#ahs8

 It started with a proximity alert.

 After eighteen months of isolation, someone had found them. Friend or foe, Maddie wasn’t sure it would make much of a difference.

 Venable had sent them all away as she went to deal with whoever had come to darken their door. The fact that she sent the greys away, too, meant it was serious. Unless it was curfew, greys were expected to be cooking, cleaning, or serving at all times.

 Her roommates, three female greys, were taking advantage of the free time to rest. Exhausting hours and endless tasks knocked them all out within minutes of returning-- the first nap any of them had been allowed since arriving at the Outpost.

 She wished she could join them, but sleep eluded Maddie. In fact, she was pretty certain she hadn't got a solid eight hours of sleep since before the apocalypse.      Long     before the apocalypse.

 Instead, she read from her books. There were four texts that had been in her bag before the world ended and a fucking SWAT team had descended on her in her university library to lock her away. Plus, there were the two plays she’d filched from Evie Gallant’s trash.

     Plato's Republic  

     The Iliad  

     The Odyssey  

     The Aeneid  

     Macbeth  

 And      Waiting for Godot  

 Despite the massive library at the Outpost, greys were forbidden from reading. Not that it ever stopped Maddie. She just waited for everyone to fall asleep. She knew the guards schedules well enough that she could make it to the library and back without being caught. She'd stay hidden while she read but monthly random inspections kept her from sneaking the books back to her quarters.

 With the possibility of a surprise visitor, plus the fact it was technically still daytime, she wasn't going to chance sneaking out. So she reread      The Iliad     for the umpteenth time and tried to feel sorry for the Trojans, who only lost a city.

 The survivors of Outpost 3 had lost the world.

 At quarter past four, there was a knock on the door. The only one awake, Maddie tiptoed to open it. All her efforts for quiet were in vain as Ms. Mead loudly proclaimed, "Resume your duties."

 She didn’t have to look to know that Mallory, Emma, and Jane had been woken. Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Maddie offered a tight smile and a nod.

 Mead turned on her heel, loudly stomping down the hall.

 Looking back, she wished she had put up a bigger fight against the SWAT team. She didn't mind the menial work, nor the day to day bullshit of life after the apocalypse but being treated like a servant grated on her.

 The words 'please' and 'thank you’ seemed absent from most of the purples and Venable's staff vocabularies.

 "Anyone else suddenly have the urge to sing Hard Knock Life?" Maddie asked, sweeping her dark hair up into a the stupid bun they were required to don outside their quarters.

 "Don't tempt me," Emma muttered, slipping into their shared bathroom.

 Mallory rubbed her eyes. "Since we're cleaning, I take it we haven't been overrun by cannibals?"

 "We aren't that lucky."

 Mal offered a small smile as she pushed herself to a sitting position. “A girl can dream.”

 As greys, dreaming was about all they were allowed to do. And only on their own time.

  Buttoning up her dress and slipping on her apron, Maddie slipped into the hall.

 They hadn’t cleared breakfast that morning due to the proximity alert. God forbid one of the purples venture into the dining hall and find it imperfect. They tended to search for fault as abusing the greys was one of the few pleasures that Venable still allowed.

 Maddie got to work, immediately stacking plates to take back to the kitchen.

 She took comfort in the fact the day was half done already. Instead of the normal twelve hours between breakfast and curfew, she only had seven to go. Then another half-hour before it was safe to sneak out of her room and down to the library.

 Her lips twitched in anticipation.

 The other greys weren’t far behind. While Mallory and Emma were off dealing with Coco and Dinah, respectively, Maddie and the rest made quick work of cleaning the dining room and the kitchen. Maddie had just washed the last of the dishes when Mead and the Fist came in, each carrying a dark-stained bag.

 “Your lucky day, Eric,” Mead addressed the grey who had once been a chef, shoving the bag in his direction while the Fist dropped hers on the ground with a solid      thud    .

 Peaking over the counter, Maddie caught sight of long, scaled bodies. She gasped as she realized the contents were snakes.

 She looked up, noting Eric had a similar shocked expression on his face.

 “Where did these come from?”

 “They’re safe to eat,” Mead said, without answering his question. “Took the Gieger over all of ‘em.”

