No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

I t’s raining. Because of course it is. By the time I reach the warehouse, on the outskirts of town, I’m soaked to the bone and shivering. My hair is a bedraggled thing plastered to my forehead and shoulders and my clothing clings to me like a second skin. I’m a wreck. Inside and out. And I can’t imagine what Hollow could possibly want to meet me here for, but at this point, I’m in no mood to argue.

The warehouse is a large building, gray and foreboding. Inside, it’s used to funnel freight, an actual business Father adopted as a feint for trafficking the Drug. The delicate white powder is smuggled inside packages that go to various clients and businesses, a perfect setup, really. One that’s never failed or been overturned by police raids. It’s nondescript, ambiguous, a perfect disguise.

I’ve seen it before, obviously. I know how the business works.

But tonight, strangely, the warehouse seems to be abandoned. No cars in the parking lot, no lights shining from the inside. Usually, it’s a twenty-four seven operation but tonight, it’s quiet as the grave. All except for me and the purr of Delilah as I bring her to a stop and shut off her engine before dismounting and approaching the seemingly empty building.

“You look like a wet rat.” Hollow’s voice startles me. I didn’t hear him approach and the shiver of surprise that runs through me makes my skin crawl in frustration. I’m getting lax. Perhaps it’s the day’s events or perhaps I’ve just allowed myself to slip.

I turn to see Hollow sauntering toward me, and even despite the darkness that surrounds us at this late hour, he seems to glow with exuberance. He shows no sign of our earlier battle, or the wounds I bestowed upon him. His hair shimmers red and then pink under the moonlight, almost as if it shifts with his movement. Those golden eyes flash as he draws nearer. “Lucky for you I think rats are cute. You know I’ve heard they actually make the best pets.”

“I have no intention of being your pet.”

“No, no. You belong to another.”

I cringe, feeling my body go hot with rage. “How?” I grit out. “How did you do what you did? Show me the things you showed me? And don’t say magic.”

His teeth, sharp like a vampire’s glimmer white. “But that’s what it was, darling Kill.”

So he’s not going to tell me the truth. “Fuck, forget it. This is all a waste of time.” I turn to go, heading back to Delilah, when he places a hand on my shoulder.

“Is it?” His fingers burn into me even through the fabric that separates us. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

“Is this the warehouse you raided?” I snap.

“Unfortunately I was a bit too late for the product I sought. It was relocated only a day or so earlier.”

“You got the Drug,” I dispute.

“Oh, indeed. But that’s not the product I was after.”

My stomach lurches as he cocks a brow, seemingly watching me for a reaction. But what reaction does he want? “There is no other product.”

“No?” He doesn’t wait for my response, merely shrugs his shoulders, purses his lips and strides forward, toward the warehouse.

Silently, begrudgingly, I follow along behind him, tracing his footsteps to the side door, outside of the line of view of the parking lot. It’s hidden behind tall bushes and only accessible to those with a key. But to no one’s surprise, Hollow bends to the lock and begins to pick it with some thin metal tools he’s withdrawn from the pocket of his jacket. It comes open for him like a blooming rose and he stands for a moment, watching me as the doorway opens to reveal the black depths within.

“After you,” he says and I clench my teeth before stepping inside.

Darkness surrounds me. Darkness and silence. The normal whir of the machines and blinding fluorescent lighting is absent. I illuminate the flashlight on my phone. Beside me, Hollow does the same. Somehow, his seems to shine brighter than mine, illuminating the whole space. My hands fiddle for a light switch, finding one only to discover it doesn’t work.

“The power’s been cut,” I say blandly.

He nods. “Father took all his eggs out of this basket once the location was discovered. Does that surprise you?”

It doesn’t. “Why are we here then?”

“I didn’t bring you here to look for what’s on the surface. We need to go deeper.” He reaches out and takes my unwounded hand and a thrill rushes through me. I want to jerk away and snarl at him for his insolence, but instead, I allow myself to be tugged forward, through the great empty space, rows and rows of tall shelves stacked almost to the ceiling.

Hollow pulls me along from the main warehouse floor, down a narrow hallway that leads us to a doorway and several sets of stairs. We descend downward, heading deeper and deeper below ground. A basement? A hidden passageway? It’s dark, so dark and claustrophobic I can barely breathe. But Hollow is calm, his breath even and patient. And though he leads us with the brilliant, bright light of his phone’s flashlight, he never lets go of my hand.

Before I know it, we’re well below ground, inside a storage locker of some sort. More crates line the walls. It looks just like any other basement or shed, crammed full with all manner of leftovers and items for later usage. But Hollow moves among the junk like a man on a mission, shoving aside heavy crates to reveal a hidden door in the wall. It’s thick and bolted shut but with a sharp yank, it budges free.

