With the foggy image of the key practically burned into her mind, Vera plopped herself into the desk chair, relishing the chance to get off her ankle which was screaming in protest at every move she made. She had gotten used to the gray layer of dust on everything and hardly found it irritating when it flew into a cloud around her this time. She zeroed in on the six drawers built into the desk around the empty space for the chair and her legs. All of them were bland, constructed of the same smooth wood as the desk and furnished with a rusted handle that smelled coppery when she leaned in. The handle was loose on the bottom left hand drawer, and it stuck as she tried to pull it open. It was empty, however. Vera's heart sank. Finding the key was going to take much longer than she would like.
She went through every drawer one by one, each dustier than the others. One housed a collection of letters that had been eaten through by some hungry bug or smudged beyond readability. The final drawer on the top right side hardly looked promising, but she opened it with a sigh.
The moment it slid open, a huge white spider skittered out and crawled onto her hand. Vera shrieked and jumped back before smashing the back of her hand onto the desktop. Sticky spider guts exploded beneath her, a mix of pale yellow and sickly blue. Disgust roiled within her; she stood frozen, shaking with adrenaline as images of the oozing mounds of flesh in the room above flashed through her mind. When she finally moved, all that remained was a smashed corpse, thin legs curled inward over its crushed abdomen. Vera cringed and wiped the slime onto her pants.
The prisoner's movement behind her caught the corner of her eye. He was watching with a devilish smirk on his thin lips, leaning against the glass pane casually. Being snow white himself, he was almost as striking as the spider. Her face burned as his gaze flitted between her and the spider she had brutally murdered. Eventually, he shrugged and inclined his head in some sort of gesture of acceptance.
She heaved a sigh, desperately trying to calm her racing heart. Her skin was still crawling with unease, and his playful manner only irked her further. Desperate to look at something else, she put her back to him and held her breath as she examined the drawer that the spider had crawled out of. It, too, was empty—and her shoulders sagged in relief as she let out a breath—save for a large web in the back corner where several fat flies were tied up. A few were still full of life, struggling against their bonds and fighting to free their tiny wings. Others had already met their fate, and all that remained was a stray leg or half-eaten body. Like her, they were grounded—trapped—by a monster they could not defeat.
The comparison twisted her insides and dragged her gaze back to their captor, the monster she had slayed so easily. The spider had once been an undefeatable foe, it seemed, until something more powerful had come along. To her, it had been as simple as swatting it away. It never stood a chance, though it was in its own territory and no doubt brimming with confidence, a predator that feared no prey.
She thought back to the fae-killer's slow walk, the way it meandered after her and cornered her so easily. It came for her when she was weak, and it was only defeated by a power greater than her. She was nothing more than a fly to it. That was what she needed: a weapon that was better suited to crush her monster.
She had to find that key.
"Do you have a better recommendation?" she snapped, glancing at the prisoner again. His smug look had faded, now replaced with genuine curiosity. "Where's the key supposed to be?"
His lips pursed. Every time she asked a question, she could see the gears turning behind his eyes, calculating his response—or perhaps how to convey it when the glass prevented him from speaking. Shoving away from the wall, he put his palms together before opening his hands again so that they were face up. He repeated the gesture several times, always staring directly at her, waiting for her to put the pieces together.
Vera's heart skipped under his scrutiny, and doubt easily crept in to put a chink in her confidence. "Sorry, I don't..." She frowned at her own hands and mirrored the gesture, her mind whirling as she scrounged for an image that matched. Her palm was still bloody, but it no longer stung. Somehow, it made her hands look rough and dirty compared to his, which were the night sky in tangible form. She shook the thought away and focused on the gesture, the movement it made, the shape it conveyed. "You want me to fold something? Like... laundry?"
He shook his head, the tiny braid of white hair on one side bouncing against his long ear. This time, he repeated the gesture more empathetically, making a face that screamed impatience. It reminded her of the way Wyn's stretched when he was having to slow an explanation for someone who was less intelligent than him. Arrogant. Haughty.
Vera's fingers curled, her chest warm with a familiar roar of anger. It was the face of someone who was looking down at her.
Even the creature in the cell was mocking her.
She straightened, ignoring the way the world rocked beneath her and the painful flare in her spine, and held his gaze. He could look down at her. He could mock her. He could see her in whatever way he wanted, but it didn't change what she was. She was Vera Reite, and she was going to live up to her name. Whether he liked it or not, he was a stepping stone on that path, a tool that would buy her power and respect.
She may have been a magicless fae, but he was nothing more than a creature born of failure, one abandoned to rot with the house.
The next time his palms closed against each other, it clicked. Spinning on her heel—stumbling into the desk as her wounded foot cried out in protest—she came face to face once again with the rows of neatly packed books. Like his gesture, they opened and closed, folding flat on their spines as his hands would do.
"Of course. I guess that makes sense," she muttered, itching to fill the silence that stretched between them, long and eerie.