 “We’re supposed to eat them?” James, another of the greys, asked. He looked nauseous at the thought and Maddie couldn’t entirely blame him.

 “It’s protein. It’s good for you.” Mead shook her head before exiting the kitchen.

 As soon as the door swung shut behind her, Maddie muttered, “I think I speak for everyone when I say: what the fuck.”

 “You really think it’s safe?” Eric asked.

 “I’d wear gloves before touching them.”

 “Shit.”

 “Think they came from outside?” James asked, looking at Maddie.

 She peeked, reluctantly, into the bag. “Don’t think they came from inside. Bets on who’s going to throw the largest fit?”

 There was a brief pause before the others all bemoaned, “Coco.”

 Maddie laughed along with them.

 Sure enough, lunch was a fiasco. Even those who didn’t openly complain about the source of protein made faces of disgust as they were served.

 Maddie remained silent, listening intently for any mention of the proximity alert. Between complaints and exaggerated stories of life before the blasts, it didn’t seem like anyone was going to be willing to speak up.

 Finally, and to her credit, Emily turned to Venable. “So, who’s in your office?”

 “I beg your pardon?”

 “Alarms went off before. Someone came inside.”

 Her lips twitched as one of the only purples she could stand held her ground against the HBIC.

 “Who else is here?”

 But Venable’s pinched face told Maddie that she wasn’t going to tell them shit.

 “All questions will be answered in due course.”

 There wasn’t time to be disappointed as, almost immediately, snakes began slithering out of the hot broth and across the table. No matter the fact that they had all been chopped to bits and boiled beyond recognition. Suddenly, they were whole and seemingly pissed at their treatment, hissing at anyone who came near.

 Coco and Gallant climbed onto their chairs as Andre  ran out of the room, screaming.

 “Grab them!” Venable cried even as she backed away herself. Eric had rushed to the kitchen to grab something to contain them with while the other greys turned pale.

 Catching snakes had never been in the job description.

 “Are they poisonous?” James asked, eyes wide.

 Maddie barely withheld correcting him that, technically, the snakes were      venomous    . She didn’t think he’d appreciate that little lesson, though.

 She’d caught three by the time Eric had come back with a pot and a lid to store them in.

 They were slippery little bastards and the others seemed almost too afraid to make a real attempt at catching them. They probably didn’t have her experience, playing with little garden snakes in her backyard. She’d always had a soft spot for snakes. Maddie knew what it was like to be a misunderstood creature.

 The others saw snakes and thought of cowards, crawling on their bellies. Or stories of sin and seduction.

 She thought of Asclepius and the symbol of medicine. The sacredness of the creatures in thousands of cultures, revered for the ability to shed their skin and be born again. They represented life just as much as they represented death.

 She caught six more with ease while Eric, Emma, and Mallory managed to catch about one a piece. Mead shot another before they were taken away to be disposed of, once and for all.

 As usual, the greys did the dirty work while the purples wandered off and debated just how it had happened.

 Maddie slipped into the kitchen, now empty as Eric and James followed Mead, carrying the large pot.

 She had started to heat the water to wash the dishes when she saw it out of the corner of her eye.

 A little slither and two black, shining eyes staring up at her from under a stove.

 She set down the dishes, creeping slowly towards it.

 "Hello, there," she whispered, kneeling down. "You're a quick little thing, aren't you? Never even saw you slip away."

 She reached for it, carefully grabbing it from the neck so it couldn't bite her. It's tail began winding its way down her wrist. It was smaller than the others but no less deadly.

 "What am I to do with you?"

 She      should    bring him down the hall to where Mead was disposing of them for good. But it was so little, so helpless. It's venom was potent but it couldn't kill them all. And there were many of them.

 She swore it was trying to nuzzle her hand.

 Fuck.

 She couldn't leave it to die.

 She turned around, searching for some kind of container. She found a brown box with a detachable lid in the storeroom. Using a knife, she cut holes into the lid and set the snake inside.

 The door to the kitchen opened and Venable came inside.

 "What are you doing?" she asked with her ever present frown.

 "Putting away napkins.”

 Venable made a noise of annoyance. “Well, finish it up. Everyone has been summoned to the parlor by our new guest.”

