Dark Eve: The Golden Catacombs

By TK Thompson

Embark on an intense voyage in the award-winning Book 3 of The Dark Eve Series, where Captain Acantha faces the aftermath of her capture by a vengeful witch. Consumed by revenge, she seeks guidance from a fortuneteller who unveils a path to the ancient Golden Catacombs. Yet, the conjurer strikes, throwing Acantha into a spellbound past, hindering her progress, and forcing difficult choices. With dark powers within and a looming curse, she grapples with the challenge of breaking free, realizing her family is caught in the crossfire. Will Acantha overcome the obstacles and unravel the secrets of her past and future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: TK Thompson
• Release date: Jun 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781521424094

TK Thompson

Embark on an extraordinary journey through the mystical realms of T.K. Thompson, a masterful storyteller born in Provo, Utah, and raised amidst the mining towns of NM and AZ. Enchanted by family, devoted to her schnauzer, and allergic to mornings, T.K. immerses readers in the spellbinding worlds of epic fantasy.Best known for her award-winning series, The Dark Eve, T.K. Thompson invites you to a saga of mystery, thrill, and unforgettable characters. Immerse yourself in a reimagined classic, epic adventure tale woven with pirating peril and fantasy on every page, where the weight of a fall threatens redemption.Suitable for ages 13 and up, T.K.'s novels are a portal to captivating stories. Explore her unseen world by visiting www.tkthompson.com, where her words have earned the esteemed Readers Favorite 5-Star Seal.The Dark Eve: A New RecruitShe commands the seas with an iron fist. Yet, when blood proves thicker than water, will Captain Acantha meet her deadly downfall?Savage wraiths, seductive sirens, and a labyrinthine channel threaten to destroy everything the pirate queen Acantha protects. Her search is for her despised older sister, a no-show for mandatory drop-off. After months of searching across oceans, the fearsome fighter’s last desperate resort is to turn to the oracle.The path revealed, is a no-return voyage into permanent darkness. The haunted Captain must succeed or risk captivity for her failure to protect their family secrets."A New Recruit," the thrilling first book in The Dark Eve series, offers high-flying action, electrifying intrigue, and bravery in the face of certain defeat. Join T.K. Thompson on a swashbuckling journey by purchasing your ticket to danger today!◇ ◇ ◇Enter a realm where Pirates of the Caribbean meets Wonder Woman. If you relish authors like Bella Forrest, Leia Stone, and Patricia Briggs or enjoyed Netflix's Cursed by Thomas Wheeler, T.K. Thompson's Dark Eve series awaits. Fast-paced, epic adventures unfold in dangerous and visceral fantasy worlds, with award-winning fiction novels led by Acantha, an unforgettable strong female warrior.Top Reviews:Peter S: "A treasure you'll want to get your hands on!" - Action-packed, rapid-paced, and mysterious.Danielle: "Great read" - Fun and exciting, even for non-fantasy enthusiasts.Rebecca Sensanbaugher: "Fun to Read In the Dark Shadows of Night!" - A pleasant surprise with engaging characters and a well-balanced narrative.Blayden Thompson: "Without Redemption grabbed me by the neck..." - A fresh, imaginative world with captivating characters.Kindle Customer: "Dark Eve" - A grand slam for a first book, impressive writing, and an intricate plot.M Bigs: "Seriously, a great read" - Unpredictable and captivating until the very end.Cassie momma: "Great book" - Adventurous and well-written, recommended for all adventure lovers.Aubrey: "Such a great story" - Action-packed with fascinating characters, a potential blockbuster.Join the adventure, and let T.K. Thompson transport you into a world where danger and magic intertwine in epic proportions.Email: [e-mail]

Book preview

The Dark Eve:

The Golden Catacombs

Book 3

By T. K. Thompson

Published By

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CHAPTER ONE

An Atlantian Story

I will tell you the truth, Acantha. The Oracle’s voice echoed off the walls. Aqua-blue light radiated from the solid surface where she lay. Her shimmering white hair sprawled out behind her, and her blue eyes glowed as she relayed the story directly to Acantha’s mind.

