Chương 17: Chapter 15 — Pain Is a Luxury

Chelsea jerked against her restraints as panic surged through her body. The gag muffled the terrified sound that tried to claw its way out of her throat, reducing it to a desperate whine. She bit down hard, trying to tear the thing free, but the material stretched beneath her teeth without giving.

"Good," the woman said softly.

"That's exactly what I want. Fear means you understand the situation." Chelsea's breathing came fast and uneven as the woman moved around the table with slow, deliberate steps. The room itself was almost cozy. It looked like a comfortable lived-in cottage. Except for the organized tools. Horrific tools of torture were laid out delicately and with great care on the wooden dining table. The woman picked up a thin serrated knife and held it up toward the lanternlight.

"You know," she mused conversationally, "most people assume pain is the important part." She tilted the blade back and forth admiringly.

"But it really isn't. Pain fades quickly. Fear lasts." Chelsea strained harder against the restraints. The woman smiled wider.

"Oh, this one is lovely," she continued, turning the knife in her fingers.

"This little beauty catches skin just enough to make every movement feel awful. You barely even need pressure." She set it back down and picked up another instrument that looked more like a hooked needle.

"This one is for peeling fingernails." Her tone brightened considerably.

"I don't usually get to use it though. Most people faint before I reach this stage." Chelsea's eyes widened in horror.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," the woman giggled.

"I'm explaining things because communication is important in a relationship." She crossed the room again and selected a pair of tiny silver scissors.

"These are for softer bits." She tapped the side of her own ear thoughtfully.

"Though honestly, they're not very efficient. Pretty though." Chelsea tried to scream again around the gag. The woman clapped excitedly.

"Yes! There it is!" she exclaimed.

"That look right there. That perfect little mixture of panic and helplessness." She crouched down in front of Chelsea until they were eye level.

"Do you know why I heal people afterward?" she asked quietly. Chelsea shook violently.

"Because anticipation of future pain in the same location hurts worse than injury." The woman's smile widened into something manic.

"Once people realize the damage won't stay, their brains start imagining all the possibilities instead." She stood again and reached for a long, wicked-looking hooked blade.

"This one," she said proudly, "is my favorite." Chelsea immediately began struggling harder.

"Oh no, no, no." The woman laughed.

"I'm not using it on you yet. Relax." The woman walked behind Chelsea slowly, letting the metal hook scrape lightly across the edge of the table with a horrible screeching sound.

"See, now you're imagining it," she whispered.

"That's the fun part." Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut.

"You have such pretty skin too," the woman continued almost sadly.

"Flawless. Pale. Soft." She sighed wistfully.

"It feels wrong not to leave marks on something that perfect." The hooked blade disappeared from view, replaced by a much smaller instrument.

"Now this," she said brightly, "is for punishment." Chelsea froze. The woman leaned closer.

"You keep moving every time I demonstrate something." Her tone remained pleasant despite the words.

"And if you keep interrupting me, I'm going to assume you're volunteering for practical examples." She held up the tiny metal instrument between two fingers. It looked harmless. That terrified Chelsea more than the blades had.

"Do you know what this does?" the woman asked cheerfully.

"Most people guess wrong." Chelsea shook her head rapidly.

"It removes teeth." Then the woman smiled warmly and set it carefully back down among the other instruments.

"But we don't have to do any of that if you behave," she said soothingly.

"See? I'm being reasonable." She stepped back over to the table and spread her arms proudly toward the collection.

"I spent years gathering these," she said.

"Everyone always focuses on swords and battle axes, but precision tools deserve appreciation too. Oh, but don't tell my sister I have these. She might think that's a luxury and luxuries are a no-no." Chelsea stared at her in absolute horror. The woman tilted her head slightly before letting out a small disappointed sigh.

"You still look terrified." Then she brightened again instantly.

"Oh well. We have time." She picked the knife back up. Chelsea immediately started struggling harder against the restraints. The woman clicked her tongue in disappointment.