 “The dishes aren’t…”

 “You can finish with your menial tasks later. Your presence is required now.”

 Maddie nodded, stifling a wince. She’d have to hide her new friend someplace and come back for him after the meeting. She settled it on the top shelf in the store room before hurrying off to the parlor.

 The purples took the parlor section, lounging on the soft, leather couches that Venable would have her whipped for touching without a rag in her hand. Two greys were left down below to attend any emergency needs.

 With the others of her class, Maddie climbed up to the balcony.

 Aside from mourning the loss of heat as they trekked further away from the fire, she truly didn’t mind it. There were few purples who could hold a conversation anyway.

 “What do you think is going on?” James asked, a harsh whisper in her ear.

 Maddie barely withheld a wince as she leaned down against the bannister. Her need for personal space pushed her away as she replied, “My money’s on bullshit.”

 Instead, she thought about the little snake she had acquired and what she would call him. Cleo, Asp-en, Medusa… she smiled as she thought to herself.      Macula    . The classical Latin word for      spot    . No one would get it, but then, it wasn’t like they got      her     anyway.

 Beneath them, a hush fell over the purples. Slow and measured footsteps echoed across the library as a blond man with granite features entered the room and walked over to Venable. He inclined his head, almost daring her to say something.

 Instead, she backed away, looking as spooked as Maddie had ever seen her.

 An unusual sight that made her do a double take.

 He was attractive, to be sure, vaguely reminding her of a GQ model. Even from the balcony she could make out his striking blue eyes and full, pink lips. But more than just his physical appearance, he carried with him a      fuck with me. I dare you    attitude.

 “My name is Langdon,” the man introduced, looking around the room. “And I represent The Cooperative. I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds… In Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international Outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.”

 “Holy shit,” James muttered as Emma took a sharp breath on her other side.

 “What happened to the people inside?” asked Tim.

 “      Massacred    .” Maddie inclined her head as Langdon spoke. The word was said with what she could only describe as fondness. He continued, the barest hint of a smile on his, albeit, handsome face. “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.”

 “Almost all?” came Mallory’s voice. The purples looked over towards her in disgust but Langdon didn’t seem to notice.

 “In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe… The Sanctuary.”

 “The Sanctuary?”

 Maddie frowned, feeling the beginning of a headache coming on.      Deja vu, bitch.  

 “The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

 “Excuse me, sir.” Mead interrupted, asking, “What measures? Why weren't we given them?”

 Langdon held up a hand, dramatically. His long fingers were adorned with rings of varying sizes. “That's classified. All that matters is that The Sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive.”

 “Who are the people who are populating it?”

 “Also classified. However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.”

     That     caused a murmur amongst the purples. Gallant and Coco were loudly whispering to each other, causing Maddie to roll her eyes. Maybe, if she was very lucky, Langdon would take them with him when he left.

 The man in question continued. “The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call… ‘Cooperating.’ I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.”

 “What is this, The Hunger Games?” Coco said angrily. Apparently the idea of      talking     was too much work for her. “This is bullshit. I paid my way in here, and that is the only      cooperating    I plan on doing.”

 “You don't have to sit for questioning.” Langon gave her a pointed stare.

 “What happens if we choose not to?”

 “Then you stay here and die.”

 Maddie snorted softly.

 So what? It was the end of the world. Truthfully, it was incredible they’d all lived that long.

 Langdon’s eyes shot up to the balcony, narrowing on her. And then, as quickly as it had happened, they were gone, looking back around the room at large.

 “I volunteer to go first,” Gallant said with a wave of his hand.

 “And so you shall,” Langdon acquiesced before addressing them all together. “The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these.” He held up a small vial filled with pills. “One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

 Without another word, Langdon strolled from the room with a peace and assuredness that was almost worse than being told most of them would die shortly.

 Maddie had to give him credit. The man had a way about him that was utterly show stopping.

  “That was fucking intense,” James noted.

 “Do you think he’d take any of the greys with him?” asked Eric, like he didn’t dare to hope.

 “I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Maddie murmured. There was an air about Langdon that screamed      sociopath    . It was in the way he spoke of the downfalls of the other Outposts, the smirk as he offered suicide-capsules. The ease in which he spoke about their imminent deaths by cannibals.

