Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,108

ever held me before.

“I remember you being more hospitable in the past,” I call to the room that oddly echoes for what seems like miles.

“Would my guest enjoy some entertainment?” she asks. “My favorite show just got interesting. An indecent cheerleader is making insults toward a powerful evil creature. I think it’s supposed to be a comedy, but it’s all rather silly some days.”

I watch as the mirror directly in front of me comes to life with video feed of the Monster Olympics. Violet is holding a megaphone, and my lips thin when I hear her taunting Idun.

“You’re jealous. You’re bitter. You’re tired. And you’re jaded beyond repair. It’s sadly all you have left, since all of them love me,” she goads, winking over at Emit and Damien, who the camera pans to.

Why are they standing there and watching like gaping fools? Fucking do something, you worthless tools.

“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,” Violet carries on, not sounding at all sober. “Damn right, it’s better than yours.”

Who got the bloody girl high on gypsy spice? Why would they think that’s a good idea? This is why I suffer constant aneurisms.

“I feel like playing a little tag, Ribbon Girl. Bobo, sit the next round out,” Violet carries on, and then reaches out to drop the megaphone.

“Fuck’s sake,” I say on a long exhale, as I drop my head and feel my chest deflate.

I’m going to be killed, and Violet’s gone and pissed Idun off, simply to be belligerent.

“Vancetto Van Helsing,” Pandora says as the screen freezes and fades from the mirror, until only my reflection remains before me.

I’m chained to the damn wall in a way that resembles a helpless bug spooled by a spider’s webbing.

“The prince of silver came to play a witch and ended up being played.”

Her laughter echoes around me, bouncing off the walls in that creepy way of hers.

“I came to have a conversation with you and ask some questions. I never intended to play you,” I tell her, only to be met with stony silence.

The room is an odd prison cell.

No door. No window. Just a row of mirrors on one wall, and brown, rectangle stones everywhere else. The way out must be through the mirrors.

I strain to pull at the chains once more, only to be left winded and completely unsuccessful.

“Interesting metal, Pandora. Care if I ask what it’s called?”

“The Van Helsing is impressed. He should be. He always did underestimate the crazy old blood witch,” she chides. “Is there a woman you don’t look down on?”

I exhale harshly, groaning when I find no purchase under my feet.

“I don’t look down on women. In case you’ve forgotten, part of my curse is protecting women. I revere them and see them as delicate. You should know. You’re the one who fucking orchestrated this eternal madness,” I grind out.

“I was a mere messenger with a powerful box of dirty deals. I’m certainly not the architect of your misery,” she argues, her voice hollow and still distant. “Is this what the Van Helsing came to ask?”

“I came to ask if you’d help us find a way to dilute Idun’s power so we could find a way to turn the wheel of power again,” I answer, hoping against all odds—

Her laughter interrupts those pointless thoughts. Well, this is one mistake I won’t live down.

Captured after rushing headlong into an obviously bad decision.

Fucking great.

“The wheel of power? You broke the wheel. I see no way to restore it. I warned you not to spread such fiction back then. Your desire to protect someone you loved and saw as weaker only made you the fool. You made your flocks believe she was stronger than she was. They in turned believed it. Now she truly is that powerful, and she’s only warming up. She’s about to be stronger than ever, if she’s not already. Today’s world is full of touch-of-the-button technology. She’ll be invincible before long, after she spreads her influence on an easier global networking system,” she carries on.

She’s already invincible in many ways. Not that I bother pointing that out.

“We have a plan, Pandora. You don’t have to choose her side. We’ve already started weaving seeds of doubt, using some of Violet’s victories in our favor. If we—”

“Do you hear yourself, Van Helsing?” she asks, as the mirror in front of me opens, revealing her as she steps in.

Long, dark, braided hair is drooped over her shoulder, as she moves into the room. Her gold dress matches