Within These Wicked Walls(42)

At three minutes to ten I put my knife in my pocket, and grabbed the fireplace poker just in case. I had my amulet on, of course, but after the terror of that first Waking I didn’t want to take any chances.

As soon as I opened the door a shadow flew at me. I cried out from shock, but I was used to keeping my head enough to at least swing the poker in the right direction. Now the light of my fireplace allowed me to see Saba standing in front of me, pushing the door shut with one hand … gripping the poker I’d just swung with the other.

That honestly would’ve been stranger if I wasn’t living in a house with hands coming out of the walls.

“I can’t cleanse the Evil Eye from my room,” I said. Saba ignored me, locking the door instead. “Tom might be in danger. I have to get to his room. That requires leaving mine—Saba, stop it!”

I’d pushed past her, but she pushed back harder, and it only took one hand pressing on my stomach. I panicked for a moment—How is she this strong?—but it only took that one moment, that bit of hesitation, for Saba to overpower my momentum and forcefully guide me back to my bed.

I fell onto the bed, glaring up at her. “What are you doing? I have to go out there.”

She shook her head firmly.

“Yes.” I got up and she blocked my path. “Don’t you care about Tom? About Magnus? This is the only way to save them.”

I tried to get around her, but she intercepted me, wrapped her arms around me, holding me close. For a moment I struggled, but she was far too strong. Her body was firm, but not in the same way it would be if she had hardened muscles. It was unnatural.

Even through my sleeves I could feel her cold arms. So cold, and yet she never wore a sweater, as if she couldn’t feel what her arms were feeling.

“Let go?” I asked, and I felt her chin move at my forehead as she shook her head.

I took a deep breath. If I relaxed, if she felt I’d calmed down, she’d let go. Then I’d draw my knife on her. God forgive me, but I’d have to. Just to keep her away long enough so I could get out of the room.

Ten o’clock struck on the great clock downstairs, and the wind immediately began rushing. Screams, moans, knockings, though none as intense as that first night.

I had to get out of this room. Now.

A few more deep breaths and my heart rate was getting close to level. I wrapped my arms around Saba’s waist, leaning the side of my face against her chest, hugging her back. Tricking her was more accurate. I’d never been great at crying on demand, but I could try. Again, God, please ignore any underhanded activity you see here tonight.

It worked sans crying, because after a moment Saba’s hold relaxed slightly, her hug feeling more natural around my neck. The room was quiet except for the moaning spirits and howling wind outside, except for the snap and crack of the fireplace, except for my own heart pounding in my ear. My own heart, I realized … just mine. No counter or synced rhythm from the chest I was leaning against. Still. Nothing.

And suddenly I could no longer relax.

Saba felt me tense and tightened her grip, but I didn’t fight back this time, my brain working through too many thoughts.

She wasn’t acknowledged as a servant by anyone in the house but Magnus … by anyone but the Evil Eye’s host. And she wasn’t affected by the cold. Literally heartless. It all made sense. Well it did, but didn’t.

Saba was, in some way, a result of the Evil Eye. Despite having no traits of a Manifestation, her survival depended on the curse. And so there was no way she was going to let me cleanse it without a fight.

Magnus had told me not to get too attached to her, but I’d never expected this to be the reason.

“Whatever you are,” I said, and felt her jolt, “whatever you had been, please know I feel deep compassion for you. But I have to end this. Too many people have disappeared, and it needs to stop. Let me go, Saba. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Saba’s response was to tighten her grip like an iron clamp.

My stomach turned. I’d fought plenty of times on the street—for food, for my life, for ideal shelter. I had the scars to prove it. But to hurt a friend …

Just do it quick, Andi.

I snatched Saba’s forearm with one hand, digging my fingers in and reaching for my knife with the other just as I kicked her in the shin. Saba stumbled back a few steps, and I heard the shinkt of a breaking plate, a sharp, warm pain rising up my fingers that the rest of the cold house might’ve numbed. But I ignored the pain and focused on my knife, pointing it toward Saba and her missing—

My blood felt cold.

… her missing …

I turned to my shoulder slowly, where I still held Saba’s arm, despite the fact her body was five feet away. Where my sliced fingers had gone through the top of her arm, through the hollow middle, and rested on the bottom, my blood dripping off the end of the shattered appendage.

I looked quickly up to Saba, as she stood still, her right arm missing and hollow at the forearm, making her look like a beautiful, sad porcelain doll.

A distant scream echoed up the stairs. Oh God. Tom.

I shrugged the broken arm off my shoulder, letting it drop to the ground. It immediately started feeling its way back to its body, crawling on all fingers like a giant spider. Saba approached to retrieve it. It was now or never. I rushed forward, stabbing Saba in the knee and twisting, breaking off her leg with a subtle click. She lost her balance, stumbling to the only knee she had left, and I dodged to get around her.