 At the very least, he was a narcissist. The way he strutted in, playing savior.

 Like they should all be on their knees, kissing the tails of his coat, and praising his coming.

 James and Eric continued to whisper about the possibilities of Sanctuary.

 A waste of time, she thought.

 Hope was a luxury and her time was already stretched to its limits. She couldn’t indulge in such fantasies.

 “We should get back to the dining room. Finish cleaning up,” she said pointedly, thinking of her new little friend, hidden amongst the storeroom. She’d have to get him to her room but that wouldn’t be too much of a struggle. No one paid any attention to the greys unless they wanted something.

 And she could convince her roommates to keep quiet, at least for a few days until she figured out a better plan.

 “Mads is right,” Eric said with a sign. “Give us time to prepare for our interviews as we clean.”

 She nodded half-heartedly.

 Maddie gave a final sweeping glance to the library. Her fingers itched to touch the books but, unless she was dusting, it was forbidden for a grey to sully the old texts. Despite the fact that half of them were in Latin and she was the only one in the Outpost who could understand them.

 But the day was half-done already. In just a matter of hours, she would be back to read by candlelight. And that was the only thought that could still bring a smile to her face.

..........................................

 Michael had gone into Outpost 3 with low expectations. Or so he had thought. As it turned out,      low     was not nearly low enough. Already, he had talked to two of Venable’s designated purples, the queen bee, herself, and a grey. All of whom ranged on a scale of grossly pathetic to unbearably uninteresting.

 In hindsight, he should have paid more attention to those allowed to survive the blasts.

 While the billionaires who had bought their way to survival had financed his Outposts, they were all the same.

 The self-indulgence and greed didn’t bother him so much. After all, Satan preached worldly pleasure above all things.

 It was the inflated egos and misplaced pride that grinded against his sensibilities.

 Take Gallant. A former avant-garde hairdresser who had spent the last eighteen months whining about when the world was better. There was no gratitude towards surviving.

 Granted, Gallant had survived by the skin of his teeth, managing to manipulate his way to one of the St. Pierre Vanderbilt's tickets.

 But even Coco and Dinah, who had paid for their tickets, were shallow ingrates.

 No goals. No cares. No substance.

 Outposts 1 and 2 had been the same. Even Sanctuary, filled with the best and the brightest scientists who were prepared to remake the world in his image, made him yawn.

 Perhaps he should just kill them all and be done with it, although he hated to get his hands dirty. If he was patient, Venable would take care of them all and he could just sit back and wait.

 Disappointing but not unexpected, he thought as he walked down the corridors of his old school. They were completely empty from Venable’s imposed curfew.

 The Outpost leader’s rules were borderline puritanical. How he had ever been convinced by Jeff and Mutt to allow her to lead an Outpost was beyond him. She was the antithesis to all things Satanic, from the modest dress everyone was forced to wear to the rules denying all sexual contact under threat of death.

 Two of her ‘greys’ had been shot execution-style not long after the Outpost opened after being caught      in flagrante delicto    .

 Michael found himself outside the library. He blinked in surprise. How many times had he wandered these halls as a student, only to end up in the same place?

 He’d always favored the room. He’d immersed himself in his studies from his very first day at Hawthorne. The only place he’d ever felt as though he’d fit in.

 He slipped inside, admiring the ceiling-high bookshelves. He’d once vowed to read every one of those texts. He’d made decent progress before things all went sideways with the presence of Cordelia Goode and her army of weak, teenage witches.

 Maybe he’d take the books with him when he left...

 A small intake of breath caught his attention as Michael realized he wasn’t alone.

 His lips twitched. It seemed someone wasn’t as afraid of Ms. Venable as the bitch would like to think they all were.

 “Come out, come out,” he found himself taunting, looking around the room in a broad sweep. As if he couldn’t hear exactly where the quiet sound of her breathing came from.

 The girl didn’t move.

 Truly amused for the first time since arriving at Hawthorne, Michael tried again. “Show yourself, little one, and maybe I won’t tell Venable you’ve been out and about.”

 For a moment, there was only silence, followed by a soft, “Fuck.”

 Michael pursed his lips to keep from smiling. There was a quiet      thud     and a rustling of clothes as she stood from her hiding place, tucked away in a little alcove.

