Page 83 of The Witch's Heart
When I get out of here, I am going to live in a house without hallways. This I vow.
With Sir at my back, spurring me onward, we walk down more flights of stairs than I thought possible of this place. Past the dungeons. Past the torture room Nurse Schmidt has used on me thus far. I get the distinct sense that the lower we go, the worse things will get.
We are descending into the ninth circle of hell. What fresh torture awaits? The anticipation is killing me.
The chill in the air takes on a frigidness that causes my breath to frost with each exhale, and I shiver and cross my arms over my chest to hold in my own warmth.
Finally, we exit the stairwell and enter a large room with dirt walls stained in what I suspect is blood. The space, the energy it pulses with, is merciless to behold. If spaces have souls, this one is blackened to the core. It's dark, and I can't see into the corners. Only the center has any kind of lighting, a single bulb that hangs from the cavernous ceiling, illuminating two chairs facing each other. Between the chairs is a metal table that holds what looks like a covered bird cage with four clear thin tubes coming out of it and spanning the length of the room.
But that's not what concerns me at the moment.
My attention is drawn to the chairs, one of which has leather straps fastened to the arm rests and handcuffs attached to the legs.
In a bold attempt to subvert expectation, I rush ahead of him and take the chair without the restraints, sitting quickly as Sir leaves the room, the door clicking behind him.
Cutter raises an eyebrow, and then surprises me by taking the other chair without argument. Score one for me, maybe. Or this is all a test.
My bet is on the latter, which deflates my momentary victory like a popped balloon.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, and it’s so damnably polite, I have to resist the urge to scream.
I’m in a cold, dank dungeon. Held against my will by a century-old vampire whose only goal is to steal my essence, or maybe even my very life. And he’s offering me refreshments.
“How about freedom?” I snap.
“All right,” he says, surprising the hell out of me.
“What?”
“You can have your freedom. After today, I will have no more need of you anyway.”
His words, the way he dismisses this entire nightmare, carry a dark sense of foreboding, but I press ahead.
“And my sister. And the twins,” I say, stopping short before I add Logan’s name to the list. I don’t want to show my whole hand too soon, or put Logan in danger. “I want their freedom, too.”
“Of course. All of you will be free to go. We only have one last test to conduct and then this can all be over.”
He’s lying.
Or keeping something from me.
I have to know.
“I won’t help you make yourself into a monster.”
He looks intrigued at my words. Head tilting, he says, “Is that what you believe yourself to be?”
“What I am is not yours,” I tell him.
“On the contrary, when I am finished, your power will belong solely to me.” He smiles. “And then you will be free.”
“None of this will bring Genevieve back,” I say, and his expression contorts. His eyes narrow and I realize too late I’ve only made things worse.
“She has spoken to you. I guessed as much.”
His voice is quiet now, deadly calm. Lethal.
I watch him warily.