"You really do panic easily." The blade drifted toward the opposite side of Chelsea's head. Why was this happening!? Chelsea did everything right. She followed Adriane and the mystery guy's instructions perfectly. Why did she end up about to get tortured, presumably to death. Who was this woman? Knock. Knock. Knock. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Three sharp raps echoed through the room. A brief pause followed. Then one final knock.

The woman froze completely. For one horrifying second, Chelsea thought she might become angry about the interruption. Instead, the woman's entire face lit up with excitement.

"Oh!" she gasped happily.

"We have company." She nearly bounced on her feet as she hurried toward the door.

"Oh, get excited," she chirped while fumbling with the lock.

"I can't wait to show him my new toy." The door swung open. A massive figure stepped into the room. Chelsea's vision swam from tears, but even through the blur she recognized him almost immediately. Dewey. The third person she fought when the king was testing her.

"Look, look, Dewey, look!" the woman exclaimed happily. She hurried back over and grabbed Chelsea roughly by the cheeks, forcing her head upright.

"It's a demon," she added in an exaggerated spooky voice.

"Do you want to take one of its eyes out?" Dewey didn't answer immediately. He stepped forward slowly instead, each heavy footstep deliberate enough to make the floor creak beneath him. When he finally reached the table, he bent slightly until he was level with Chelsea.

"Little demon girl," he said calmly. Even now, even tied down and terrified, there was something strangely enjoyable about his voice.

"We meet again." He adds. Chelsea tried desperately to speak through the gag, but all that escaped was a pathetic, muffled sound.

"Oh?" the woman asked curiously.

"You two know each other?" Her eyes widened excitedly again.

"Did she escape your axe?" Dewey ignored the question entirely.

"Little demon girl," he repeated slowly, "you never answered my question." Chelsea stared at him desperately through tear-filled eyes.

"How do you know Adriane?" Chelsea immediately tried speaking again, struggling against the gag hard enough to make the restraints creak. The woman cocked her head like a dog hearing a high pitched sound.

"What do you mean she knows Adriane?" she asked, confused now.

"Adriane would turn a demon into pink mist on sight." Dewey finally looked away from Chelsea.

"Adriane was walking this demon through the knight assessment arena by hand," he replied evenly. The woman stared at him for a long second. Then slapped him across the face hard enough to crack through the room.

"Stop making shit up." Dewey didn't react to the slap.

"She's the one who made me fail the assessment." Chelsea immediately stopped struggling. If they were arguing, then nobody was cutting her. That alone was enough reason to stay perfectly still. The woman looked back at Chelsea again, disbelief written all over her face.

"This tiny little thing broke your nose?" she demanded.

"And knocked you unconscious?"

"Bea, she took a full-strength punch to the face," Dewey replied calmly, "stood back up, and called me an asshole."

"I probably would too," the woman muttered automatically. Then she froze. Her expression changed instantly. The manic excitement drained away piece by piece as realization began catching up to her thoughts.

"So she really was with Adriane?" Her eyes snapped back toward Chelsea. Fear had replaced the excitement entirely now.

"Oh no," she whispered. Then louder…

"Oh no, no, no, no, no." She rushed forward immediately and started cutting through Chelsea's restraints with frantic movements. Chelsea fell hard onto the stone floor as feeling rushed painfully back into her arms.

"Edgar was sneaking into the castle to help Adriane extract someone," the woman rambled while pacing now.

"She's the someone. I nearly tortured the someone." She crouched beside Chelsea and ripped the gag free. Chelsea gasped violently, sucking air into lungs that burned from screaming into the cloth. The woman immediately pressed a glowing hand near Chelsea's head and muttered something under her breath. The pain from falling vanished instantly. Every bit of it. Chelsea stared at her in stunned disbelief while trying to steady her breathing.

The woman backed away from her quickly now, like Chelsea herself had suddenly become dangerous.

"I didn't know," she said quickly.

"I swear I didn't know."

