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My heart squeezes. “As I will do to yours.”
The queen. Our queen.
She takes my hand and leads me up the last of the stairs, and we enter yet another nightmare, but we can face this one together.
I’m not alone this time.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Club’s face is hidden behind his mask, but I can still see the darkness in his eyes. This place brings something inside him to the surface, and I wonder what brought him to the cirque. I only know hints from the cards. I haven’t asked any of them about it, figuring they’ll tell me when they are ready, but I see the ghosts that haunt Club, just as there are ghosts that hound the others. I suppose we’re all haunted and that’s how we arrived in Cirque Obscurum. I’d like to wipe away their darkness, but it’s a part of them now, just as mine is.
The first time I saw them hunt, I flinched away from the blood. Now, in this building, I relish the feeling of sticky, drying blood on my hands and the fear in the guards’ eyes who kneel before Diamond, Heart, and Spade as we reach the top of the stairs. These people are true monsters, the kind that shouldn’t be allowed to live, let alone be around children. I don’t know how many children there are yet or how young they are, but each of these men will pay for what they have done.
“Which one is the warden?” I ask, my voice thick with fury. “Which one calls the shots?”
Diamond looks at me before gesturing to a woman at the end of the line. The others must be guards, but it’s clear this one is something else. She’s tall and limber, her graying hair pulled back in a severe bun. Even as she kneels before us, she doesn’t look afraid, her cool gray eyes hard and unwavering. She doesn’t fear us, but she should.
“What’s your name?” I ask, standing over her. When she keeps her lips pressed together, I pull the blade from my hip and hold it against her cheek. “I said, what’s your name?”
She meets my eyes with the air of somebody used to being in control. It’s the same look my husband had. “Fuck you.”
Her voice is accented, telling me she’s from somewhere outside the States. European maybe?
“Are you a mother, Fuck You?” I ask, pretending like her venom doesn’t bother me. “Are any of these children yours?”
When she doesn’t answer, I swipe the knife across her face, cutting her cheek. It’s not deep, but it’s enough to bleed and hurt. She grunts in pain, but when she meets my eyes again, she doesn’t reach up to wipe the dripping blood away. I cut the other side for shits and giggles. A woman doing this to children is some other kind of evil. I expect this from men, but from a woman? I guess the maternal instincts in me can’t fathom it.
“No,” she growls. “None of them are mine.”
I nod. “I thought so. What sort of mother could mistreat so many children?”
“She makes them call her Mother,” one of the guards pipes up, clearly thinking he will survive if he cooperates with us.
I turn my head toward him. “Oh?”
He’s younger than the others. “Please,” he says when I meet his eyes. “This is my first night. I was going to go to the police in the morning.”
“Shut up, Stephen,” one of the others growls, but Club slams the hilt of his knife against his nose to shut him up.
I straighten and move over to the man. “Tonight is your first night?”
“Please,” he begs. “I didn’t know what this place was. I just needed the money. I have a kid. She’s sick. Needs medicine. Please, this isn’t my fault.”
I squat down in front of him, studying his eyes. I see truth there, but I can never be too sure. He looks broken by what he’s seen. “Do you have a picture of her in your wallet?”
He nods vigorously, so Spade reaches into his back pocket and pulls it out before flipping it open. He thumbs through the little plastic flaps before handing it to me. I look down at a picture of a bright, blonde-haired girl. She can’t be older than seven, her toothy grin sporting gaps where she lost her teeth to the tooth fairy.
“What’s her name?” I ask, flipping to find a picture of the same little girl, now bald and sitting in a hospital bed. She hugs her dad, both smiling for the person behind the camera.
“Mary,” he rasps, his eyes watering. “Her name is Mary.”
Nodding, I slide the wallet into his breast pocket and pat it. I stand and gesture to Club. He comes forward and cuts the ties holding the man’s wrists together. He gapes in surprise as Club helps him to his feet.
“I suggest you tell no one what you saw here,” I warn him, “and don’t worry about calling the cops. We’ll take care of it.”
He nods and hesitates. “The keys for the cells are in the warden’s pocket. She keeps them on her at all times.” He takes off down the stairs. I wait until the door slams closed to focus on the others.
