The Gender Game 5: The Gender Fall(33)

I ran a hand through my hair and nodded again. “All right. Let’s go.”





12





Violet





Something bright burned into my eyes, and I groaned at the discomfort. I tried closing my eyes against it, but something was holding them open, forcing me to look into the blinding light. Searing pain exploded in my brain, throbbing along the inside of my skull until I felt the heat rushing into my face. I was on fire. I was going to burn to death.

I jerked violently away, and the movement was agony. I cried out in pain and my breath stalled. “Fire,” I coughed, trying to catch air in my lungs. It must be the smoke, I thought. Red dots flashed across my vision, obscuring bits and pieces of the room I lay in. My peripheral vision showed things clearly, but anything I stared directly at was blurred and unrecognizable.

Fire? Who had started it? I gasped and tried desperately to figure out what was happening. A bomb—it was a bomb. Had I been thrown somewhere from the force of the blast? Where was Lee? I had to get the egg—after that I could see my brother.

Shakily, I pushed against the surface I lay on, trying to get up, my panic-stricken mind recognizing one thing: someone was trying to hurt me. But even that motion made me shake violently. I stopped in a sitting position, sweat breaking out on my forehead. I tilted my head up and became aware of heavy footsteps on the wood near me. I tried to swing my head toward the sound, but as soon as I did, the room blurred around me, my head throbbed, and my stomach swooped, almost enough to force me onto my back again. I breathed heavily, coughing, and the footsteps came closer. I couldn’t go back to the bad people. I had to figure out a plan.

My heart thudded hard against my ribcage, too loud in my ears, and I shuddered when hands came down gently on my back, and a soft voice spoke behind me, fading in and out like a bad handheld connection. The tone of the words was soft and coaxing, but that was even more alarming. They must be trying to trick me. I tried again to turn my head to look at them, but it already felt like my head was turning… I stared at the image of my hands before me, swimming in fabric that covered my legs, as the hands continued trying to shush me. Sheets. I was in bed. Then the hands gripped my shoulders, pushing, and the mattress rushed back to meet my back as my muscles failed to move me, failed to do anything at all.

God. I was helpless.

I was on my back again, all my most vital parts completely vulnerable to attack, as an unrecognizable figure leaned down over me and made words. I blinked again and again, trying to clear my vision, straining to focus my eyes in the stabbing light.

But when the image in front of me finally managed to solidify, horror flooded my body. It wasn’t just a stranger, a guard, a warden—it was Elena, her mouth lifted in a sweet smile while her eyes promised pain. Panic lent strength to my muscles, and I scrambled back as the Queen of Matrus looked down at me.

The pain that lanced through my body at the motion was nothing compared to what would happen if I didn’t, if I couldn’t get away… But I was moving horribly slowly, my body jerking and weak, like in a nightmare. Elena didn’t move forward immediately, but stared down, her hands held out in front of her as if to help me. She murmured something, reaching out, and I screamed and knocked her hand away with the heavy cast on my right hand, causing her to back up slightly.

“I killed your sister,” I taunted, my breath heaving.

Elena was on the right side of the bed, while I’d managed to move almost to the edge. I would fall off it if I had to. Maybe crawl underneath… I could hear her. She frowned, speaking in a gentle, even voice. “Let me help you,” she said.

I shook my head and began to scoot backwards again, crying out for Viggo, but I couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t push through the pain… I was as weak as a newborn kitten, and Elena knew it. Her hands came back, and, effortlessly, she began to pull me toward her. I tried to pull away, beating my fists feebly on her shoulder and arm, but she was relentless, pulling me away from the edge of the bed, some unknown punishment in store, no doubt.

In that moment, I knew I had been wrong. It wasn’t Elena; it was Tabitha. I hadn’t managed to kill her, and now she was here to finish me off before I could. Slowly. The image of her blade slamming into my palm flashed across my head, and I fought back with renewed strength. She was going to butcher me with her shiny silver knife, one cut at a time.

“Violet!” Tabitha shouted in my ear—my good one—her voice cracking sharply into my skull. “Violet, just let me—”

“No!” I shouted, jerking my right arm out of her grasp. The cast hung weighty on my arm, and I lashed out with it, driving my hand into the woman’s core. I was rewarded with a loud ‘oof’ and a stab of pain from my own hand so intense I could barely focus to hear it.