I cough as dust and putridity waft toward me. If I thought we could go no deeper below ground, I was wrong. With a tentative glance in my direction, Hollow descends into the small, claustrophobic space. And with bated breath, I follow, terrified of what I might see.

Hollow’s phone illuminates the space. A wall of bars lines the back like a series of jail cells. At least four, separated by stone and brick. Inside, cots smaller than a standard twin. Rags, bowls that might have been once filled with food or water. And chains connected to the floor. Chains too small to fit around the ankles or wrists of a grown adult human. No, much too small.

A doll, dirtied and soiled with grime and other unnamable substances, lies alone in one of the cells, abandoned, forgotten.

Nausea overwhelms me once again.

“What is this?” I grit out.

“You know,” Hollow replies.

I shake my head. “No.”

“You and Abe weren’t the only ones. This is so much bigger than just you two.”

“Father didn’t know about this. He couldn’t have.”

Hollow scoffs, actually scoffs, the sound of his hateful laughter grating and sharp as it descends over me like the crack of a whip. “You’re still defending him?”

“Why? Why would he do this?”

“Can you really think of no reason?”

I feel Father’s lips then, when he kissed me in the Church. The way his hands scaled my body. Where once it might have sent a shiver of something pleasant through me, now the mere thought makes me feel sick. “What does he do with them?” I force out.

“Sells them. To the highest bidder. From there, he doesn’t really care where they go. If they live.”

“But that’s not—”

“No, not for you and Abe. You two were special .”

The way he says that word: special. It makes my skin crawl. “Special? Why?”

“You’ll have to ask him about that.”

But that’s not possible. The thought of talking to Father now makes me feel more than uneasy. It churns my stomach. “How many? How long?”

“Hundreds. More than that,” Hollow hums. “And for longer than you’ve been alive, I’d imagine.”

“Is that why you came here? You came here for them?”

“For the children, yes. But Father had them transported somewhere else by the time I got here. He never keeps them in one place for longer than a few weeks. That’s how he’s stayed under the radar for so long.” He draws nearer to me, the light from his phone shining in my eyes and nearly blinding me. “But that’s not the only reason he’s been able to remain undetected for so long. He’s got the police under his thumb. The kids come from everywhere, all over. Delivered to him to ship out as he sees fit. And there’s something else. Something that provides him unnatural protection. Something that guides his hand.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Magic,” Hollow says again. “Dark magic.”

Again with this bullshit. It’s grating at my nerves. “I don’t believe in magic,” I retort.

“Well you better start believing. Because not believing isn’t going to protect you. And with or without your belief, it’s still going to exist. And if it exists, it can hurt you. It already has.” He looks sober and serious for the first time since I’ve met him. That sardonic little smirk is no longer painted over his pristine, pink lips.

“So magic is how you survived my knife?”

He nods.

“And magic is how Father has managed to avoid detection, trafficking humans all these years?”

Again, he nods.

“And is magic how he erased my memories?”

He shrugs. “That and the Drug. Likely a combination of both. The Drug makes the memories go away and the magic keeps them gone.”

I grit my teeth. I can’t believe I’m considering this. But what other option do I have? “Prove it. Right here. Right now. Show me.”

Finally, his smile reignites like a flame over his sharp features. He walks toward me, closer and closer until we’re only inches apart and then he turns off his phone’s flashlight. At the same moment, mine goes black as well and we’re shrouded in complete darkness.

I’ve never been afraid of the dark, not since I was a child. But this pitch blackness, this complete and total lack of light, deep, deep within the earth and surrounded as we are by such horrors, creates a sharp sensation of panic in my chest. “Hollow,” I growl, harried and desperately clawing for him in the obscurity, just as a flame flickers to light in front of me. A flame that’s appeared out of nowhere. Hollow holds it, open and unbridled in his face-up palm.

At first, I think it’s a trick, that he has a match burning in his sleeve, or a lighter hidden away somewhere I can’t see. But upon closer inspection, I see that the flame comes from nothing, sits on nothing. It’s suspended in midair, crackling and glowing and impossibly bright, just above his open hand.

But as my eyes flicker from the flame to his face, I see that his gaze is securely locked on mine. He’s smiling at me, sharp teeth glimmering white and dangerous. “Do you want to touch it?”

“Touch fire?”

“Touch my fire. I won’t allow it to burn you.” He holds his hand out to me, a brow raised, daring me to trust him, wondering if I have the balls to do it.

I start to reach out with my unwounded hand but he tuts, stopping me.

“The other hand,” he says, nodding to my bandaged fingers.

