Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
He stumped away to the stove, leaving the three of them alone at the giant table.
Bright stared at his plate, suddenly aware of the way the blue noodles stuck to the fork, the heavy weight of the silverware, the echoing clatter of pots in the distance.
“So we’re definitely not the only humanoids to have stayed here,” he muttered grimly, glancing at Burn, who had gone very still, his jaw tight with worry.
“The clothes told us that,” Burn growled, staring down at his plate as though it had personally offended him. “The question is, what in the Seven Hells happened to our predecessors?”
“And what did Cookie mean when he said we have to keep Thune ‘entertained?’” Noelle asked, voice trembling.
There were no answers. Only silence and the cold weight of dread settling in Bright’s gut, heavier than the hash he was forcing himself to finish.
We have to get out of here, he thought, staring at the strange, oversized world around him. But how?
41
NOELLE
Noelle picked at her food, trying to look interested as Burn and Bright made their way steadily through their portions of the odd, oversized meal. The hash wasn’t unpalatable—just strange. The blue noodles squeaked between her teeth, slick and chewy with a faint briny tang that reminded her of overcooked calamari. The colorful cubes of roasted vegetables had a nutty, earthy aftertaste, but she was too anxious to take more than a few bites. Even the aroma—savory and sharp—didn’t tempt her much.
Her stomach felt tight with nerves—too tight to eat much at all.
Probably just as well, she thought, eyeing the cubes of pinkish meat that Bright and Burn were both leaving untouched. She took a sip of the greenish drink Cookie had poured for them, trying not to breathe too deeply—everything in this house seemed to carry a lingering undertone of Trollox musk—a distinctly unpleasant odor.
After dinner, the three of them left the echoing kitchen behind, wandering the cavernous hallways of the Trollox’s mansion. The floors swallowed their footsteps in thick, springy carpet, and the distant hum of unseen machines vibrated through the soles of her borrowed shoes—Burn had found a pair that almost fit her, though she still had to stuff the toes with wadded-up napkins to keep them from slipping.
She felt tiny and exposed, trailing between her two massive Kindred protectors, trying not to look at the weird, looming portraits that lined the walls. Most of them were of grotesque, three-headed figures painted in stiff, formal poses. The ceilings soared far above their heads—the light fixtures were like chandeliers from a cathedral, but made of twisted, iridescent glass and curling horns. Even the air was different here—thin and faintly metallic, with a coldness that seemed to seep into her bones.
She caught snatches of Burn and Bright’s conversation as they walked ahead, their voices pitched low.
“Can you fly his shuttle?” Bright asked.
Burn shrugged, broad shoulders rolling under his borrowed shirt.
“I can fly just about anything—the problem is getting the control key to start it.”
Noelle hurried to catch up, her feet dragging a little on the plush rug. “What’s the control key?” she asked, glancing between the two of them.
“The key that unlocks the shuttle and starts the engines,” Bright explained, his eyes flickering with worry. “Usually it has some kind of biometric data—a strand of the Trollox’s DNA imbedded in it. You can’t just hotwire the thing, unfortunately—you need the key.”
“If we could find the key, we might be able to get out of here,” Burn growled, glancing around as if expecting it to materialize. “So we need to be looking for it. I don’t like our chances if we stay here too long.”
Noelle shivered. She couldn’t help it—the idea of being trapped in this monstrous house with that leering, three-headed giant made her skin crawl.
“Agreed!” she murmured, hugging her arms over her chest. She was glad of the shirt she was wearing—at least she didn’t shock herself this time. Still, her thoughts were in turmoil.
Dios, I wish I could just go home… I’d rather be back on the Mother Ship, or even hiding from Branson than stuck in this place!
They rounded a corner, the corridor narrowing as the carpet shifted from green to a deep, bruised purple underfoot. The lights flickered, casting strange shadows over the walls, and then suddenly—he was there—the Trollox.
He loomed at the end of the hallway, massive even by Kindred standards, all three heads swiveling in their direction. Noelle’s heart leapt into her throat, her mouth going dry with fear. She felt like a mouse facing down a particularly malicious cat.
Did he hear us? Did he hear us plotting to escape? Oh Blessed Virgin, what will he do to us if he did?
But the Trollox only shook his middle head, a sly grin pulling at his rubbery lips.
“Now then, piggy-wigs, time for beddy-bye,” the middle announced in a grotesque sing-song voice. The left head echoed the words with a dopey chuckle while the right head, bleary-eyed, simply snored. “You want to be well rested for your chores tomorrow,” the middle head continued. “So scamper off to your rooms now. Oh, and don’t forget—no breeding. Stay in your own rooms tonight or we might have to be very angry with you.”