 He recognized the little grey from the Outpost meeting earlier. She had leaned against the bannister up above, seemingly annoyed by his very existence. While others had taken in his presence with an appropriate level of awe, she had acted as if she were inconvenienced by his offer of Sanctuary.

 She wore the same stupid grey dress mandated by Venable, although she had undone the top few buttons. And though the head bitch also required all ‘greys’ to wear their hair in the most unflattering knot he had ever seen, the girl’s hair had been let loose in silky waves.

 She squared her shoulders in open defiance. “Mister Langdon.”

 “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” He crossed the room in a wide arch, carefully closing in on her. “What is your name?”

 She tensed ever so slightly, a flash of fear in her eyes, gone as quickly as it had appeared. Lost under a mask of bravado.

 How curious…

 “Madeline Sage.”

 The name echoed through his mind. Madeline.

 A name with Hebrew origins. He’d studied enough of language and the Christian texts to know her name was an homage to Mary Magdalene, the disputed bride of Christ.

 Surely, a coincidence of no significance. And yet…

 Michael took another step closer. “And what, Madeline Sage, are you doing out so long past curfew?”

 “A little light reading?”

 He’d killed people for using such insolent tones with him before. So why did hers make him want to smile?

 “And it couldn’t wait until morning?”

 At his question, she frowned, glancing to the side.

 His eyes narrowed. “What?” he asked at her sudden silence.

 “I’m      grey    .”

 It was his turn to frown. “And?”

 She shrugged a shoulder, not quite meeting his eye even as she gazed in his direction. “Greys aren’t allowed to access the library.”

 For a moment, Michael truly regretted killing Mutt and Jeff, if only for the opportunity to do so again. Slower, this time. And more painfully, solely for the fact that they unleashed Venable to his new world.

 But he would deal with the bitch in black later.

 “What,” he asked, glancing at the book and college-ruled spiral notebook by her feet, “was so worth incurring the wrath of Venable?”

 He stepped directly in front of her, looking down pointedly. She was a full head shorter than he was and his close proximity forced her to look up.

 Rather than waiting for her answer, Michael knelt down to the floor. The book she was reading from was an old occult text outlining the history of magic. In Latin.

 But what truly caught his attention was the spiral-bound notebook. In careful, neat lettering, she was writing out English definitions. Michael picked them both up, setting the notebook on top as he flipped backward.

 Sure enough, page after page of definitions. Towards the beginning, multiple charts of standard declensions and conjugations.

 He tilted his head, stunned for the first time since discovering who he truly was the night of his first Black Mass.

 “You’re writing a Latin dictionary?”

 Adding to his surprise, the girl’s cheeks flushed. Still, she looked up, meeting his gaze with that same fierce defiance he had seen when he first ordered her to stand.

 “Yes.”

 “Why?”

 She swallowed, eyeing her work as if she was afraid he would take it away. "What we don’t save is lost.”

 He followed her gaze back to her writing, the perfectly constructed charts, the crisp lettering. Time and care had gone into all of it.

 She had risked punishment to save a dead language.

 After an evening of listening to half a dozen people blather on about their uses while whining about their circumstances, he was awed.

 "      Acta non verba,    " he murmured aloud.

 "Deeds, not words," she translated without missing a beat. Her eyes met his, no longer defiant and defensive but curious. "You know Latin?"

 Michael nodded. His birthright had come with a variety of powers, including the ability to comprehend and speak any language across time. “Where did you learn?"

 "High school. I'll admit, it's been quite a while. My translations are far from perfect. I remember learning a lot more about Roman farmers and a lot less of the occult than the boys of Hawthorne."

 "I take it your knowledge is of Classical Latin rather than Ecclesiastical."

 Her eyes widened and her breath hitched ever so prettily. "Exactly! It's why this dictionary has been so much more of a struggle."

 The excitement coating her words almost made him smile. It had been a long time since he saw or felt true excitement. Someone able to make something from the rubble rather than languishing like the rest.

 There was a warm, fuzzy sensation in his chest that he couldn't name.

 Her words somehow caught up to his brain. There was something about the way she had said      'this'     that gave him pause. "Have you made more than one dictionary?"

