Page 87 of (Mostly) Human Resources

“It brings you sacrifices, doesn’t it?” It was less of a question and more of a calculated guess. Alexys’s vitriol caught all six of the cloaked figures by surprise. “You work for the Marrow Witch, and that beast brings you innocent people to kill for her.”

The redheaded one with the cruel mouth answered her. “The Walker brings us whatever we need to maintain our deal with her. Maybe that’s people.” She raised a defiant brow.

“Agnes,” an older man snapped from the woman’s right. The lines of aging on his face were deep enough to look like scars. “You’re sayin’ too much.”

“As if it matters,” Agnes hissed back. A smile twisted her face. “They’ll be dead soon anyway.”

“What are they for?” Alexys chose to ignore her. “The sacrifices. Why does she need them?” The soft-spoken woman took a step forward, her face much kinder than the others, but Alexys preferred that even less than Agnes’s outright cruelty.

“To ward evil away from our mountain,” she said. “To protect what’s ours. It’s a deal that was struck generations ago. The Old One protects us and our kin. She keeps us out of sight and keeps the mountain safe. Magic like that has a steep price.”

Alexys wanted to ask more. She’d worked District 13 for three years, and she’d never once heard mention of the Old Ones or the Marrow Witch. On that trip alone, she’d heard about them at nearly every turn, and the only explanation she’d received was a demented fairytale from a witch that apparently dabbled in human sacrifice.

What were the Old Ones, and if they were as destructive as people made them sound, why hadn’t they shown up on Entity’s radar?

The woman added quietly, “We don’t have a choice.”

Nic scoffed. “What do you mean, you don’t have a choice?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Agnes dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “Ready them.”

Alexys opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her tongue. Her arms were seized by a someone she hadn’t seen, another grabbed Nic, who managed to connect his elbow with the assailant’s head, but a heavy blow to the back of her head sent the world into darkness.

CHAPTER 46

“Magic is a curious thing. Entity doesn’t address it much, and that alone piques my interest. An entire world of possible enchantments, wards, and protections, and we’re supposed to believe Entity doesn’t pay it any mind? I find that hard to believe.”

Journals of Warden Michael Keane

An acrid smell burned his sinuses and jerked him into consciousness before his body was ready. Nic’s head swam, the world blurry and unsteady as his eyes fought to stay open. The smell was so potent, he tried to roll to the side and escape it.

Possibly dry heave. Hopefully not vomit.

Although the smell of vomit would probably be negligible considering the stink around him.

Turning his head only made it worse. He was hit with a smell that was so pungent it made him gag and jerk his face the other way. Nic blinked against the tears and tried to see where he was. The blur sharpened and made the mineshaft a bit more visible. He blinked a few more times and realized he was missing his glasses.

Nic tried to lift a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, but they met resistance down by his hips.

“Don’t move.” The cruel voice of Agnes came from somewhere over his head. “Not that you can do much anyway, might as well make it easier on yourself.” She was right. His ankles and wrists were bound to whatever surface he was lying on.

Nic tried to breathe. He was completely defenseless without sight; he needed a plan B.

He achedeverywhere.

His head pulsed with the rhythm of what was probably a low-grade concussion. His eyes and throat burned from the smell, his wrists felt raw from whatever was tying them down, and his knees throbbed. When had he hurt his knees? He lifted his head up to see if he could spot Alexys, but something struck the top of his head. It was soft enough to have probably been a hand, but it made his headache sing.

“I said don’t move,” Agnes snapped.

Nic squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “I’m not, you’ve already ensured against that.”

The woman didn’t answer.

He didn’t care. The silence was better than listening to her voice.

Nic turned his head to the side, relieved to discover the smell was no longer vomit-inducing. Kudos to the human body and its incredible adaptability. His cheek pressed against the stone, and he was met with an even worse sensation: the source of the smell.

The stone Nic was lying on—what hethoughtwas a stone—was covered in a thick layer of old blood. The sticky, reeking mess seeped slowly into his shirt and skin and stuck to his cheek. It was thick as molasses and dripped down to the floor below.