She didn’t mind, even though her hands were wrinkled and sore from the water. One potato looked very much like the next, so she just kept going, the mindless motion stopping her thinking and allowing her to retreat into the numbness that had become her sanctuary. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been here… a couple of days maybe? It could have been more. Or less. She’d slept, she knew that. Or rather, she’d lain on the narrow cot they’d given her and stared up at the ceiling while she listened to the women around her sleep.
“She’s a right odd one, that one.”
She heard the whisper over the other side of the large table that ran down the middle of the huge kitchen. A couple of younger sisters were peeling carrots and some kind of other vegetable she didn’t recognize.
“I know! Sister Patience said she was in some fancy gown when she came in.”
“Oh… one of those. Yeah, best you stay away from her.”
Marika didn’t look up or make any indication she’d heard them. Women from all kinds of different backgrounds were here, but even so, a sort of class system had arisen. Here, rather than being the top of the tree like in society, her “kind”—the daughter of a crime lord—were kept apart and reviled. She guessed it was only fair for the blight on society her father and his ilk were. There was always a price.
She concentrated on her potatoes. The peeling knife still felt odd and clumsy in her hands, and when Mother Serenity passed by, she scolded Marika for her thick peelings—apparently she took enough off each potato to feed a family of six for a year. As she’d been told… she skipped over the name in her head… she would never have survived on a frontier colony. Far better that she stayed here where no one expected anything of her but peeling and cleaning.
She’d just finished one potato and was reaching for the next when she heard a gasp from the other side of the table.
“Sister Fortitude, watch out. You’ve cut yourself!” the younger woman opposite warned her.
Marika looked down dully to see blood welling thickly from the fleshy part of her thumb.
“Oh… yes.” She must have cut herself with the peeling knife. It dropped from nerveless fingers as she watched the blood well and drip onto the table. There was no pain. There should be pain but there wasn’t. How odd was that?
“Come here, child.” Mother Serenity bustled over, slapping a towel over Marika’s injured hand and shooting a glance across the table. “Sister Grace, clean this up, please. You’ll need to throw any vegetables that have been contaminated to the pigs.”
“Yes, Mother.”
The elderly woman smiled at Marika. “Come on, my child. Let us get that wound sorted out. Tricky blades those, too eager to take a chunk out of a hand.”
Marika didn’t pay much attention as Mother Serenity hurried her to the apothecary. She sat still while the medical mother stitched her hand up with actual stitches, something that would have fascinated her before. But now she sat silently and accepting, her gaze on the light played over the high stained-glass window on the other side of the room.
“Keep it clean and dry,” the medical mother ordered as she ushered her out of the room after the procedure. “Come back in five days to get the stitches removed.”
Marika nodded and started to walk back to the kitchen. She wouldn’t be peeling potatoes anymore, but she was sure they’d find something for her to do. Hopefully something that was hard work and would wear her out so she could finally sleep.
“Sister Fortitude!” A nun rounded the corner ahead, slightly out of breath as though she’d been running. “Mother Superior wishes to see you. Now. You must hurry.”
Fear rolled through her, the first emotion to pierce the numbness for days, and she sped up. Hurried steps took her toward Mother Superior’s office, a place she’d only been once when she arrived. What if Mother Superior had heard of her accident and decided she was too clumsy… decided to let her go? Her breathing caught, her heart stuttering. They couldn’t cast her off. She would never survive on the streets. She would beg and promise to do better. She would do whatever they needed her to do. She’d be the best damned nun they’d ever had.
But when she pushed open the door to Mother Superior’s office, it was far worse than she thought.
Her father sat in the lounge chair opposite Mother Superior across her desk—the one kept for visitors. Sisters and initiates did not sit. They stood or knelt. She blinked, shaking her head and willing her father to disappear.
He didn’t. Instead, he turned around and smiled at her, a sickly sweet, false smile across his lying face.
“Ahh, there she is. My darling daughter.”
“Nononono…” she moaned, trying to back up, but the door slammed shut behind her, Dav and Lenar blocking her way.
She skittered away before they could grab her. This couldn’t be happening. This was a dream. Yes, that was it. This was just a bad dream. She’d finally fallen asleep and this was a nightmare. She’d wake up in a moment, safe and secure in her narrow cot, and all would be well.
“I can’t thank you enough,” her father said, all smiles as he turned back to Mother Superior. “We’ve been so worried about her after she was kidnapped.”
Mother Superior inclined her head, the image of serenity and faith. “Of course, sir. As soon as we realized who she was, we’ve been keeping a close eye on her as though she were one of our own.”
Marika gasped. The nuns sold her out… This wasn’t a dream. She tried to back away, looking for another way out of the room.
“No, please. You can’t do this. You promised me sanctuary!”
“I’m afraid, like her mother, she’s extremely sensitive. Mentally, you know.” Her father said, as though she hadn’t spoken. “I’m afraid this situation with the Edanian might have pushed her over the edge…”
“No… get off me!” she hissed as Dav caught her. She fought but was no match for his strength. She cried out in pain as he pushed her hand up her back. A hard arm around her throat kept her still as the nurse standing on the other side of the room approached, syringe in hand
“I’m fine… leave me alone. I don’t want this—” she spat, struggling against Dav’s hold. But she couldn’t stop the bite of the needle nor the coldness that spread out from her neck as the nurse pushed whatever was in the syringe into her body.
She fought, still trying to get free, but she couldn’t stop the inexorable wave of blackness as it swallowed her up and she knew no more.
He’d lost her.
Skinny stopped in the middle of the street as people—humans—swarmed past him, hurrying on and off the train system. For a moment he’d thought he’d scented her, but with so many people it was impossible to isolate just one scent, even for him.
He shoved his hand through his hair as frustration and panic rolled through him. The rest of the Warborne congregated around him, Beauty speaking into his ear piece, “… yeah, widen the net and access the city’s street cams. See if you can pick her up anywhere.” He was obviously talking to Zero on the Sprite.
“Fuck!” Skinny hissed, turning in a tight circle and glaring at the crowds around them as though the mass was somehow concealing his little mouse. But he knew she wasn’t there. He’d seen her stricken look as she’d realized the truth about him, realized he’d lied… and she’d run.