Hidden Island Chapter 44, part 3 of 4

Hidden Island
Chapter 44, part 3 of 4

"Mistress, what is this?" he asked. "I cannot see. I feel... ropes."

"It's... what I want," Jack said. "It feels good."

"How so?" Quinn asked.

"They keep me from falling," Jack explained. "They keep me safe. They keep other people safe from me."

"Do they keep you prisoner?" Quinn asked.

"It's what I deserve," Jack said sadly.

"Then I will join you," Quinn said. "Will you show me?"

"No," the velvet voice said. "He should not be here."

"I should be where my mistress is," Quinn countered.

"Your mistress serves me now," the voice said soothingly. "She no longer wants the responsibility. I am the mistress now."

"No," Quinn said fiercely. "You are a lie."

"Let him go," the voice urged.

A tear ran down Jack's face. "She's right. You shouldn't have to be the enabler of my mistakes, Quinn."

"That you think so is how I know your heart," Quinn said gently. "You have never felt entitled to me."

"Because I don't deserve you," Jack shook her head.

"Let him go," the soft voice purred.

"She cannot," Quinn said. "We are bound."

"I could..." Jack said. "I only need to ask, right? You would be free of me."

"Please," Quinn said, stroking her face lightly. "I do not want to go back. I will miss you. I would not be here to protect you. I would be alone until my next master, and they would not, could not, deserve me as much as you."

"I don't want to lose you," Jack whispered.

"Nor I you," Quinn said. "Let me cut you free."

"No," Jack said. "I won't send you away, but I am still better off like this. Everyone is better off with me like this.

Even you."

"Then I will stay," Quinn said.

She felt Quinn touching her head. His voice had gotten closer as they spoke, but his caress still startled her.

She kissed his hand, and suddenly, she could see him. It was as though he'd taken a blindfold off her, or maybe she'd just opened her eyes. He had a small, sad smile on his face. They were floating in a foggy void that faded into impenetrable darkness. Slowly, the blackness and fog pulled back. She saw the ropes first. She knew they were there. She felt them. She'd helped tie them, but it was her first time seeing them. The long translucent silk strands branched out all around her.

They tied and wrapped around her, supporting her torso and holding her limbs spread, suspending her far above the floor.

She was in the Red Door tavern. Shae's parlor. From where she hung between the two grand staircases, she could see that everything was slightly askew. Mist clung to the room's edges and flowed in from the open door.

People moved through the room, but they were indistinct. She could make out no faces. The noise of the carousers seemed muted, like it was underwater. The only person she could see was Quinn.

A velvet hand traced down the back of her neck. "This place isn't for him," her mistress cooed gently.

"He won't leave me," Jack said. "And I will not send him away."

"I think it is unsurprising that someone like you wouldn't understand the power of proper presentation," the woman said with an insulting roll of her eyes.

"Oh, don't get it twisted. I understand what this is," Bella said. She pointed to the perimeter of the round ballroom. "Warding circle." Then, to the web. "Channeling sigils." Then to the spider. "Gross weaving sigil."

Then to the woman in white. "Focus nexus." She winked. "How'd I do?"

"Like a child with a picture book," the woman said.

Below, Quinn began to climb. She didn't understand how he was below her now. He'd been in front of her a moment ago. When had she moved?

Something felt wrong.

"Why do you want him to be punished with you?" the voice asked.

"That is not what I said," Jack shook her head.

"I cannot give you what you need with him here. It would be unkind to make him watch. He will never understand," her mistress said sadly.

"I know," Jack said. She felt like she was being pulled apart.

"So why not let him go?" the voice asked. "You could. You said so. Say the words."

Jack nodded and swallowed. She was right. "Quinn, I... I w-"

Quinn put a finger against her lips. He was so fast. One moment, he'd been near the ground; the next, he was clinging to the ropes she was bound in, pressing his body against her.

"I cannot obey, Mistress," he said sadly. "No matter what you say. Not while you are bound this way."

Jack pulled her face back from his finger and shook her head. "I don't want to trap you here!"

"I am already trapped here. I became trapped the moment you did. If you want me gone, you'll have to come down first. I will disregard anything you say while you are not free," Quinn said. "If you come down and send me away, I will listen. Then, if you choose, you can climb back into this web and remain as long as you like."

"Could I?" Jack asked the voice behind her.

"No." There was an edge of venom in the throaty whisper.

Jack hung her head. "I need this."

"Who are you talking to?" Quinn asked.

"My..." Jack furrowed her brow. "I forgot. You weren't there. You've not met her."

"I would like to," Quinn said.

Jack nodded and turned her head as far as she could. Where her gaze went, the darkness peeled back, revealing thick white fog. Without the dark, the mist settled, flowing downward and away, revealing more of the room.

Jack was suspended in front of a second-story balcony full of old finery. Brik-a-bark. Things that had once held value but had been poorly cared for or deliberately damaged. Every chair, every painting, every cup and curtain, all husks of what they'd once been. In the center of it all sat a woman.

She was dressed in radiant white, smiling larger than life. She held a goblet of glass and gold in her hand. It had a long crack down one side, and dark red wine seeped from it, staining her white-gloved hands red. Her long legs were crossed, and her eyes were cold and black. She sat on a massive throne of black chains wrapped with iridescent webbing that looked like woven crystal threads.

The throne sat on the back of a massive black spider.

The darkened parlor made it indistinct. It seemed made of the shadows it blended into. Its vast, bloated abdomen rose behind the throne, setting the woman and her chair against a circle of darkness. The spider's legs stretched and vanished in the dark, only to reemerge elsewhere at impossible angles. Every leg had far too many joints.

They worked tirelessly, pulling thick gossamer thread from beneath its bloated body, connecting it to more and more threads. It barely moved, but its legs were everywhere, slowly widening its web, working to cover the faded paintings and old furniture. Next to its glistening fangs, its red-tipped mandibles rubbed together and stroked the threads in front of it, pulling them to tighten and adjust every time Jack moved. Somehow, as it worked, the mandibles mirrored the woman's bright red lips. It was impossible to tell if the sensual voice came from the woman or the spider.


To be continued