Chapter 5 - The Trap is Sprung!

I slipped through the shadows of Blackrock Hold like a cockroach under a kitchen door. I was quiet and determined, and frankly way too comfortable in a place that stank of death. Every muscle in my body ached from the fight with that second mutant guard, and I could still taste the chemical tang of its yellow blood in my mouth. My throat throbbed where the thing had choked me, and dried yellow gunk flaked off my face every time I changed expression. The flickering torches lining the hallway made my job a pain in the ass, but nothing a little Shadow Dance technique couldn’t handle. Mistress Ashara would’ve been proud, or more likely, she’d have smacked me upside the head for strolling in here covered in mutant blood.

The job had been pretty specific: stop the Blood Warlock Malkor, bring the kidnapped girls home, and haul his grimoire back to the Guild unopened. Ashara had made a big point of the unopened part. I figured a warlock’s power came out of his book, so if I took the book, I’d weaken the warlock. At least, that was my theory.

I stopped at the threshold of the chamber and held my breath. The stone room was lit by guttering torches whose flames jumped around in ways that made no sense. They reminded me of the time I ate those mushrooms Felix had found. That had been a fun night, at least until the vomiting started.

The chamber was small, and runes were carved all over its walls. Somebody with a hard-on for dead things had built himself a temple in here. And there, at its center, stood a low altar of black stone, its top polished to a shine that looked wrong in a dump this old and crumbling.

On the altar lay what I hoped was Malkor’s grimoire. If I could snag it on the way to gutting the warlock, that was two birds, one heist.

The book was larger than I’d expected, almost the size of a round shield, and one look told me it was trouble. Its leather cover was so dark the torchlight barely touched it. Twisted sigils were stamped into its surface, and my eyes crossed when I tried to follow them. The brass corners were shaped like tiny snarling mouths, which was just rude.

“Well, aren’t you the ugliest little fucker I’ve ever seen,” I whispered, adjusting my grip on my daggers as I approached. It got colder with every step, until I could see my breath. The enchanted brooch on my cloak, the one Ashara let me keep after my final test, warmed against my chest and pushed back the chill.

I was three paces from the altar when the book moved.

Not “slid across the surface” moved. Not “fell open” moved. The entire fucking thing shuddered from spine to corners, and then, I shit you not, it spoke.

“You absolute dimwit, you really think you can steal me?”

I froze with one foot still in the air. The voice was a man’s, gravelly and loud, and it bounced off the walls until it sounded like a dozen assholes were laughing at me.

“Um,” I said, because apparently a year of Ashara’s training hadn’t prepared me for talking books.

“‘Um’ he says! By the thirteen hells, they’re sending CHILDREN to retrieve me now!” The book was so pissed off that it actually hopped. I swear to the gods, it hopped. “Look at you! You can barely hold those daggers properly. Your stance is atrocious, and that’s not even how you do a proper Shadow Dance. In my day, rogues knew how to move the darkness, not hide in it like frightened rabbits!”

I straightened, oddly offended. “Hey, my Shadow Dance is perfectly fine, thank you very much. And I’m nineteen, not a child.”

“Nineteen!” the book cackled. “I’ve had wine stains older than you! Ink smudges with more life experience!”

Up close, the cover had more than sigils on it. A massive eye was stuck in the center, a real fucking eye that blinked and rolled and glared straight at me.

“Are you quite done staring?” it demanded. “I know I’m gorgeous, but it’s rude to gawk.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Look,” I said, taking another step forward, “you’re not my main target, but you’re worth a nice bonus. So how about you shut that eye and come quietly? You can insult my technique all you want on the way.”

The eye narrowed. “Ah, Ashbourne... haven’t been there in, oh, two centuries? Is that delightful brothel with the twins still in business? No, don’t answer, you wouldn’t know quality entertainment if it sat on your face.”

My cheeks burned, and my cock perked up at the word twins, which didn’t help. I hadn’t told it where I was from, and this book talked dirtier than the drunks at the Bent Spoon Inn, and that was saying something. “Are you always this charming, or am I special?”

“Special? Oh, you’re special alright. Special like a three-legged horse. Useful for nothing but glue.” The eye swiveled, looking me up and down. “Though I suppose you’re not entirely without potential. Decent bone structure. Might even be handsome if you didn’t look like you dressed in the dark.”

“Thanks, I think.” I’d nearly reached the altar now. The smart play would be to throw the cloth from my pocket over the damn thing, eye and all, and make a run for it. But curiosity, or that self-destructive streak Ashara always warned me about, made me hesitate. “So what exactly are you?”

“What am I?” The book swelled up, outraged. “I am the TOME OF WANTON DESECRATION, repository of the most exquisite forbidden knowledge in six kingdoms! I witnessed the fall of the Crimson Empire, guided the hand of thirteen Blood Emperors, and personally oversaw orgies that would make your innocent little balls shrivel up in terror!”

