As she tried the second to last door, her chest cinched tighter. A strange stain seeped beneath, darkened the carpet, the colour aged like it had been there for hundreds of years. She fought with the sticky handle, but when the warped door nudged open, her stomach bottomed out.
“What sort of animals?” she whispered, her voice full of horrors.
“All kinds, but the stories say he had a couple of pet sabers. Some believe he experimented, and that’s how he created those demons and the guardians. It was a trade for—” Destonne stalled as he caught sight of her face. He set down the book in his hand. “Emmery?”
She barely heard him. Her blood iced over as she stared, unable to comprehend what lay in that dark room of death and pestilence.
As the edges of her vision frayed, Dez’s hands found her shoulders.
He briefly glanced into the room before he turned his face away.
But Emmery stared.
Cages of all sizes, some as tall as the ceiling while others were the same capacity as a satchel, lined the room. Dried blood and decayed flesh seeped from them and into that red carpet.
Then there were thebones.
The twisted skeletal remains gave no impression of what they once were. Like animals had been grafted onto others and extra limbs sewn on to bodies to see if they would keep. Those images seared into the backs of her eyelids.
Emmery leaned to the side and her stomach heaved. Destonne caught her hair as she convulsed, but nothing came up.
“It’s alright,” he said. His voice shook as he rubbed her back. “It’s alright—I’ll close the door, Em.” He edged it shut and helped her to a chair. “Here. Sit. I’ll get you some water.” He searched the room like it wasn’t a chamber of horrors and refreshments would be within reach.
Numbly, Emmery plunked herself down, and choked, “Why? Why would anyone—” She clamped her hand over her mouth as thoughts of those poor creatures’ daily pain consumed her mind.
And Aera. What if someone had done that to her? She’d been in the Guardian’s clutches. Had he planned that? What if she hadn’t saved her?
Too fucking tight, her chest stuttered, and she sank her fingers into her dress to tug at the laces and clasps, but they wouldn’t loosen. Panic seized her and she clawed at the corset to no avail. She gasped and wheezed.
Dez’s attention snapped to her. He crossed the room and crouched, a slight tremble to his hands as he placed them on her knees. “What’s wrong?”
“Ican’t—I can’t breathe. I can’tbreathe.” She gasped, hot coals raking her lungs. “Take it off!”
Without hesitation, Dez tugged his shirt over his head and draped it over her, while she yanked her dress down to her waist. He rounded the chair and his deft fingers snapped the clasps oneby one until the corset’s hold released. It sprang open and she nearly doubled over in relief. She sucked air into her oxygen-starved lungs as her ribs expanded. With disdain, she tossed the corset across the room and clutched Dez’s shirt to her chest.
He retrieved the key that had tumbled to the floor, and turned to give her privacy. “Not exactly how I imagined undressing you tonight,” he said so low she assumed the words weren’t intended for her.
Since her dress provided no modesty, she shrugged out of it and buttoned herself into his shirt. The long garment covered to mid-thigh anyway. She rolled the sleeves to her elbows to free her hands. It would have to do. No universe existed in which she would put that contraption back on.
Dez toed a bunched segment in the rug and shoved his hands into his pockets. The muscles in his back flexed and stretched the smattering of bloody wounds, scabs, and scarred skin. “I’ll miss that corset. We have so many fond memories with it.”
Emmery huffed a hollow laugh. “I’m sure we’ll make new memories that don’t include aphrodisiacs, seducing a man to steal his keys, and suffocating for hours.”Also kissing you until my soul wept,she neglected to add.
He walked over to a large wooden chest and skimmed his finger along the thick layer of dust. The latch popped open and Dez sifted through it until he pulled out an impressive sword with a dark iron blade the length of his forearm. “Heavy,” he noted. “And possibly useful.” He strapped its scabbard to his hip nonetheless.
“Anything in there for me?” she asked, peering around him.
“You hardly need it.” He walked to her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You already are a weapon.”
He gave her a lingering look before he continued past her to the last door. Emmery followed, afraid of what hid behind it. He twisted his mouth to the side and stared at the door handle,like he, too, feared what horrors awaited, maybe infinitely worse than the last. But he turned the handle and threw open the door like ripping off a bandage.
Ahead an enormous fountain centered a lush garden of the reddest roses Emmery had ever seen. Her heart battered her ribs as they entered, and her gaze darted from side to side, sure something lurked in the shrubbery that had absolutely no place being here.
And the rosesbled, dripping onto the grass below.
The strange fountain resembled a creature with the body of a man and face of a beast, its jagged teeth bared in a grin. From his outstretched hand, blood spurted. Tucked under one of its arms was an angel, her blank face and severed wings now merely stumps. Emmery’s stomach churned.
Surrounding that fountain sat several rows of empty vials wrapped in vines and overgrown foliage, as if the fountain had been abandoned for some time, and nature reclaimed it.