The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [143]
“They’re gone,” Kahlert said, switching from German to Spanish. “I had him dismiss the lot, so I’ll go and make sure all the servants have cleared out, and then we can …” His fingertips were extended, almost brushing Omorose’s cheek, and the woman gave a little sigh. Awa’s surprise was wearing off, and she began to extrapolate what was going on. She did not have to do much guessing, however; as soon as the man disappeared Omorose positively gushed.
“His name is Ashton Kahlert, and he was an Inquisitor when I found him,” said Omorose, smiling down at Awa. “You chased me right into his arms, and before you know it he’s doing everything I say, because of you. Because of what you did. I told him a bit of it, of what you did, only a bit, and even still you should have seen the look on his face! So he told everyone he knew about you, and even when it cost him his position in his church he kept at it, an obedient man, a loyal servant, the sort of slave that a woman might find herself admiring, appreciating. Loving.”
Awa would not have had a great deal to say, even without the gag.
“So his men found you.” Omorose sighed. “It’s almost too perfect. Daddy’s favorite caught in the only place she ever goes to meet girls, and with a pair of friends, too! One of them’s a woman, I gather—is she your girlfriend, beast? Is she a stupid little cunt who doesn’t know what you do? What you’ve done?”
Keeping Chloé—and Merritt, for that matter—oblivious to what she was up to as they had scoured the churchyards of France had not been easy, but Awa had managed. Both assumed she was simply a graverobber, albeit a remarkably successful one given the coins and jewelry she returned with, and as she limited her raising and questioning of the dead to the times when she was able to ditch her companions, usually on her turn at watch, neither ever suspected that they were traveling with a necromancer, and Awa had never found a suitable opportunity to tell Chloé. Awa did not see how she could have given away anything with the gag in place but perhaps her eyes or her nostrils twitched, for Omorose smiled even wider.
“She is your little girlfriend, isn’t she? And she doesn’t know, does she? Oh, this is too perfect, just too, too perfect.” Omorose spun around in place, then caught herself, setting down the knife and planting her hands on either side of Awa’s face. “Oh, how I wish I could spit on you, beast! Don’t have the moisture, I’m afraid—I had to take all my skin off because of you. I started shedding and so I had to shave it all off, skin, muscle, everything else, lest I give myself away. Do you know how badly I miss my skin, beast? About as badly as you’ll miss yours, I imagine.”
Omorose glanced up at something, then leaned closer. “I was going to have him rape you, beast, like you did me. Well, not quite … we can’t make you pretend to like it. But he’ll rape you if I ask, you know, he’s capable of more than anyone I’ve ever met. I thought he was so soft when I met him, I thought it would take so much work to get him to even let me at you … but you wouldn’t imagine the things he does! It’s, it’s ingenious, is what it is. But you’ll see, yes you will, you’ll see what he does. But not to you, not at first.”
Awa moaned then, much as she fought against it. If only Omorose would loosen the gag she could talk to her, reason with her, say something.
Would it matter, though? The realization was sobering, and chill as ice water on her back—nothing Awa could say or do would stop Omorose, nothing. The woman’s mind was irrevocably broken and she had spent almost a decade plotting for this occasion, and there was nothing to be done but suffer whatever she had planned. Awa had raised Omorose, raised her more than once, and she had brought Chloé along, had suffered that asshole Merritt to be with her, all so the plucky young harlot could be tortured to death over who knew how many hours, how many days. Awa shook with sorrow and terror,