Chapter 85 The Old Hag
MADAME VIOLETTE
I stand in my blood club coordinating Mordaunt's trap. Positioning hunters around the perimeter. Ensuring escape routes are covered. Making sure everything's perfect.
I've done this before. Coordinated captures, arranged executions. All in service of my master.
All because three drinks of vampire blood enslaved me.
"Third floor secured," a hunter reports. "East entrance covered."
"Good. West entrance?"
"Two guards posted. But per Lord Mordaunt's instructions, we're leaving it lighter. He expects the rescue from that direction."
Of course he does. Mordaunt's been planning this for days. Predicted every move Callum might make.
The fae illusion was clever. I'll give Brennan credit for that. But Mordaunt anticipated even that. Has hunters ready to ignore the duplicates, focus on real targets.
"Status on the prisoner?" I ask.
"Sedated. Chained. Basement cell three." The hunter checks his notes. "Lord Mordaunt wants her alive. Capture, not kill."
"And if Brennan doesn't come?"
"Public execution at dawn. Make example. Show resistance what happens to captured allies."
I nod. Keep my face neutral.
Inside, I'm screaming.
This is wrong. All of it. Valentina Corvino is dhampir who helps packless wolves survive. Callum Brennan is exiled wolf building community. Neither deserves execution.
But I'm thrall. My opinions don't matter. My conscience was sold with my humanity.
"Prepare execution site," I instruct. "In the courtyard. Public viewing. Dawn timing."
"Lord Mordaunt wants spectacle," the hunter agrees. "Make sure it's visible from street level. He wants word to spread."
Spectacle. That's what Mordaunt deals in. Fear through theater. Power through demonstration.
I coordinate the setup. Wooden platform. Silver restraints. UV lighting. Everything needed for vampire-style execution.
It makes me sick.
At midnight, Mordaunt arrives.
"Status?" he asks.
"Everything's ready. Hunters positioned. Execution site prepared. Either Brennan comes and we capture him, or he doesn't and we execute the dhampir at dawn."
"Perfect." Mordaunt inspects the setup. "When he comes, and he will come, I want them both alive. The drama of simultaneous executions is too delicious to pass up."
"Both alive. Understood."
"Good." He checks his watch. "Fae magic complicates timing. They might provide illusions or diversions. Instruct hunters to verify targets. Real blood, real wounds. Illusions don't bleed properly."
"Yes, my lord."
The hours crawl by. Midnight to one. One to two.
At 1:58, the east entrance explodes with activity.
Multiple figures charging. Weapons drawn. Looking exactly like Callum's crew.
Hunters engage. I watch from the third floor window.
The attackers fight convincingly but something's off. Their wounds sparkle. Their blood evaporates.
Illusions. Perfect copies but not real.
"Fae magic," I whisper into the radio. "East entrance is diversion. Watch the west."
Thirty seconds later, the west door opens.
Real Callum. Real crew. Rescuing Valentina.
They make it to the basement. Free her. Start running.
Exactly as Mordaunt predicted.
Hunters close in. Not immediately. Letting them think they're escaping. Then tightening the noose.
Three blocks. Cordoned into factory. Surrounded.
Mordaunt appears personally. I can see him through the window. Triumphant. Victorious.
He's got them all.
My phone buzzes. Text from unknown number.
You could help them escape. West alley, blocked by two hunters. You could remove those hunters. Give them chance. - Conscience
I stare at the message.
Someone's watching. Someone knows I could help. Someone thinks I should.
I delete the message.
Helping Callum means betraying Mordaunt. Betrayal means death. Slow, agonizing, eternal death.
I'm not that brave.
I'm not that strong.
I watch from the window as Mordaunt closes in. As Callum and his crew realize they're trapped. As Valentina sees the rescue has become a death sentence.
I could help.
I don't.
Because I'm thrall. And thralls don't have choices.
They only have orders.
Mordaunt's orders are clear: ensure capture.
So I ensure capture.
Even though it makes me hate myself.
Even though I know it's wrong.
Because three drinks of vampire blood destroyed my free will twenty years ago.
And I've been a monster ever since.
In the factory below, Mordaunt is speaking. I can't hear words but I can see body language.
Callum arguing. Valentina trying to sacrifice herself. Crew preparing to fight even though they're outnumbered.
It would be noble if it wasn't so futile.
My phone buzzes again.
Last chance. Help them or watch them die. Your choice. - Conscience
My choice.
As if I have choices.
I turn away from the window.
Can't watch anymore.
Can't help but can't watch either.
I retreat to my office. Pour a drink. Pretend I don't hear the sounds of capture starting below.
Pretend I'm not responsible.
Pretend three drinks of vampire blood is excuse enough for cowardice.
The drink helps me forget.
For a little while.