After the Walls

Chapter 11

"Not everything has to sound so dramatic, Elle," Ajax says with a chuckle. He leans against the window ledge in my room, holding a goblet of wine. "A heist, really?"

When the ball finally ended, Edward was delirious and blind with intoxication. His men carried him away as he blubbered and chortled, making a right joke out of himself.

I wave my hand dismissively. "Call it whatever you like. But we need to figure out how we are going to steal the Devil's Ivy from Edward's abandoned Red Movement. But I am sure it's not entirely abandoned."

"Not to mention, you can't show your disloyalty." Ajax scratches his chin.

Ruben paces back and forth, not uttering a word. He doesn't so so much as glance my way.

"He is as clever as his father," I say, and Ruben flinches. "We have to stay several steps ahead of him."

"You are going to get more shadowteeth blood tomorrow, right?" Ajax says, sipping his wine.

The alcohol I drank in plenty during the last hour of the ball creates a murky sheet across my mind. "Yes," I say, my voice almost slurring.

Through the haze, the numb feeling in my cheeks, and the room swaying around me, an idea bleeds across my consciousness. I grin.

"I know what to do."

--

The wind howls like ghouls in a haunted house when I emerge out of the bunker on the other side of the walls. Even though I braided my hair in two, the wind throws it around like dolls, and wisps already loosen from the ties and graze my nose. I wish my sister was still here so she could have done a better job for me. But then, I can't imagine my sister in this world anymore.

Drizzling rain flails about in the wind. I hug my body tight. But my teeth chatter despite myself. I just hope I dressed well enough for this. I wear black cargo pants, a long-sleeved black tunic, and my father's coat. My sword rests against my back, and an array of knives line my belt. I'm glad I convinced Edward to let me do the shadowteeth tasks several times ago. He's not a fan of the task, anyway. Too much energy expenditure.

My boots crunch against the stony beach, and it feels like I have gravel in my skull. The consequence of one too many wines last night. I pull the wooden boat from its moored spot on the beach and drag it to the water. The waves smack against the hull as I slide it into the water. I mutter prayers to the Gods, asking them to let this plan work.

Then I grab the oar and row across the lake. There is nothing but a chasm of darkness below me, reflecting the grey sky as I glide deeper and deeper across, gripping the oar too tight. A cold sweat paints my forehead and my pulse thrums in my head. When I finally arrive far enough across the lake, I stand and smack the paddle of the oar into the water. Over and over, trying to draw the monster from the depths. A trembling roar emanates from somewhere below and I freeze. I study the water, looking for the telltale ripple of the water.

There it is.

The shadowteeth erupts from the water like a newly forming mountain. Its violet tentacles flail into the sky and the burn of fear finds a home in my chest. I pull out my knife and prop my foot on the lip of the hull, waiting, waiting for the beast to surge toward me.

And it does. With a yell, I leap out of the boat, using my arms to propel me forward. I land on its head, only just missing getting whacked into oblivion by a waving arm. My blade sinks into the shadowteeth's carriage-sided head like little more than a needle. But it screeches as always. Its spilling blood glimmers even in the grey light. I hold the bottle against the wound and fill it up. I screw the lid on and tuck it into my pocket.