Patterns of Betrayal

(5) Error

It makes more sense that a sharp object or a weapon can stop a heart from beating. But a drink? This is new to me. How can someone come up with such an idea? And why would Mother want to use this instead of her usual killing methods?

A thud sounds from upstairs, almost directly above me, causing me to spill some of the liquid over the desk.

I curse and hurriedly put the vial back into the safe. The safe locks.

Quick footsteps can be heard coming down the stairs, heading for the door behind me. I panic and head for the pile of carpets. I halt and look back at the spill I had made on the desk and I almost trip over my own feet as I rush to scoop the small pool into my hands.

My former hiding place is too far away. I don't think before sprinting to the opposite wall, where the door will open. If I am lucky, the door will open wide enough to cover me against the wall and hide me from view.

My heart is racing. My hands are shaking. Will I get the markings from touching the liquid as well?

The door opens.

If Mother sees me here, if she catches me...

I try my hardest to repress the mental picture of my body thrown lifeless into one of those cardboard boxes, like Howard's.

The door swings open next to me, but not wide enough to completely cover me behind it.

I'm suddenly convinced that Mother will not hesitate to use the poison on me if she sees it necessary. My trust in Adara diminishes as she strides back into the room, her back to me as she heads for the desk with the vials.

I'm scared of her again, of what she can do to me. Now, or in the future when she sees me unfit to carry out her missions properly.

I don't dare breathe as I stand flat against the wall.

If she turns now, I am in deep shit.

No, I tell myself. As long as she doesn't have a reason to get rid of me, she won't. I chant this thought in my head repeatedly as my body angles around the door, my eyes plastered on the back of Mother's head looking for any indication of suspicion in her body language.

I thank the lords that the floor is concrete and doesn't creak as I back out of the room.

Earlier, I hadn't heard a second pair of footsteps come down the stairs, meaning the chances of Nikolas still being nearby is highly unlikely. Gambling on these chances, I take my shot and scurry up the stairs, concentrating hard so not to stumble over the steep steps on my wobbly legs.

The door at the top of the stairs is open, and I carefully wiggle through the small opening. The living room is dark. Nikolas is nowhere to be seen.

I glance down at my hands, still embracing the small pool of poison. Luckily, my palms are not feeling anything other than clammy from tension and stress. Careful not to step on any of the creaking floorboards, I make my way to the kitchen. I reach the doorway and my heart catches in my throat.

Nikolas is standing by the counter, leaning against the sink as he watches something on his cellphone. His head snaps up when he hears my footsteps halt in the door opening.