 The flush stained her cheeks again, like she had been slapped. Yet somehow, it was even more enchanting.

 Madeline nodded. "I'm more fluent in Ancient Greek than Latin. Both Attic and Koine, which are the main dialects that--”

 “Attic was an Ionic dialect associated with many of the classical texts and the early philosophers,” Michael interrupted. “Koine was a more common, widespread tongue. The early editions of the New Testament were written in Koine.”

 She nodded again, momentarily stunned. "Y-yes. I wrote out an Attic dictionary already but I only had one notebook left.”

 Madeline gestured to the spiral-bound atrocity in his hands. It was plebian, vulgar.

 For some reason, it pissed him off that she was recording lost knowledge with a ballpoint pen and something school children would doodle in.

 She should be writing in ink or fountain pens. Her words not bleeding through the thin pages, leaving indents behind in what would otherwise be perfection.

 “I figured one of each language was better than two Greek dialects. Plus, some of the Koine rules are just so specific, I didn’t want to make a mistake and... I’m rambling. Sorry. It’s been a long time since I spoke to someone who knew anything about dead languages.”

 “Indeed,” he agreed. “Did you learn Greek in high school, as well?”

 She shook her head. “Undergrad. I double-majored in Ancient Civ and Ancient Greek. What about you? It was hard to find someone in the old world who knew the differences between Greek dialects. I didn’t think to look for it in a Cooperative adjudicator.”

 Usually, personal questions pissed Michael off to no end. His business was his own but he couldn't help but wish he had a better answer for her.

 For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to tell her the truth. His birthright, his abilities and understanding of languages. Would it impress her that he could read fluently from every dead language known and unknown to man?

 But to tell her would be to admit who he was. That could interfere with his plans for Outpost 3, for those who resided there as well.

 He chose the most simple answer. “My father had an ear for languages. He began teaching me when I was young.”

 She offered a small smile that shot through him like a drug. His pants grew uncomfortably tight.

 How… strange. He usually had more control over such bodily functions. He'd never struggled when the need arose but that had never just happened on it's own.

 “I’m glad to hear that other languages will survive, at least a little bit longer.” Her tone was wistful, longing.

 He thought of the books and artifacts saved in the Sanctuary. Pieces of art and history that he deemed worth saving.

 What would she think of his choices? Would her eyes light up if he showed her? Would her cheeks burn red if he fucked her against a two-thousand-year-old tapestry?

 He barely withheld a moan at the image.

 Her petite body wrapped around his, nails digging into his shoulders as she would cling to him. Her teeth sinking into his neck as he whispered all the dirty things he would do to her...

 Madeline Sage.

 He regretted not having familiarized himself with the files before his arrival. He knew her name was not on the original roster for Outpost three. He would have recognized it.

 But Venable and the other Outpost leaders had sent updated rosters within a week of the explosions and one of his assistants had compiled files on each of them.

 Histories, family trees. Their kindergarten report cards all the way to their employee reviews at their jobs. Credit reports and IQ.

 He hated not knowing only a little more than he hated asking.

 For the first time in any Outpost, he was looking forward to interviewing someone for something beyond the fleeting amusement of watching them squirm.

     But, oh, to watch her squirm...  

 "In hindsight, though, I probably should have studied engineering," she added. "I feel like the ability to make a radio or make a wind turbine would have been a lot more useful."

 Michael smirked. He already had several dozen people at the Sanctuary for that but no one who knew the major dialects in ancient languages. He wondered what else she knew about.

 "I'm not sure I'd agree. The preservation of knowledge is a… noble pursuit."

 She shrugged off the praise in a way that made him frown. Either she wasn't used to it or someone had made her feel less for her endeavors. A spike of rage hit him in the chest, making him want to lash out at all those around her, past and present.

 "It makes me feel better but I'm not sure how much good it will do."

 "Good is rather subjective. Is making yourself feel better not enough?"

 She seemed to consider it before inclining her head. "Some days it is. It's not like I ever expected to make a big difference in the world before it went to hell. It's just some days it feels pointless."

 "And what do you do on those days?"

 She raised her chin. "I get up and do it anyway."

 "You're a rebel,” he commented, fighting a smile

 "I prefer 'civilly disobedient'."

