City Of The Damned (Darkly Devoted Series, Book 5)

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Grismal sent Allison's spirit to serve me. I had never been more grateful that it was a husk of her soul and not my actual friend. One of Grismal's servant golems appeared with a small jar of ointment for my burns. I wanted to slam the door in his face, but then he sent Allison's ghostly body in to treat me. When I tried to dismiss her, the golem named Lorhil returned and held a knife to her throat.

I didn't know why I should care if he slit her throat. That creature looked like Allison, sure. It had her tomato-red hair and her playful freckles, but its eyes were completely vacant. It was as much Allison as a store-brought mannequin was.

Lorhil commanded Allison to hold out her arm. He dug the point of the knife into her forearm, and she screamed. It was an awful sound to hear a vacant, fleshy body scream. Her mouth opened, and the strangest sound came out. It was a cross between a yawn and a moan. Her flesh was split open by the knife, and droplets of blood fell onto the white carpet of my room.

"Stop," I sighed. "I'll accept the medicine. You don't know much about humans, do you? What good is any of this if I'm dirty and hungry? At least, let me take a bath first."

Lorhill bowed his head and sent his golem army to fulfill my requests. I thought it would take them a long time to find hot water, but they were able to conjure up a bath for me in a matter of minutes. There was even a fresh robe for me to change into. It was a robe made out of worn, grey linen, the color of elephant skin with a texture to match, but I was happy to be able to change out of my clothing.

My entire body ached as I lowered myself into the tub of water. As much as the burns had spiraled all over my body, it didn't break any skin. If I didn't break any blisters, I might even have a chance of healing without scarring. Did it matter? I didn't know. I did know that the outfit I had worn during that ordeal was the only clothes I would have down here. There were small rips in the fabric where the heat had caused the threads to split.

Even so, I dunked the black dress into the water and gave it a good swirl. Here I was, Grismal's Queen of the Dead, and I was crouching in a basin of water scrubbing my own clothes clean. I hung the dress up to dry on the back of a nearby chair. The time for modesty was past. I left my bra and underwear hanging on the hook where the robe had been.

I wrapped the robe around myself and went back to my adjoined bedroom. There, a small, modest meal of grapes and crackers had been set up for me. Allison was sitting on my bed, and she motioned to the ointment on my nightstand. The message was clear even though her spirit was mute. I was going to let her apply the medicine if I wanted to eat.

I wanted to refuse again just to be difficult, but I was too tired. I sat down on my bed and dropped the robe from my shoulders. I could see myself in the mirror across the room. My body was hideous to behold. It was as though crimson vines had strangled every inch of my flesh. I had never been so ashamed to look at my own body.

What would Blake say if he could see me now?

If Grismal had inflicted this on me, at least the fault wouldn't be mine.

It wasn't Grismal who did this to me.

It was my own rage that had led me to this pitiful state.

The fault rested inside my own soul.

There were no balms that could cure the wound inside my heart.

Allison's face remained blank as she scooped out a handful of ointment and rubbed it generously over my shoulders. The closer she moved to me, the more I hunched my shoulders over and wrapped my arms around my knees like a snail retreating into its shell. Her long locks of curly red hair brushed against my bare skin as she worked. Perhaps it was my imagination, but she still smelled of oranges and lavender, which reminded me of the sun setting on those hazy summer days of our childhood.