''What is this infernal fume? And these bloodsucking ropes you've tied me up with'' Harper asked adjusting in the seat.
''Why…the rope is our creation, child. The beartrap has similar properties,'' Bartholomew said, pausing as if waiting for a compliment.
Exactly as she thought. They were extracting her blood— and using it to proof some sort of virus or antibody capable of weakening her. Killing her, even. The fumes she was inhaling, the ropes, the bear trap… they were feeding it directly. She was a test subject for the very weapon fashioned against her. And they meant to do the exact same thing to Nicholas.
"You see, our members are very keen students of science and the arts, so you might consider the fumes an ongoing science project of sorts,'' he added.
''After you and your demon lover resisted our somners, we started to wonder— how is such a thing possible? If you knew what went into creating each one, you'd understand our utter shock.''
''I assume it has a lot to do with my current predicament,'' Harper replied flatly.
''Well, in a manner of speaking… yes.''
''Mmhmm.'' Harper nodded. ''Say more.''
The Consignor smiled knowingly at her, then continued.
''We nearly went mad with disbelief. But it also piqued our curiosity. So, we decided we needed to create a more powerful tranquilizer for your kind."
''My kind?" Harper asks.
"Your kind," he said evenly.
"You see… no one else can resist a single somner. It just doesn't happen. We've used a single one to take down twenty supernaturals once before. But you and Nicholas survived twenty of them. I mean, a few of us know just how special your child is. We knew how powerful you'd recently become, which factored in the decision to send that many somner carrying Reapers. But we were certain it was overkill. Just a harmless excess.
He gave a dry chuckle. "So imagine our surprise when we found all those reapers dead instead."
Harper nodded.
''How are my parents?'' she asked with mocking sweetness.
"They send their regards. By now, I assume you've figured out the information we got from them helped us prepare for you."
Bastards, Harper thought. Perhaps they were tortured. A part of her hoped they were. But to her surprise, the thought didn't satisfy her like she expected it would.
She felt herself sinking, breath growing weaker. And for the first time that night, she wondered if she'd make it out of that basement alive. She thought of her daughter, then of Nicholas.
"Let's talk about my daughter," Harper said. It was the only subject that could make her fight through anything.
"Let's," Bartholomew said, his lip curling into a tight smile.
''Where is she?''
''You seriously still think we have her?'' he scoffed. ''Any number of witches or covens who know what to do with her could have her, my dear.
Tears formed in Harpers eyes.
''What the hell do you mean?'' she asked, rage blooming in her chest.
Bartholomew shrugged. "I'll tell you this, though—we might very well be the least of your problems. Imagine that."
Harper stared at him, her fear now neck and neck with curiosity. He was feeding her crumbs—useful ones. Nothing Herself, Nicholas and Maisie hadn't already surmised, but he knew more, and she would try to weasel it out of him.
''You could tell me who you think has her, I mean, we both know the chances of me leaving this place alive are slim to none. Why not pass the time while your science project…" she looked down at the bear trap and rope, "works its magic? Let's throw theories at each other."
Bartholomew only watched her. Expressionless, almost mocking.
''What do you know about the prophecy?'' she asked, going for a more direct approach.
''I didn't realize I was the one being questioned,'' he said.
''Neither did I, I thought this was just a bloodsucking session, overseen by a portly Consignor and his sycophant Reapers.''
He guffawed loudly, his round stomach trembling from the exertion.
He guffawed, his round belly trembling. "Oh no, the real party starts when Mr. Aimes gets here. Both of you—together—are crucial to this experiment. Especially since he's mastered control of the demons influence without your active assistance. We've got plenty of creative ideas for you both. Especially extracting what makes you immune to the death crystals. Shame we lost the girl, but hey... you two can always make more, right?"
Harper laughed hard. "So part of your plan is to lock us up and use me to pop out kids for your science projects? You're deluded.''
"Oh, little girl," Bartholomew cooed. "There's so much you don't know about that child of yours."
''Yeah, that much is painfully clear.'' Harper sniggered sarcastically. "So, in a nutshell— you mean to drain us of our blood, cut us open and experiment on us so you can make new life draining trinkets, and what I'm inhaling right now is some sort of evil prototype."
He scoffed. ''You're in and around the ball-park," he said with a smile that showed off pearly white teeth.
''What's your name?''
''I am, Consignor Bartholomew Mellis.''
"Barty, listen to me carefully. If I make it out of this alive, I won't have an ounce of mercy for you. I will make your suffering long and hard until you point me to your GrandKeeper—"
Before she could finish, Bartholomew struck her across the face with the back of his ring-laden heavy hand.
"Don't you dare refer to the Most Venerable," he spat.
Harper laughed, blood dripping from her lips. ''What a fucking joke.''
She looked him dead in the eye.
''You will point me in the direction of your Gran..''
"Shut up." This time it was an open-palmed slap, harder than before.
''One of you get me a belt,'' he barked to one of the Reapers lurking in the shadows.
Hearing that, Harpers rage flared.
"You will point me to your filthy, disgusting, lowlife Gra—"
This time it was a full fist, crashing into the top of her left eye. A ring tore into her skin. Blood trickled down her cheek, over her lips. She licked it… stared up at him.
"You hit like a whiny little bitch," she snarled. "Fuck your GrandKeeper. I promise you, in the not-so-distant future, I will piss on his bones for the inconvenience he's caused me." Bartholomew went wild with rage. He kicked her hard in the chest, toppling the chair. He didn't notice the ropes and bear trap had been severed from the bronze bowl holding the dulling potion. He was too far gone.
He delivered blow after blow to Harpers face, cursing in what sounded like Greek.
Harper now freed from the apparatus that drained her of energy, she felt her energy quickly return as Bartholomew landed blow after blow.
He had his full weight on her, sweat from his brow and saliva from his cursing poured onto her face. She smelt the strong musk of his cologne and the rancid tang of undercooked beef as he brought his face closer to hers, his hands wrapped around her throat, the fool had lost it, she was certain he wasn't supposed to kill her that way.
Hooded Reapers rushed to him, trying to drag him off her.
But something deep inside Harper surged.
A primal instinct. A flare of will.
From her solar plexus, a blast of raw power erupted.
It threw Bartholomew off her.
And froze the entire room.