The King's War

25. The Experiment

AVERY

I'd always heard that New Orleans was beautiful. Too bad I couldn't see any of it trapped in the witch's house. Almost a week had passed since I'd gone through the portal, but my guilt and fear hadn't lessened a single bit. What would happen to Nate? What was the Duke's next move?

The only positive, if I could even call it that, was that the witch was a much better captor than the rebels were. Sure, she regarded me as little more than a nuisance, but she fed me well and gave me free rein of most of the house. Then again, it wasn't like she needed to keep me locked in a single room when a magic spell prevented me from stepping past the front gate.

On my first day, I'd tried to learn all I could about the rebel's mysterious new ally, but couldn't glean much aside from what little I already knew. The witch wasn't much of a talker and she didn't exactly leave her secrets out for me to find. An uncomfortable, lonely air permeated each room of the house. It was decorated, but not with any personal effects. The only photo I found was an ancient daguerreotype of a young man in a soldier's uniform; no other evidence of friends or family.

Well, not entirely. I did find birdseed in the kitchen, but no bird or even a cage to show evidence of one having lived there. And something told me the witch was not the type to go around feeding pigeons in the park. She didn't leave the house for anything except business.

Once, while she was gone, I set about exploring the basement. It wasn't expressly forbidden, but given that she spent most of her time there, it had to be important. My search yielded a spellbook that burned me when I touched it, a cauldron filled with viscous black fluid, and a stone altar covered in specks of dried blood. Creepy, but frustratingly absent of hints as to what she was doing for the rebels.

Somehow, we'd managed to settle on a routine. I'd get up with the dawn in the small guest room on the second floor, then go downstairs for a delicious but silent and tension-filled breakfast. Only this time, it was different. The witch — I refused to put myself on familiar terms by using her name — had gone out for her mysterious business last night, but she'd come back remarkably changed. Before, she appeared to be in her late thirties, but now she looked hardly older than me. Her chestnut hair was shinier, her wrinkles had vanished, and the tension she carried with her at all times seemed assuaged somewhat.

"What happened last night?" I found myself asking while we ate breakfast. Those were the only words I'd bothered to say to her aside from "please" and "thank you" in days.

The witch put her coffee down and raised an eyebrow at me. "Do you really want to know?"

"Would you even tell me? Or is that another rebel secret?"

She shrugged and sipped her coffee. "It has nothing to do with the rebels. But for your own comfort, I suggest you continue being ignorant of what I do."

It was hard not being creeped out by that. The image of the bloody altar in the basement flashed through my mind and I suppressed a shudder. She was right. I shouldn't have bothered asking.

We fell back into the familiar pattern of silence. Just as I grew accustomed to it, the witch surprised me by asking me a question.

"Do you really love your vampire king?" she pronounced.

"Why?" was all I could think to say. It was strange enough for us to be talking, but the subject was even stranger. What did someone like her care about my feelings?

The witch merely shrugged. "Is it worth it, you martyring yourself for him? Whatever feelings you have surely don't justify what you've been through. Others in your position would have renounced your relationship long ago for a chance at freedom, yet you persist. I wonder if it's out of resentment for how the rebels have treated you, or if you truly love him that much."