Chapter Eighteen
CAGE
Nothing in the world could have prepared Edward for what he saw next. As the door swung open, his eyes took in the elegant, brightly lit chamber. Directly across from him was an empty, ornate throne sitting high on an elevated platform. On the wall behind the throne was a golden door surrounded by blasphemous paintings of Guardians obeying the Jackal’s every whim. Edward tried to ignore horror after horror as his dark brown eyes scanned the chamber, taking in every detail. He gazed past an endless array of severed Guardian wings that were mounted on the walls like trophies. Bubbling pits of sulfur steamed on either side of the throne, filling the air with an acrid stench. He was just about to give up, fearing that what he sought wasn’t there, when suddenly he spotted it.
A gilded cage, like something that would house an impossibly large songbird, was suspended from the ceiling in the far corner of the room. Edward’s breath caught as he saw it, and he half ran, half limped to where it hung, a sob escaping from his throat.
His mother lay inside.
The world spun. Edward couldn’t breathe. His mind flashed to memories that still haunted him. His mother as she lay dying in their house back in Portland, Oregon. The doctors doing nothing but taking her butterfly pulse and listening to her heart wind down. Edward had watched it all, a small boy with his world collapsing around him, wishing he could do something. He’d watched as the person he loved most left him all alone without saying good-bye.
Tears streamed down Edward’s face. His vision was so blurred he could barely see her. But there she was. Her beautiful, gentle face looked just as he remembered it. She lay on the bottom of the cage, asleep, her long, beautiful blue gown spread around her like a blanket.
Edward’s hand shook as he reached his long, thin fingers through the bars and stroked the back of her hand. On her third finger she wore a golden band, a match to the ring his father had given him. It was proof that, in spite of everything that had happened, she loved Melchior still.
Edward wiped his eyes with his forearm and pressed his face against the bars.
“Mom?” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. Sarah Macleod didn’t respond. Edward tried again, raising his voice a little.
“Mom, it’s me. I-I’ve come to get you out of here.”
But she still didn’t move. Edward searched the bars of the cage, looking for a lock, but he couldn’t find one anywhere. There was no way inside. Frustrated, he pulled at the bars, trying to separate them. He was so close! So close and he couldn’t get her out!
Suddenly, from behind him, there was a terrible shriek. Edward wheeled around like he’d been shot.
Standing in the entrance to the room, filling the doorway, was the towering form of Whiplash Scruggs. One set of his fat, powerful fingers was tangled in Bridgette’s hair, holding the girl suspended in the air. The other hand clutched a pair of deadly silver shears.
Edward could only stare, fear stealing every ounce of strength from his body. “Don’t hurt her,” he whispered.
Edward felt a surge of desperation. In that moment, he would have done absolutely anything Scruggs told him to if he just let Bridgette go. This can’t be happening!he thought. First my mother and now Bridgette!
The voices of the Four, quiet since he had found his mother, suddenly burst into peals of loud, mocking laughter, and he knew with terrible certainty that it was because the Four had him right where they wanted him.
Scruggs noticed Edward’s terrified expression and smiled. Relishing the moment, he shouted, “I’ve finally got you, Edward Macleod, and now there’s nowhere you can hide!”