I cock a brow, frowning at him, but decide to humor him nonetheless. Gingerly, I bring my splinted fingers to the burgeoning whites and yellows and oranges. And I feel a warm glow that seeps into my chilled bones and fills the dark crevices of my soul. It feels good, strangely good. I feel seen, comforted, held. As I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

And more than that. My broken bones, my pain. It goes away. I gasp, pulling my hand back and yanking the bandages and splints away. My fingers are straight, whole, free of the bruises and broken skin from their recent abuse. Healed. Just like the stab wound I delivered to Hollow. He healed me like he healed himself.

“How?” I gasp.

Instead of speaking, he closes the gap between us once more and before I can protest, he shoves the flame into my chest, just below my heart.

I cry out, though there’s no pain. In fact, quite the opposite. As his flame heals my broken ribs, knitting them back together, giving me back my full breaths, I see visions of the faces that were once behind these bars. Little faces with trails of tears down their cheeks. The huddle close together, clinging to one another, begging for their parents, for only a small glimpse of kindness.

“You aren’t alone. You’re a victim in this as much as any of them. And I think, now that you know the truth, you can’t turn a blind eye, can you?”

I wish I didn’t know. I wish none of it were true, that I could go back to the way it was before. But then, was it ever good? Was I ever happy?

“He sold you like a whore. Made you do his bidding, run his errands, take out his trash. He trained you through torture and pain and starvation. He honed you into a beautiful, powerful, dangerous tool that he can use at his disposal, but you, Killian, are so much more. You can help me. You can help me end all this.”

His spell is broken. I step back, out of his reach. His flame still burns, illuminating his ever-smiling face. And I feel healed. But still so broken inside. Though my body has been righted, my world has been turned upside down.

“Is that what you want to do, then?” I snap. “You want to end Father’s business? Not take it for yourself, profit from it as you did with Club Orpheus?”

“I’d burn Club Orpheus to the ground today if I thought it would get me closer to Father.”

“Closer?”

“Close enough to shove a knife in his heart.”

And all of a sudden, I forget everything. And all I can think of is Father. The man I’ve loved my whole life. I forget what I’ve seen and what’s been revealed and I think only of him. And I think of Hollow stabbing him in the heart and it aches. “You want to kill him?”

“Don’t you?”

Don’t I? Don’t I? I should. But I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore. “I don’t know,” I say flatly.

“Well what do you want then?” He asks and I realize I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before.

What do I want? I want Abe to be safe. Happy. I want…I want… “I don’t know,” I say again.

“You don’t know?” I hear his voice so close and look up to see that he’s even closer than before. He steps to the side to stand behind me, holds out his hand and with the other, takes mine to place it palm up. Gingerly, he tips the burning flame into my waiting palm.

Again, there’s no pain. Only wonder and warmth as the fire burns in my hand, beautiful and alive. Hollow breathes into my neck. I feel his lips grazing the skin there, but it doesn’t feel threatening. Nor is it unwanted.

“I want to be free,” I whisper.

“Free to dance,” he replies and I shiver, remembering my dream. Remembering how it felt to take Hollow’s hand, to lose myself in the moonlight and the cacophony of the night.

“I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you. If you’ll let me.”

I feel lost. Lost in him, in his words, in the feeling of his lips on my skin. And his hands beneath mine, guiding them. His fire in my palm. I could sink into his embrace, allow myself to be consumed by him, by the very magic of him. Magic I never believed to exist.

It would be so very easy to let myself bask in this moment, to give into it completely. But then I remember Abe. I remember all those images, all those horrible images that flooded my mind, that Hollow put into my mind somehow, and as suddenly as it flickered into existence, the flame in my hand is snuffed out.

Darkness falls over us again before Hollow shifts behind me and his phone’s flashlight once again fills the space with light. The cages just opposite us. The reminders of the humans that were once held captive, terrified, behind these bars.

“I want to know everything,” I say finally. “I want you to explain everything to me. Everything you know. About everything. About this magic.”

His expression shifts, his lips pulling tight. “Gladly,” he says. “But what will I get in return?”

“Father is heavily guarded. You won’t be able to get close. You’ll need my help if you want to put that knife in his chest.”

His grin widens further, if that’s possible. He’s like a wicked Cheshire cat, his teeth the only truly visible part of his face in the low light. “Just what I hoped you’d say. My beautiful ally.”

I cringe. “I haven’t committed to anything yet. First, speak.”

He nods. “Of course. Come on. Let’s get you out of here. Out of these wet clothes.”

“My clothes are fine.” But I won’t begrudge getting away from this horrible place. I need a cigarette. Badly.

He chuckles. “Indeed. You can’t blame me for trying.”