Why anyone would hide a key in a book was beyond her, but it dug up an old, fleeting memory from her childhood, one where she made off with one of Silas's old tomes. He had been using Eileen's smallest embroidery hoop as a bookmark because, as he claimed, he had nothing else on hand. She had told him she would cut off his finger so he could leave it in the book instead. Unamused, Silas had locked her outside the house for an hour before Ferne came home and chewed him out.
Her heart ached all of the sudden. If it weren't for the constant jitter of adrenaline in her body, she might have been forced to face the tears that threatened to spill. Not while the prisoner was watching so closely, and the longer she remained in the basement, the more it felt like she was being studied by many pairs of eyes. When she turned, however, it was just him.
Worrying won't get you anywhere, Vera. Action will. Don't waste time. She limped to the shelves and plucked a red volume from the numerous tomes arranged in neat rows. It laid flat in her hands, void of the added weight of a metal key, and was blank when she flicked through its pages. She tossed it aside and grabbed another.
Unlike the last time, when the wisp had led her to the record room, she didn't stop to read. She could always come back to delve into the secrets behind 0-29, but the key was at the forefront of her mind. The longer the prisoner's cold stare remained on her back, the more she wanted him out. He was a wellspring of information, one that perhaps held more than any scientist's notes could divulge. After all, he's the only survivor of the project.
When she reached for the next book, another fell off the shelf. It landed at her feet, a gold chain sticking out from the top that sparkled in the constant white light the room exuded. The movement seemed purposeful and awkward, but she hadn't felt the prickle of magic in the air. Curious, she bent down to examine the book.
It was a simple brown journal—for once, something that wasn't marked with the eight point star or a name. Its pages were curled at the edges, also discolored with age like so many others. As she picked it up, it was heavy in her hands. The gold chain slipped through the bottom, pulled by the object tied to its center. It clanked noisily as it hit the stone between her feet.
Made of solid gold, perfectly crafted in the same shape the prisoner had drawn in the fog, the key glittered at her feet. The air around it crackled and pulsed in the steady beat of a heart, and a faint whisper drifted through her ears as she leaned in close. She took the key in her hand, startled to find that it was warm as it settled in her fingers like a living, breathing creature. As soon as the metal touched her skin, the whispers exploded around her, flooding her with overlapping voices. She doubled back, slamming into the desk behind her. Some of the voices were screaming and crying, too shrill to make out. Others wailed in wordless agony. Some chanted as if in a trance, praying to some unknown spirit or god. It didn't matter the emotion, every voice said the same thing, repeating and looping around one another until Vera's ears were ringing with the constant chant.
Zeno. Zeno. Zeno. Zeno. Zeno. Zeno. Zeno.
All at once, the noise stopped. Vera snapped back to the present, drenched in sweat and panting to fill her aching lungs with air. She was seated on the stone, the desk drawers digging into her back, biting her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Her whole body trembled—not the subtle tremor of adrenaline, but a shudder that rattled her bones. The key pulsed in her hands, warm and alive and suddenly as silent as the white-eyed prisoner who never looked away from her.
Dizzy, she stood and steadied herself against the desk until the room fell still. Each halting step brought her closer to the cell, closer to his cold smile. His breath fogged the glass as he leaned in eagerly. The key grew hot in her grip, burning like iron, but she held tighter. Gold light bled from it and bounced off the metal bars. It cut a boxy shape into the wall between her and the prisoner, a door that would set him free. Mere inches above where she held the key at her side, a golden keyhole appeared in a flash of light, glittering with mana crystals. Ornate carvings were cut into the metal, patterns that swirled and danced around the tiny keyhole. In comparison, the key itself was bland. Only a four point diamond shape decorated its face.
As the light began to die down, so did the heat until it was strangely cold against her palm. Vera shivered. Another enchanted item had fallen into her grasp, one that exuded so much more control than Wyn's shotgun, and she relished the power that washed over her. When the monster was dead and she returned home with its flesh, she would no longer have to rely on the spells of other fae.
The prisoner tilted his head, pointed ears twitching. He touched the edges of the door, but it wouldn't budge until she fit the key into the lock. His eyes flashed with impatience and he jerked his chin toward the keyhole that had appeared. Unlock it, he seemed to be demanding. Set me free.
Vera tightened her grip on the key. Its edges dug into her skin with a sharp bite, but she didn't care. "I called you Subject 000, but that's not what you're called, is it?" It was heavy on her tongue, a word that was still circling her thoughts and taunting her with the discordant symphony of voices. He was something else—a Subject, yes, but more than that. A weapon to be used against the fae-killer, a prisoner locked in the bowels of the house, an unpredictable creature who was neither human nor fae. She took in a deep breath and steeled her nerves.
"You're Zeno."
The slightest flush darkened his alabaster skin with a wash of soft blues. He inhaled sharply, eyes widening. His ears twitched again, but this time, it was almost childish. For a moment, he softened and the smile that touched his lips was almost soft enough to melt her. But then he wiped the expression clean, replacing it with a flat look that buried all the interest and excitement that had lit up his face. Only the tiniest hint of his smile remained. This time, he nodded in recognition, accepting the name. His starry hands glittered as he waved toward the keyhole, beckoning her to open the door.
