Renhala by Amy Joy Lutchen

Author:Amy Joy Lutchen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Fantasy, Action, Paranormal
Published: 2012-09-25T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

Cold

I open my eyes to dirty stone walls, and the stench of decay makes me grimace. It’s cold in this dungeon of a place, the dampness of the air sticking to my skin. I am alone, and I feel like something is very wrong. There are chains attached to the walls, and bones, non-human and human alike, scattered here and there. My ears home in on speech, and I run to the nearest wall and peek around the corner.

There, I find another room like the one I am in, but much larger. I see a greble—make that the greble who wants to eat my brain, Tartarin—and someone else I cannot see. In the middle of the room is a huge metal box that seems to be perspiring. The sweat from the machine trickles along the floor, threatening my feet with dirt and grime. The container is at least fifteen feet high and fifteen feet wide, littered with dials and levers of all sorts. It appears that one side of the box opens on giant hinges.

“You better be doing your job right, you stupid human,” barks Tartarin, as jolly as ever.

“I know what I’m doing. He’s happy with my progress, so let it be, you ugly pile of horse manure.”

Tartarin moves quickly, and before I even blink, he pulls this person into view. I don’t recognize him. He wears a lab coat with a pocket protector and looks human enough to me, even though I can see someone did a number on the left side of his face. Tartarin pushes him away, practically throwing him to the ground.

Just then a door opens and another person enters. I recognize the cloak.

“Please get up, Dr. Speck. Tartarin, you touch him again and I will make you eat your own hands for breakfast,” says Devoten. I hold my breath, hoping that his dark energy—sudo-abominor—will not hunt my energy down, for I feel it wake up, and almost sniff like a bloodhound.

“Who knows if he’s really doing his job?” says Tartarin, looking mighty pissed-off.

Despite his cloak hood over his face, I know Devoten is staring at Dr. Speck. “Oh, he knows what he must do, don’t you, Doctor?” A small trickle of the dark energy that’s Devoten’s sneaks toward me. I can feel it approaching, slowly.

“Yes, sir, I do. Your happiness is important, sir. We really do need the metal, though, sir.” He actually smiles at Devoten, and it’s a loving smile, which makes me want to pull out Devoten’s own eyes for making this man experience the unfortunate emotion of infatuation. “Is she strong enough yet?” asks Dr. Speck.

Devoten turns in my direction as I hear him say, “Let’s all hope she is. Otherwise, we might have a date with some deathmen.” A small yelp escapes Dr. Speck as he turns an odd, greenish hue, and the dark energy crawls up my leg, grasping it like a thorned weed.

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