“Uh-huh. And you ended up on an altar in Blackrock Hold because...?”

“Because my last owner was an incompetent hack who couldn’t tell a blood ritual from a nosebleed,” it sniffed. “Besides, I like it here. The ambiance suits my complexion.”

I snorted. “Well, sorry to cut your vacation short, but you’re coming with me.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the book warned, its voice dropping low enough to rattle my teeth.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” I shifted both daggers into my left hand and reached out with my right, my fingers hovering inches above its cover.

“Because you’re about to make a mistake that ranks somewhere between fucking a porcupine and challenging a dragon to a belching contest.”

I grinned. “I’ve made worse bets.” And I placed my hand on the book.

The moment my skin touched it, white-hot pain shot up my arm. Black sparks crackled around my fingers and jumped across my knuckles. I tried to pull away, but my hand wouldn’t move.

“What the fuuuu—” I got out, but the words died in my throat as the symbols on the walls flared to life.

Every rune carved into the walls blazed with blue fire, and the light pulsed on and off. Glowing threads shot out of the stone and wrapped around me before I could blink. They yanked my hand off the book, pinned my arms to my sides and lashed my legs together, and the whole glowing net squeezed tighter with every heartbeat. All my sneaking and lockpicking, and a book had caught me.

“I did warn you,” the book sighed. “But no, you had to touch. You young ones never listen.”

I fought the net until my muscles shook, and it only bit deeper. My daggers clattered to the floor, useless. The magic crawled up my neck and clamped onto my throat, right where the mutant had choked me, making my teeth chatter and my vision blur.

“What... is... this?” I gasped.

“A ward, obviously. Fairly basic protection spell, though I will admit Malkor added some nasty flourishes. The pain should start in your extremities first, then work its way to your core. Rather like being eaten alive by ants, I’m told.”

Right on cue, my fingers and toes burned. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming.

“Fuck!” I snarled.

The book laughed, and its pages crackled. “Such language from one so young! I approve. Most people whimper at this point.”

The pain climbed my calves and forearms, and it hurt like a bastard. Sweat ran into my eyes.

“Make it stop,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“Can’t,” it chirped. “Not my spell. I’m the bait, as it were. The pretty lure for stupid fish.”

My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall. The threads held me upright, and I hung there with my boots barely scraping the stone. The room spun, and the torches smeared into streaks that made me want to puke.

“Why?” I wheezed.

The eye on the cover drooped. “Nothing personal, boy. The way the game is played. If it’s any consolation, Malkor usually keeps his playthings alive for quite some time. You might even survive long enough to become interesting.”

I wanted to curse again, but my tongue had gone fat and stupid. The pain hit my chest, and I could barely breathe.

“My... friends... will come,” I lied. I’d told Felix I always came back, and I’d been too cocky to wonder if that was true.

“Your friends,” it repeated, and if a book could look pitying, this one did. “Oh, child. No one comes to Blackrock Hold willingly. And no one leaves without Malkor’s permission.”

Everything went dark around the edges, and the last thing I saw was that eye. It looked sorry. The last thing I heard was the book:

“Pity. You would’ve made a decent thief, with proper training.”

I was out cold.

Creaking hinges woke me up. My vision was all wrong colors and swimming blobs, and across the chamber a heavy door swung open. The glowing threads still bit into my flesh, blue light crawling along my veins. I tried to swallow but found my mouth drier than a mummy’s crotch.

“Ah, our guest awakens,” said the grimoire, sounding positively delighted. “Right on time for the main attraction.”

I blinked hard until the blur coming through the door turned into a man. He glided in without a sound from his feet, in red robes with glowing runes stitched into them. His skin was paper-white and stretched tight over his cheekbones, his eyes were red, and his long white hair hung past his shoulders. His knobby fingers clutched a crooked staff with a shriveled human heart stuck on top, and one look at it had my stomach heaving.

He stopped an arm’s length from me and tilted his head. Those crimson eyes moved slowly from my face to my boots and back again. The heart atop his staff pulsed once, a wet throb that I felt in my own chest.

“Fuck me sideways,” I rasped. “You’re him. The Blood Warlock.”

Malkor didn’t answer immediately. He reached out with one of those root-knuckled fingers and traced a line down my cheek. His finger was ice cold, and my cheek went numb where it passed. I flinched, hard, but the bonds held me in place.

“Young,” he said, almost to himself. His voice was posh enough for a royal banquet, right up until he smiled and it turned nasty. “And stupid. My favorite combination.”

He stepped back, planting the staff on the floor with a crack that echoed. “I prefer the title ‘Master of Blackrock Hold’ these days.” He circled me, robes swishing. “And you are...?”

“Nobody,” I said quickly. “Just a thief. Wrong place, wrong time. You know how it goes.”