 This time, he couldn't stop the smile from spreading. She was magnificent.

 "Rules were made to be broken, then?"

 "Often. But they need to be understood before they can be discarded."

 "And why do you think you're forbidden from these texts?"

 "Knowledge is a dangerous thing." She shrugged. "Or the Cooperative is made up of fascists. Take your pick."

 Little Madeline thought to taunt him?

 How… fascinating.

 "An interesting sentiment to pass on to the Cooperative representative who chooses if you live or die," he said imposingly, resisting the urge to set her straight that such rules stemmed from Venable and not from him. At least, for now.

 She raised a defiant brow. "Prove me wrong."

 He hummed. "The others of this Outpost seek to find their way to Sanctuary at all costs. Lying, betrayal,      begging    .” Fuck, he wanted to see her beg. “And yet you disrespect the only one who could save you.”

 “Would you go as far as to say I’m not      cooperating?    ”

 He ignored her question, narrowing his eyes. “Do you fear death?”

 “Everyone dies. And that was true long before the apocalypse.” Madeline tilted her head. “Truthfully, I’m surprised I’ve made it this long.”

 As a rule, Michael tended to be good at reading people. Another gift from his father. Not quite mind-reading but the ability to see intentions and understand desires. He was better than sodium pentothal.

 Standing before the little grey, he couldn’t manage to get a reading at all.

 No intentions, no desires, no secrets.

 Her every word and action surprised him.

 The aura of a hopelessly good girl who was purposefully, admittedly breaking the rules to make humanity a little bit better.

 He was helplessly drawn to her light like a fucking moth to a flame.

 He longed to reach out and touch her pink cheek, to see if it was as soft and warm as it appeared. Would she cower from his touch? Or lean into him?

 His hand began to stretch when his ears twitched.

 "Get on your knees," he said lowly.

 Thr flush was back, this time indignant as she hissed, "Excuse me?"

 "Kneel!" he ordered, mentally rushing a pillow from the couch to land on the floor, cushioning her as her body obeyed. "Be silent!"

 There was a flash of fear in her eyes and he instantly regretted his actions, even if it were for her protection.

 The click of shoes grew louder and Madeline's eyes widened in understanding. Michael dropped the books, letting them float to the floor quietly, just as the guard known as the Fist entered the library.

 From where the guard stood, she would be unable to see his little civilly disobedient girl.

 He shot her a look of pure contempt. "Can I help you?"

 "I heard voices. Who was with you?"

 Michael tilted his head slowly. "I do not believe I answer to you."

 "The rules may not apply to you, Mister Langdon, but they do to those who live on this Outpost. I need to know who is up and out of their beds past curfew."

 One moment his hand was empty, in the next, there was a phone. He held it up. "I was speaking with the Sanctuary."

 The guard looked shocked. "That works?"

 "Obviously," he drawled. "Now if you would be so kind as to allow me to finish my call in private?"

 With a frown, the Fist turned on her heel and stalked off, down the hall.

 When the footsteps receded, he turned back to Madeline. He tried to ignore the feelings that arose, seeing her in such a position before him.

 He waved his hand and the spell broke. She gasped quietly at the sensation, looking up over long lashes.

 "Thank you," she said softly.

 Michael offered his hand but nothing could prepare him for the electrical current when she accepted his touch. He grit his teeth to keep from making a sound as he tugged her to her feet.

 In his haste, his unchecked strength sent her off balance, crashing into him. Michael quickly circled his arm around her, keeping her from falling. Her hand braced against his chest as the world stood still.

 His heart pounded in his chest in a way that made him wonder if it had truly beat before.

 Her face nearly scarlet, Madeline stepped back.

 Reluctantly, he let her go wondering what the fuck was coming over him.

 Why did he feel the need to kiss her senseless and why the fuck wasn't he just taking what he wanted?

 “You’re a warlock?” she asked.

 Michael held a hand over where her books had fallen. They raced back up to land in his arms. He offered them to her and she accepted, clutching them to her chest.

 “Not quite.”

 Her eyes narrowed, curiously. “Then what are you?”

 “Depends on who you ask.”

 “Not a very helpful answer, Mister Langdon.”

