”
“It can.” He squeezed one of my hands. In thanks, I guessed. “But burning it off won’t win me my freedom, for then I’d be a hunted man.”
“Have any other harbingers tried to break free?”
“Aye, two that I know of. They were both captured and beheaded with the utmost haste. Their rotting bodies are displayed on pikes in the barracks dooryard.”
Yikes!
“So, I’m afraid I must decline your help, though I appreciate your kindness.”
Swallowing at the timbre of his voice, I withdrew from him, the feel of his skin too pleasant—becoming too familiar to me. Pete merely smiled at my brush-off, like he understood.
I cleared my throat, recomposing myself. “Is that tether the source of your own shadow powers?”
He exhaled, motioning me forward with him. “Honestly, Shorty, I don’t ken. After Gentian dosed me, a chasm swallowed me until I was completely overcome.”
“A chasm?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve called it when questioned by those who care to know. It’s not a fitting description. Words hardly explain the reality. Not that anyone wants to hear that desolate truth, anyhow.”
I watched him, wondering how I’d cope with losing my soul, however briefly, if I didn’t have somebody to talk to about it. “You can tell me if you want. I mean—” I shrugged, chuckling. “Words don’t scare me.”
Pete searched the sky like he was asking Danu how to answer me. Or maybe he just couldn’t bear to look at me as he choked, “It’s like a stagnant lake—a lake that’s only ever used for drowning.”
Gooseflesh spread along my arms.
“You can’t—yoursoulcan’t—find a way to breathe in there, this inescapable vacuum. But you just keep swimming for the surface, hoping, only to be crushed back down—until you can no longer hold your breath. Then you’ve no choice but to inhale, and that’s when the evil swells into you—fills you with cold. And you become a crock full of the worst parts of yourself.
“That—that’s the bit I tend to keep to myself. That evil—it came from withinme—these hidden slivers of latent depravity. The poppy’s poison—it merely bloated those tendencies of mine until there was room for nothing else. And I sank under the weight of my own badness, wholly unbalanced and demonic. Still to this day, I grapple with knowing the monster dwelling in the bowels of my soul—he was always there, just in smaller pieces.”
Chills burgeoned along my neck as well. Not from fear of Pete, but because gazing at him right then—I was looking in a mirror. Didn’t I also see a monster whenever I dared to peer inside myself—an angry, scared, ugly, unworthy monster? Didn’t I amplify all my flaws until they obscured even my greatest assets? Didn’t they drive me to act shamefully at times? Like whenever I spurned strangers who might judge me, even when they’d never been unkind. Or when I set fire to people who called me a bitch. Hadn’t I, for one split second, been glad when I’d heard Scully’s excruciated death yowl? Didn’t that make me a cold-hearted killer?
Pete and I had more in common than I’d guessed.
“Sounds like death poppy inflates the id,” I remarked after several moments’ thought, recalling snippets from my Psychopathology course.
Pete’s distant expression focused, sharp as a tack. “The id, you say?”