The grimoire snorted. “He’s Samuel Thornwood, barely nineteen and about as skilled as a three-legged donkey trying to ice skate.”

I shot the book a glare. “Thanks for that, you leather-bound shit.”

“Don’t mention it,” the grimoire crowed. “I believe in honesty above all else. Well, honesty and a good blood orgy, but those are getting harder to find these days.”

Malkor completed his circle and stopped in front of me again. He was still smiling that thin, mean smile. “Samuel Thornwood,” he repeated, rolling the name around his mouth like he was deciding whether to spit or swallow. “How fortunate that you’ve joined us. The evening’s entertainment was lacking a certain... youthful vitality.” He leaned in close enough that I could smell old paper and blood on him, and something rotten underneath, and I nearly gagged. “I do hope you scream well. The last rogue they sent gave out before I had properly begun.”

Malkor flicked his fingers at the walls, and the glowing threads let go of me all at once. My legs folded, but big hands caught my arms and hauled me upright before I hit the floor. Two guards had followed Malkor in, and I hadn’t heard either of them, when hearing guards first was supposed to be my whole job.

I thrashed against their grip, but the ward had wrung me out, and I had nothing left.

“A valiant effort,” Malkor said, watching me struggle with polite interest. “Most of my guests are dead by now.”

I spat blood at his feet. “Fuck you.”

He glanced down at it and went right on smiling. “Charming.”

The grimoire’s eye widened. “The Heart-Rending? But that needs a VIRGIN sacrifice!”

“Don’t look at me,” I said automatically. “Definitely not a virgin.”

“Yes, I could smell that the moment you walked in,” Malkor said. “Thankfully, we have several suitable candidates already prepared. You can wait below until I find a use for you.”

The guards dragged me toward the door, my heels bumping along behind me.

“Wait!” I croaked, before I’d even thought it through. I was stalling, because being dragged to a blood ritual felt like the kind of thing you should delay as long as possible. “What about the book? You’re just going to leave your most prized possession lying on an altar?”

It was probably stupid, and on second thought, definitely stupid.

Malkor swept a hand toward the altar. The grimoire rose into the air and floated across to him, and my Guild bonus floated right along with it.

“How thoughtful of you to remind me,” he said, catching the book with one hand. The grimoire let out something suspiciously like a purr.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” it told me. “You’ve been more entertaining than most of the dullards who try to steal me.”

The guards hauled me through dark corridors lit only by the occasional sputtering torch. Down we went, down worn stone stairs, and with every flight I liked my chances of walking back up them a little less. The air turned cold and damp, and it stank of mold and piss.

I tried to keep track of the turns, left, right, right again, through an archway carved with leering faces, but I was too wrecked to hold on to them. By the time we reached the dungeons, I was half out of it, my head lolling against my chest.

The cell door screeched open, and the guards threw me inside. I hit the damp floor hard, and what little air I had left got knocked out of me. The door slammed shut behind me, and the lock clanked home.

I lay there a while, checking what hurt. All of it felt survivable for now, at least until the ritual. Finally, I managed to push myself up to a sitting position, my back to the wall.

And I had company.

In the dim light from a tiny barred window near the ceiling, people huddled against the walls. Most of them were women, in torn, filthy clothes, bruised and crusted with dried blood. Some were asleep or passed out. Others stared right through me. I figured this lot were the girls I’d been hired to bring home.

“Well, shit,” I muttered, wincing as I shifted against the wall and my ribs lit up where I’d hit the floor. “This day keeps getting better.”

One of the women, barely more than a girl with tangled blonde hair and tear-streaked cheeks, edged closer to me. Her dress had probably been nice once, and now it was rags. Her wrists were bruised dark from shackles.

“Are you from Oakhaven too?” she whispered.

“Nope. Ashbourne. Just passing through.”

Another woman, older, with a gash across her forehead that had scabbed over, gave a bitter laugh. “No one ‘passes through’ Blackrock Hold. You’re here because he wants you here.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression,” I said, keeping my voice light while my stomach knotted up. “So, anyone know what this Heart-Rending ritual involves? Sounds unpleasant.”

Everybody went quiet.

The blonde girl cried without a sound, tears running down her dirty face. The older woman turned away, shoulders hunched up around her ears.

“Great,” I sighed, letting my head fall back against the wall. “Fucking great.”

In the corner, someone moaned in their sleep, a sound so miserable it gave me goosebumps. Rats ran around the edges of the cell, way too close for my liking.

I thought of Felix sprawled across my chest that last morning, and Lily kissing me hello in front of her flower shop, and all the comfortable tavern beds and warm bodies I’d never enjoy again if I didn’t find a way out of this mess.

So I looked up at that tiny barred window, then over at the lock on the cell door, and tried to decide which one I’d be picking first.