Currency in Flesh

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

S he led me through the dimly lit space, walking through the walls with ease, until we reached a room containing nothing save for a bed. It was massive, with four posts that reached the ceiling. A series of metal rings and buckles ran down each thick, black pillar.

I stared with wide eyes, and she huffed out a small sound of amusement. “None of what you see in this realm is strictly—” she drew her lip between her teeth before continuing, “corporeal. Anything you come into contact with, see, hear… taste, is my doing. The walls will be solid to you without me, but beside me they will yield to you.”

“How?” I managed to get out in a breathy voice.

“As I said before, I am the ruler of this realm. Therefore, it falls under my governance entirely. Without my influence, it would be nothing more than rock and the screaming eternity of gathered and bound souls.” She shrugged. “I prefer it to have a more civilized appearance. I would have made you a bathroom, but you won't need one any longer, no more unpleasantness of a mortal body. Though, should you wish to bathe, my chambers connect to a series of mineral hot springs.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the mattress, and stared at my hands. The blood and bruising were gone, and my body was healed, but I still recalled every injury in staggering detail. I imagined I must be in shock—going from physical and emotional pain to this odd, detached state in which I was expected to believe the unbelievable. There was no way she was telling the truth. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, none of this could be real. But fuck, even if it was—I didn’t even know the woman’s name. What would I eat? What would I do? Would I have to see Sean again? Nausea roiled in my gut and I bent at the waist, letting my head rest in my hands as I tried to breathe deeply and pull myself back from the edge of panic.

“You should rest,” she said.

“What is your name?” I blurted out. It wasn’t the question I had intended to ask, but considering I would apparently be here forever, I felt like I should at least have some familiarity with my… whatever she was.

Her sharply angled brows raised, like she was surprised by the question. Maybe she was. I doubt she spent much time conversing with strangers if she was, truly, the Queen of the Underworld.

“It has been a long time since anyone asked me my name,” she said quietly. When my eyes met hers, she straightened, expression shuttering. “I never really liked any of the names or titles I was given, they were all so… pretentious. Cora will be sufficient.”

I nodded, but added a hurried, “Lady Cora.”

She hummed and I thought I saw a tiny smile quirk her lips. “ Lady Cora,” she said. “Yes, I like that.”

She turned her back on me without another word, striding from the room and leaving no door behind her.

The bed was, as it had seemed, sumptuously comfortable. The sheets were a cool satin in a deep purple that I initially mistook for black. The pillows were down filled, and I sank into them and tugged the heavy duvet up to my chin. She was right. I felt weary and unmoored. I had the distinct feeling of being in that uncanny space between dreaming and consciousness, unable to trust my own sight or mind. I tried to sleep, closing my eyes and attempting to practice a meditation my therapist Donna had taught me to aid in relaxation.

I failed.

My skin felt like a thousand ants had burrowed beneath its surface. I couldn’t settle, my limbs restlessly moving in an attempt to get comfortable.

Each time I closed my eyes, I saw Sean’s rage. His fingers, reaching out to tangle in my hair and pull me forcefully across the floor. His eyes, narrowed beneath heavy, furrowed brows, filled with nothing but hatred and malice. The angle of his smile when the first scream tore from my chest. “Why?” I had pleaded, hoping he would see the fear and pain twisting my face. But he hadn’t.

Or maybe, he had.

She, Lady Cora, had said he owed her a soul debt. What debt? What had Sean received in return for bartering his soul? Was it for money? He certainly had plenty of that. Our home was immense—we had a staff for fuck’s sake. He worked long hours in his high-rise office downtown. His car had been imported, just for him. Our life had been one of excess and the careful balance of public appearances and personal morality. I’d had to learn how to move through his social sphere, who to smile at and who to ignore. Which men would pinch my ass as they passed me, and which were fucking other women while their wives were on trips to Bali or the Bahamas. For a nobody girl with a K-Mart blazer, I adjusted to my new role quickly and well. I thought I had been a good wife.

At first, he had been sweet. He lavished gifts and vacations and fancy dinners upon me. When we married, he bought me a luxury car, built a walk-in closet the size of my apartment and filled it with designer pieces I’d only ever imagined owning. He indulged my requests to take art and pottery classes, never said “no.” We fucked in every room of the house, drunk on infatuation and overpriced wine. He used to always make sure I came first. I thought that was love.

But a few years into our marriage, he started to come home angry. He snapped at me when I asked about his day, shouted that I was useless when I neglected to have dinner ready, bellowed that my body—a size eighteen compared to the twelve I’d been when we married—made him sick. Sex became a demand, one which often left finger-shaped bruises on my skin and a raw sort of ache in my throat. He stopped caring about my enjoyment, and I think, maybe, he started to like my discomfort.

My eyelids grew heavy, pulling me down toward the tempting silence of unconsciousness. I felt the salt sting of tears on my cheeks and a fragile shame settling upon me. The weight of the duvet was an embrace of sorts, and since it was all I had to hold me, I leaned into its comfort. An odd scent drifted through the room, and I inhaled it deeply as my breathing slowed. Sleep gently pried Sean’s fingers from my heart.

The last thing I felt before drifting off was the brittle splintering of it breaking.

Something cold and hard circled my wrists, and my eyes snapped open as my heart began to race. I had no idea how long I had slept. I was still in the bed, but my arms and legs were extended, held in place by restraints I couldn’t see. I tried to move, pulling my limbs to test the slack in the bindings, but there was none. Panic seized me and I began to thrash, yanking against the cuffs and contorting my body as I desperately sought some weakness in my captivity. The silky sheets slid off, puddling on the floor and leaving my bare skin visible and exposed. The dress I had been wearing was gone, and even the warm air wasn’t enough to keep my skin from pricking with goosebumps. I felt violated. Had someone touched me? Images of unfamiliar hands moving over my body filled my thoughts—thick fingers on my hips, my thighs, my breasts.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I stilled as reality set in. There was no getting out of this for me. Even if everything the woman had said was a lie, I was still bound in a bed without my phone or any of my possessions. Maybe I had been sold into some sort of sex trafficking ring. Sean wasn’t here, and the last thing he’d done was beat me. Nobody was coming to save me.

My fate had apparently been sealed the moment I said I do .

I noticed with a bitter laugh that my ring still encircled my finger, the diamond broken in half, leaving only a jagged chunk of glitter. It seemed like such a fitting symbol—the overpriced stone now shattered and worthless, trapped in its gilded cage. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. I sounded deranged, laughing as I lay bound and stripped in some psychopath’s basement bedroom.

The more I considered it all—Sean dragging me to that bar, the drugged cocktail, the fuzzy images of this place and the woman’s nonsensical explanation—the more I laughed.

None of this was real.

This had to be some sort of rich man’s elaborate ruse, a way to be rid of me while making me seem crazy. I’d come out of here babbling about the Underworld and walking through walls and they’d ship me away to an institution where Sean would sign away my rights. I laughed until my stomach hurt and the sound began to distort. It felt like madness. I pressed my lips together to contain the sorrow I knew would come. I didn’t want to cry anymore, so I just laid still, silent, stretched out, naked and alone.

My limbs began to cramp. I had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but from the pins and needles feeling that spread across my ass and thighs, I knew it had probably been hours. My mind did funny things—seeing movement from the corner of my eye where there was none, hearing sounds from all around me though the room was empty. I understood why isolation made people crack. I knew nothing good was in my immediate future, but part of me wanted something to happen now, just to end the waiting and my incessant thinking.

A man’s scream tore through the silence.