"Zeno," she repeated. The delicate name rolled easily from her tongue, void of harsh syllables like her own. It was like a breath of fresh air, one she desperately needed to cleanse the stench of mold that permeated the room. It carried a touch of magic that was as strange and wondrous as his star-covered hands. She suppressed the smile that fought to emerge. Names held power for the fae, just like words. So long as she had his, she was in control.
Though that had never been true for her because she was unable to weave spells, he would never have to know.
Zeno.
She fit the key into the lock and turned it easily. Her heart skipped at the harsh click that followed. Golden sparks burst around the lock and the glass pane dissolved in a flash along with the metal bars, combining the two spaces into one. They had barely faded before Zeno tensed, a wide grin cracking his solemn face.
All it took was the flick of his wrist and Vera's control came crashing down around her. She was thrown back and slammed into the wall at the foot of the stairs, the wind ripped from her lungs on impact. The back of her head cracked against the stone, and pain exploded in the same sore spot from before. Black spots flickered in her vision. She doubled over, breathless.
Zeno was on her before she could catch her breath. He pushed her upright, one arm pinned across her shoulders while the other squeezed her wrist with the key still in her grasp.
When he smiled, she tensed in waiting for the taunting she expected to come. All that followed was a raspy half laugh, nothing more than an exhale through his nose. Soundless and empty. His icy glare said it all, though. Like Wyn, victory was easily within his grasp. She was nothing but a tool—and she was stupid to think she could be anything else.
The house was Zeno's web. She was the unsuspecting prey who flew right into it.
Her head throbbed, threatening to rip the threads of consciousness from her grasp. It was suddenly too difficult to hold herself upright, much less keep her eyes focused on Zeno. They fluttered against her will, sliding shut before snapping back open again. If it weren't for his elbow digging into her, his force pinning her to the wall, she would have collapsed. He seemed to know it, too. Through her heavy lids, she saw his focus shift from her to her hand, still cradling the key like her life depended on it. His claw-like nails scraped her skin as he shifted his grip.
Vera swallowed her fear, ignoring the crawling beneath her skin. Her other arm dangled limp and free at her side, heavy with weariness but not entirely useless. The moment he looked away again, she took a swing at his head. Her palm met the side of his face and she shoved hard against him, throwing him into the wall beside her. The momentum tore his arm away, and she leaned into the wall to support her own weight, fiercely blinking away the growing blackness at the edge of her vision. Blood roared in her ears, steadily growing louder, pounding with the erratic beat of her heart.
She wrenched her other hand free while Zeno stood, dazed and shaking his head. Cradling the key close to her chest, she crept toward the stairs, careful not to turn her back on him. "We made a deal," she rasped, hating how weak her voice came out. "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll return you to your cell and leave you there, Zeno."
Still, he remained silent, wary of a fae's power over words. The quiet irritated her, but she would find a way to make him talk. He couldn't be unresponsive forever.
He set his jaw, ears flattened back in concentration, and lunged for the key a second time, his star-covered hands outstretched toward her own. She danced out of the way, allowing her unsteady footing to guide her rather than hinder her. Heat flared in the key and its heartbeat quickened; golden light oozed out from the cracks in her iron grip. An invisible force pulled her arm up, pointing the tip of the key at Zeno. Immediately, he froze and a tiny gasp escaped him.
Magic crackled around the key; power surged through Vera as she pressed the metal into her palm. "You will obey me," she said. This time, her voice was steady, and it echoed off the walls with force that was enough to make him flinch. "You will help me end the fae-killer or I will leave you here. Do you understand?"
He lifted his hands again, and she flinched. The key brightened, its power sitting in the tips of her fingers, ready to be released if she only pulled the trigger. Instead of attacking, however, he began to speak with his hands again, flowing through a series of motions that blurred together in a script she couldn't read. Her eyes were heavy, head stuffed with cotton and oozing blood. She swayed as her exhaustion finally caught up to her.
Harsh, cold stone slammed into her shoulder, a constant press against her side. Suddenly, her vision had turned sideways, and she was staring at everything from the ground up through a black haze. It floated away, too distant to reach for. As the darkness sank into her bones, she was dimly aware of a new realization settling in through the shifting sands of her mind.
What if it wasn't the glass panes that prevented Zeno from speaking? What if he has no voice at all?
What excellent communicators these two are. I'm sure they're able to understand each other so well right now.
Oh and Vera's body finally gave out on her. I guess that's what happens when I repeatedly throw new injuries at her!
On another note, now that Zeno has officially been introduced, I can mention that I've been writing some companion chapters in his POV! I've currently written one for chapters 5 and 8. These Zeno POV snippets each coincide with a chapter of the main plot and offer a little bit of extra perspective... I started doing it as a character exercise, but now it's become something I do for fun whenever I write a chapter in Vera's perspective that I think would be fun to mirror.
If you're interested in Crescent: Zeno's POV, it is currently available on my Patreon for as little as $1 a month. You can find the link in my bio. It is completely extra though. You do not need Crescent: Zeno's POV to understand or enjoy the main story--it just adds an extra layer for fun :D
Anyway thanks for reading! I will see you guys in the next chapter!