Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

had an almost nihilistic view of life. Is that still true? Do you still not care? Have you made Death part of your family?”

Acid listened without reaction, but a sense of unease prickled up her spine. This despite the bats screeching for blood. “I don’t have any family left,” she rasped. “You killed my mother, remember?”

“You and this pathetic vendetta. Don’t you see, no one is to blame for this but you? You brought death to your mother’s door, Acid. It was your actions that killed her.” She sat back, sliding her hands off the table and letting them fall onto her lap.

Acid swallowed and nodded sagely as a dull pain bore into her temples – the tension of remaining outwardly calm whilst inside a heavyweight cocktail of rage and desolation threatened to envelop her. Problem was, most of this anger was aimed at herself. Magpie was right. Her mum was dead because she’d fucked up. And here she was still doing it.

“I’m going to kill you,” Acid snarled through gritted teeth.

“So do it.”

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the three men from earlier. On the prowl now and heading their way, with plastic pint glasses held proudly in front of their puffed-out chests.

“Hola, señoritas,” the smallest of the three growled, but with a clear London accent. “You okay?” He stopped next to their table, smiling, and nodding at them to respond.

Acid kept her eyes on Magpie as she addressed him. “Get lost.”

“Excusez-moi?” he exclaimed, slipping into pidgin French. “You hear this lads? Got a feisty one here.”

Magpie’s eyes narrowed. “You see,” she hissed. “These are the kind of people you attract. Immoral oafs. No better than rats.”

“Woah, she knows you well, mate.” The men laughed with each other, but there was an uneasiness to them now. She’d rattled them.

“Run along, boys,” Acid followed up. “I mean it. You’ve picked the wrong table here.” The men hesitated, unsure if she was joking. She looked up at them, proving with her wide, manic eyes that she was deadly serious. “Go away.”

She glared at them, not blinking, until they turned and shuffled off towards an empty booth a few feet away. She shook her head, about to say something when she felt a burning pain in the front of her thigh.

“What the hell?”

Her hand went to the source, itchy now, but as she touched her leg she realised it was numb. Completely numb. And the numbness was spreading. Fast. The other leg now. Her arms too. She felt nauseous. Dizzy. The room was spinning.

“No,” she gasped. “You didn’t…” Her tongue felt loose, like it didn’t belong to her. She looked around, trying to get someone’s – anyone’s – attention. But no one was even looking in their direction.

“Don’t fight it,” Magpie told her, rising from her seat and moving around next to her.

Acid strained at her throat. “Bi… fu… nnng…”

She fell back against the seat, unable to keep her head upright. The last sight she saw before she blacked out was the harsh face of Sister Death leering down at her and cackling the shrill laugh of nightmares.

Thirty-Seven

An intense force shot through her body, rousing her awareness, but not so much she knew where she was. Or what was happening. She fluttered her eyelids, tried to keep them open, but all she could make out was a swirling fog of nothingness. The shaking went again, rattling her teeth and bones as her muscles contracted and her consciousness spread.

She’d been in that club.

And she’d passed out.

Was this one of the bouncers, shaking her awake?

Another jolt rocked her body, but now with her growing cognizance came a deeper pain that took her breath away. The pain originated in her legs and travelled up to her heart before bursting out through every pore. She groaned, hearing her voice as though coming from another room. As the next jarring shake arrived she instinctively went to cross her arms over her chest. To protect herself.

Only she couldn’t.

What the…?

She forced her right eye open, seeing her arm splayed out to the side of her. A heavy leather cuff was fastened around her wrist and this in turn was fastened to a thick chain connected to the ceiling. She tried to make a fist but her hand hardly moved. She rolled her head to the other arm. Same story.

Another jolt forced her fully awake and the agonising pain that followed close behind had her screaming into the room.

“She lives,” a voice bellowed from behind her. It was deep and throaty, with the hint of an accent. “I thought I may have made an error with the dosage. That would have been a real shame.”

Panting, exhausted already, Acid raised her head and scanned her eyes around her. She was in a featureless room about fifteen feet square with yellowing walls. An open doorway stood in the corner with only darkness beyond it. On the wall directly opposite her hung a huge mirror in an embossed gold frame and to her left was a small metal table with raised sides, the kind you might find in an operating theatre. Above her a solitary, shadeless bulb hung from the ceiling, casting deep shadows down her face as she lolled her head back to take in her reflection.

Well, she’d certainly looked better. Her leggings and shoes had been removed and strands of lank hair stuck to her swollen, bleeding face. And there was the source of the pain. Magpie had attached jump leads to her ankles, their sharp metal teeth pulling and tearing at her skin. She traced the thick red and black cables along the floor to a small black box with meters and dials on its side. One hell of an alarm clock.

“Do you know why you are here?” Magpie Stiletto asked, moving into view.

Acid took her in, lost for words for once. The crazy bitch had ditched the silk jacket in favour of full nun’s habit, including coif, wimple and veil. It would have been funny