Grave Peril (The Dresden Files #3) - Jim Butcher Page 0,130
fire. I cried out and fell back, the wall interrupting my retreat.
"I can always tell, when I'm like this," Justine said. She gave me an abruptly careless look, turned on the balls of her feet and walked several feet away before stretching and dropping to all fours, watching me with an absent, disinterested gaze.
I stared at her for a moment, feeling the heat of the blood welling in the scratches. I touched a finger to them, and it came away sprinkled with scarlet. I lifted my gaze to the girl and shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said. "God. What did they do to you?"
"This," she said, carelessly, thrusting out one hand. Round, bruised punctures marked her wrist. "And this." She held out the other wrist, showing another set of marks. "And this." She stretched out her thigh to one side of her body, parallel to the floor, to show more marks, along it. "They all wanted a little taste. So they got it."
"I don't understand," I said.
She smiled with too many teeth, and it made me uneasy. "They didn't do anything. I'm like this. This is the way I always am."
"Um," I said. "You weren't that way last night."
"Last night," she snapped. "Two nights ago. At least. That was because he was there."
"Thomas?"
Her lower lip abruptly trembled, and she looked as though she might cry. "Yes. Yes, Thomas. He makes it quieter. Inside me, there's so much trying to get out, like at the hospital. Control, they said. I don't have the kind of control other people have. It's hormones, but the drugs only made me sick. He doesn't, though. Only a little tired."
"But"
Her face darkened again. "Shut up ," she snapped. "But, but, but. Idiot, asking idiot questions. Fool who did not want me when I was willing to give. Nothing does that. None of them, because they all want to take, take, take."
I nodded, and didn't say anything, as she became more agitated. It might have been politically incorrect of me, but the word LOONY all but appeared in a giant neon sign over Justine's head. "Okay," I said. "Just let's just take it easy, all right?"
She glowered at me, falling silent. Then she slunk back to the space between the wall and the washing machine and sank into it. She started playing with her hair, and took no apparent notice of me.
I got up. It was hard. Everything spun around. On the floor, I found a dusty towel. I used it to sweep some of the grime off of my skin.
I went to the door and tried it. It stood firmly locked. I tested my weight against it, but the effort made a sudden fire of scarlet flash through my belly and I dropped to the floor, convulsing again. I threw up in the middle of it, and tasted blood in my mouth.
I lay exhausted for a while after that, and might have dropped off to sleep again. I looked up to find Justine holding the towel, and pushing it fitfully at my skin, the fresh mess.
"How long," I managed to ask her. "How long have I been here?"
She shrugged, without looking up. "They had you for a while. Just outside this door. I heard them taking you. Playing with you, for two hours, maybe. And then they put you in here. I slept. I woke. Maybe another ten hours. Or less. Or more. I don't know."
I kept an arm wrapped around my belly, grimacing, and nodded. "All right," I said. "We have to get out of here."
She brayed out a sharp laugh. "There is no out of here. This is the larder. The Christmas turkey doesn't get up and walk away."
I shook my head. "I I was poisoned. If I don't get to a hospital, I'm going to die."
She smiled again, and played with her hair, dropping the towel. "Almost everyone dies in a hospital. You'd get to be someplace different. Isn't that better?"
"It's one of those things I could live without," I said.
Justine's expression went slack, her eyes distant, and she became still.
I stared at her, waved my hand in front of her eyes. Snapped my fingers. She didn't respond.
I sighed and stood up, then tested the door again. It was firmly bolted shut from the other side. I couldn't move it.
"Super." I sighed. "That's great. I'm never going to get out of here."
Behind me, something whispered. I spun, putting the door at my back, searching for the source of the sound.