Arden Kole's Arc

Chapter 2 of 8

Arden pressed her back to the cold stone and stared at the wanderer. It stood between her and the door, patient, blocking her only path. The sample in her fist was warm, but small. She needed far more to rebuild her brother. And here, in this cramped ward, she had nowhere to pin the creature down. No straps. No table strong enough. If she rushed it, it would tear free and crush her. "I need you still," she said, fast. "Just still. That's all I ever ask of anyone." Her eyes moved along the walls, past the stacked dead, to the narrow windows. Something out there had wound through the frame. Pale vines. They twisted in thick, looping coils, tendrils curling like fingers. She had seen them strangle stray dogs against the stone. Living rope. Rope that pulled tight on its own. Arden crept sideways, keeping the corpses between herself and the wanderer. She reached the window and gripped a fistful of vine. It writhed. She sawed with her scalpel and tore a long length loose. The tendrils coiled around her wrist at once, tightening. "Yes," she breathed. "Grab. Grab hard." Then a shape slid across the doorway. A woman stepped into the ward, unhurried, red heels clicking on stone. A black cat moved at her ankle, lean and hairless, its skin split with old wounds that no longer bled. Green eyes glowed in its gray face. The woman's coat was spotted like a hunting animal. Her red lips curved. "Messy work," she said, looking at Arden's stained coat, then at the wanderer. "But I do love a woman who finishes what she starts." Arden did not know her. She knew only that the wanderer had turned its blank head toward the newcomer, distracted. That was enough. "Then help me finish," Arden said. She threw the coil of vine. The woman laughed and caught it. The cat sprang onto the wanderer's back, claws sinking into stitched flesh. The creature staggered. Arden lunged and looped the vine around its legs. The tendrils did the rest. They cinched tight, biting into old thread, and the wanderer crashed to the floor. It thrashed. The vines only pulled harder. Arden dropped onto its chest, scalpel ready. "Now hold," she said. The woman in the spotted coat pinned one arm. The cat sat on the other, watching with those bright eyes. For the first time the wanderer could not rise. Arden cut. She took a strip from its thigh, then its shoulder, working fast, her bag rattling as she filled it with tissue that would not rot. Enough now. Enough to begin the real work. She looked up, breathing hard, and met the woman's cold gaze. "Who are you?" The woman crouched close. "Someone who wants what you're building," she said. "And I always take my price with a kiss."