Cress

Chapter 42

The Lunar boy couldn't  have been  more   than   eight   years   old,  and   yet 
Scarlet  was certain that she  would  wring  his  neck like a chicken if she
ever got  the  chance. He  was,  without  a   doubt,   the   most   horrible   child 
that  ever  lived.  She couldn't help  thinking  that   if  all  Lunar  children  were 
  like  this,   their   whole    society   was  doomed and Cinder would be better off
  letting them destroy themselves.
        Scarlet  didn't  know  how,  exactly,  she had   ended   up  the  property  of 
Venerable   Annotel   and    his    wife    and   the    little monster they'd   raised.
  Maybe  it  was  favoritism  from  the  crown, or  maybe  they'd  purchased her like
an    Earthen    family might   purchase  a new android.   Either   way,   for 
seven   days,  she  had  been  the  new toy. The  new   pet.  The   new test   subject.
     Because  at   eight   years   old,   young    Master   Charlson   was   leaning   how 
to  control  his Lunar  gift.  Evidently   Earthens   were    great    fun   to   practice
   on,  and  Master Charleston had a very sick sense of humor.
         Chained from a  collar  around her neck   to   a bolt   in    the   floor,   Scarlet
  was  being kept in what  she  figured  was   the boy's   playroom.   An    enormous 
netscreen   took up    one   wall   and  countless    virtual reality     machines
   and   sports-tech   had   been abandoned in the corners, out of her reach.
        His  practice  sessions  are   agony.   Since  she'd   come    to   the   Annotel
household Scarlet  had   long-legged spiders crawl up   her  nose.
Snakes  as   long   as   her   arm  wriggle   their   way through   her belly button
    and   wind   their   bodies  around   her  spine.  Centipedes   burrow  into   her   ear
    canals   and   creep   around   the   inside   of   her   skull  before  emerging  on  her
tongue.
       Scarlet had screamed. She had  thrashed.  She  had  gouged  her  own  fingernails
into   her   stomach   and   blown    her    nose   until   it    bled    in   an   effort   to
   get  the  trespassers out.
       And   all   the   while,  master   Charleston   had    laughed   and   laughed   and
   laughed.
   It was all in her head of course.  She  knew  that.  She   even   knew   it   when
     she  was  royally  banging  her   head   on the  floor   to   try   to   knock   out   the  
   spiders    and   centipples.  But it didn't matter. Her   body was   convinced,
   her brain was convinced. Her rational mind was overcome.
               She hated that little boy. Hated him.
                She also hated that she was starting to be afraid of him.
           "Charleson."
           His   mother   appeared   in   the  doorway,  temporarily  rescuing Scarlet 
from   his   most   recent   infatuation—squinty-eyed   ground   moles,   with
their  fat   bodies  and enormous reptilian   claws. One  had  been  gnawing  at 
her  toes  while   its   talons  shredded the sole of her foot.
               The  illusion  and   the   pain   relief,  but  the  horror  lingered.  The   rawness  
  of   her throat. The   damp salt on   her   face. Scarlet rolled onto    her
  side,  sobbing   in   the a swarm   of maggots on  the woman's    pristine 
kitchen counters.

                       Without a word, she turned and left the room.
                       It wasn't long before a different shadow filled  the  doorway, a  handsome 
                       man wearing a black, long-sleeved jacket.
                       A thaumaturge.
                      Scarlet was almost happy to see him.