 “Michael,” he corrected, surprising himself by offering his given name. He hadn’t given Venable nor anyone else on the other Outposts the honor.

 Those in the Sanctuary referred to him as      King    or      My Liege    .

 And those outside knew him only as      Langdon.  

 She gave a gentle nod but it wasn’t lost on him that she did not immediately jump to use it. He frowned slightly before explaining, “The warlocks had access to magic in its most basic forms but none were particularly powerful. They referred to me as      The Alpha.    The witches acknowledged me as the next Supreme.”

 If she watched any of the news in the last ten years before the blast, Michael was certain she would understand the significance of that title. The subtle widening of her eyes told him that she did, indeed, recognize it.

 He wondered if she were impressed.

 At the time, the Seven Wonders had seemed like a chore. Nothing more than another homework assignment to be completed. Yet now, he felt like boasting.

 Telling her exactly how he accomplished each and every task with ease.

 How he had gone beyond the simple task of descending to Hell by finding witches locked in their own personal hells and releasing them back onto the world.

 “Does Venable know?”

 “No.” Not that it mattered. He could accomplish his goals regardless of how afraid of him they all were. Still, he was curious how she would respond when he asked, “Are you going to tell her?”

 “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

 She wasn’t.

 And while he wouldn’t care if she did share what she had seen, he felt the need to praise her. Reaching forward, he pushed her hair back out of her face and behind her ear.

 She swallowed, stilling under his linger touch as he ran his hand through the dark tresses. His fingers closed around one lock, watching as it straightened before bouncing back into a curl as he released it.

 Finally, he understood why little boys tugged on little girls' pigtails.

 Her eyes flickered down, his touch obviously affecting her he realized with a sense of pride.

 “I should get back to my quarters,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

 Disappointing, but he would see her soon. After all, he still had her interview to complete.

 “Allow me to escort you.”

 “That’s not necessary--”

 “I      insist    ,” he pushed, offering his arm.

 Madeline hesitated before accepting the gesture, slipping her hand into its crook.

 “Thank you.”

 She slipped the occult text into the nearby shelf she had taken it from.

 With a charming smile, Michael led her down the corridor, towards the old dormitories that had been converted into housing for the greys. She wondered, idly, if he had been to Hawthorne before, either as a student or before the bombs fell. He seemed to know his way around without much direction.

 “Do you enjoy your life here?” he asked, leading her up a set of stairs.

 “Parts of it.”

 “You would enjoy it more as a      purple    ,” he guessed, the color a biting remark on his tongue.

 “Probably not,” she admitted. “While I wish I had access to the library, I think I might have gone insane with all the forced socializing.”

 “How so?”

 She flushed, as if she didn’t wish to speak ill of the others. How oddly endearing.

 “Tell me,” he prompted.

 Madeline looked down, thoughtfully, before looking back at him. “I’ve never heard so many people speak so much about      nothing    . A thousand conversations about back when life was different. Regaling each other with accomplishments that don’t hold the same weight in a world where even the richest are starving... I spend most of my day cleaning but the hours I spend serving and interacting with the purples directly are undoubtedly the longest. When Venable announced we were cutting back to one meal a day, I was actually grateful that it meant I wouldn’t have to spend as much time in their presence.”

 He withheld a wince.

 He blamed himself for such failures. He had offered tickets in exchange for money when he should have just taken their money as his due and individually picked out those worthy of survival. Allowing the rich who had sold their souls long ago to be the sole survivors had backfired.

 He now had dozens of survivors who were incapable of working hard or independent thought. They desired everything while giving nothing.

 “This is me,” she told him, stopping outside her door. “Thank you for the conversation. And for hiding me from the Fist.”

 Madeline removed her hand from his arm but he quickly caught it in his own hand, turning it over. He bowed his head, brushing his lips gently over her knuckles.

 “The pleasure was all mine. Goodnight, Madeline.”

 “Goodnight, Mister Langdon.”

 His grip tightened on her hand.

 “Michael,” he corrected.

 He refused to release her until she softly echoed, “Michael.”

 She slipped back into her room, quietly allowing the door to latch behind her while Michael remained in place. His superior hearing could hear the rustle of fabrics as she undressed, the soft creak of the bedsprings as she settled in.

 A curious thing which he had not accounted for.