"You have The Eyes?" Chelsea croaked through her ragged breathing.

"Check my full name." Bea hesitated for only a moment before curiosity overtook caution. She stepped forward and pressed a hand against Chelsea's temple, her expression immediately changing the moment the information appeared before her.

"Wixx!?" she blurted.

"She has our last name?" Her eyes snapped toward Dewey in confusion, demanding some sort of explanation, but the larger man only shrugged. He looked just as lost as she did.

"Adriane made me her sister," Chelsea explained weakly, her throat still burning from screaming against the gag.

"Which means…"

"You're our sister," Bea finished quietly. The manic excitement that had fueled her earlier behavior vanished, replaced instead by a strange sort of disbelief. She looked Chelsea over again from head to toe, almost offended on her behalf.

"Why would you ever agree to that?" Bea asked, shaking her head faintly.

"That's a fate worse than death." Chelsea let out a weak breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Says the psycho who almost tortured me." Dewey stepped forward then and crouched beside her. Unlike Bea's erratic energy, his presence felt strangely calm.

"Little demon girl," he said in his deep, even voice, "how old are you?"

"I'm eighteen." His entire face brightened instantly.

"I'm older," he declared proudly.

"That means I'm finally not the baby anymore." Chelsea blinked at him in confusion while Dewey stood back up looking deeply satisfied with this revelation.

"Little demon sister," he continued, "we should celebrate. What do you eat?" Chelsea slowly turned her head toward Bea, who was still holding far too many sharp objects for Chelsea's comfort.

"Hearts are my favorite," Chelsea answered cautiously.

"Eyes too. Tongue. Liver." She kept her eyes locked directly on Bea while saying it. Bea burst into loud laughter.

"Hey, no hard feelings, right?" she asked cheerfully as though the previous ten minutes had simply been an awkward misunderstanding.

"Adriane never needs to hear about any of this." She extended an arm toward Chelsea with complete sincerity.

"Here. Take a bite out of me and we'll call it even." Chelsea stared at her for several long seconds.

"Why does everyone think I eat humans?" she muttered tiredly. Dewey frowned.

"Demons eat humans."

"No. Horse is my favorite," Chelsea replied flatly. After a brief pause, she added, "Besides, psycho probably tastes awful." A booming laugh erupted from Dewey, deep enough to rattle the room.

"Little demon sister," he said while shaking his head, "you are funny."

"We're sisters now," Bea added warmly as she slid far too close beside Chelsea again.

"That means we share and keep secrets." Her grin widened.

"And I can absolutely supply you with all the delicious organs you could ever want." Chelsea slowly leaned away from her.

"Fine," she sighed.

"Just maybe don't say it like that." She lifted her bound wrists slightly.

"And maybe remove these before Adriane walks through the door?"

"Oh! Right. Of course." Bea immediately grabbed the knife again. Chelsea tensed hard enough for Dewey to notice.

"Relax," Bea said casually.

"I'm not going to hurt you." That statement somehow inspired absolutely no confidence. Still, Bea sliced cleanly through the restraints this time without incident. The ropes loosened immediately, allowing painful tingling sensation to rush back into Chelsea's arms and hands. Chelsea rubbed at her wrists while continuing to glare suspiciously at the other woman. Bea noticed immediately.

"You're still scared of me," she observed, sounding almost disappointed.

"You held up a tool specifically for removing teeth while explaining you'd heal me and keep cutting," Chelsea replied flatly.

"I feel like I'm reacting pretty reasonably here." Dewey laughed again. Bea tilted her head thoughtfully before crouching down directly in front of Chelsea.

"Oh," she said softly as realization dawned on her face.

"You really thought I was going to go through with all of that." Chelsea simply stared at her.

"You had an entire table full of nightmare instruments!" Bea looked genuinely surprised by that answer before her expression softened slightly.

"You poor thing," she murmured, gently cupping Chelsea's face in both hands.

"You will need to learn fast. In our family, pain is a luxury. And we do not dabble in luxuries."