They looked just like us once. The Atlantians towered over a normal human but had grace and were beautiful. Their home on a mountain scaled high into the clouds, surrounded by the sea’s frothing waves. A lush, exotic landscape filled the areas around the towering structures of Atlantis. Marble, pillared statues of old kings stood watch throughout the city, said to still house parts of their wise spirits. The city, carved out of the mountain walls, had cascading waterfalls throughout, forming natural rivers and reservoirs.

They built a perfect society, advancing in all aspects of learning, and the stars were their teachers, showing them a vast universe. A great king named Solon Mezoras ruled them and had a most beloved son, Prince Tenoras.

The Oracle broke the connection and spoke aloud. Tenoras was the light of the city, she said reverently, "and could be found among the people doing the most ordinary things, such as skipping their red stones through the rivers. He was treasured. Even you would have worshiped him. The Atlantians were proud of their civilization. They were so advanced that they felt it was not only their right but their duty to teach and guide the lesser societies.

They were met with enormous opposition. Her voice hardened. Other civilizations rebelled against them, and many wars broke out. The Atlantians’ weapons were far superior, for they wielded a power beyond the advances of that time. This power came from the natural red stones found within their home mountain. They littered the Atlantian city like common rocks but harnessed a mystical energy. Their advancements dominated the forefront of the battlefield. The Atlantians were winning until a legendary Greek warrior breached the impenetrable walls of the city and turned their master weapon inward, firing it straight into the heart of their mountain. They never imagined that the willpower of the world could defeat them. The Oracle paused, relaying another part of the story directly to Acantha’s mind.

A seasoned Atlantian general reported. All our forces have pulled back to the last line of defense, Sire.

Solon, the great king, sat on a marble throne, looking out to the burning landscape beyond the sea. The grand pillars of the open room stood in his hindsight as the floor beneath them shook. Fragments of the marble ceilings fell and shattered.

And the Greek warrior? Solon’s gray eyes scanned the roof, watching the cracks spread.

Dead, General Almeck reported. He did not make it out and past our lines.

Solon’s eyes focused on his general’s face. He made it in; that’s all that matters.

Almeck lowered his head in personal shame.

Have you ordered the evacuation of the city? The giant king stood and walked to the open balcony beyond the king pillars. Long-lighted lines of Atlantians filed down the city streets toward the towering gates.

Beyond, magnificent bridges connected the city to the land masses around the home mountain. The frothing sea and rivers flooded out as giant pieces of the cliffs broke, crashing devastatingly below.

The mountain shook again. The terrible force tore great rifts through the mountainside. Solon watched in overwhelming sorrow as the city crumbled, taking cherished lives in the rocky earth and sea.

We are lost, he whispered. Our pride has destroyed us. His voice was harsh.

Almeck held his helmet under his arm, still dressed in his armor.

A seasoned Atlantian soldier burst into the throne room. She is here.

Solon turned back with breathless heaviness. He did not process the words. Bring my family to me. It is the end.

Tenoras ran into the throne room. His face paled next to his golden-brown hair, and the sharp features of his face looked bony with the worry in his dark brown eyes. The mountain is dying. He went to his father’s side and watched as portions of the mountain gave way. Father, we must evacuate.

Solon took his son’s panicked shoulders. It’s too late. The penetrating disaster loomed all around them as the floor shook beneath their feet.

The thump of a walking stick followed by heavy, limping footsteps echoed off the marble floor. The great king, the general, and the prince all turned as a hunched, hooded figure moved into the archway of the balcony. Gray hair hung from the cowl, concealing most of the old woman’s face. Her twisted walking stick held a glowing green orb on the top.

I am here, her old voice announced. You are all saved.

The Oracle’s voice diverted from the story. Don’t you see, Acantha? She was there. She has always been there.

CHAPTER TWO

A Long Line of Recruits

He’s insistent, Captain. Vaster clasped his hat tightly in front of him. Acantha sat forward in her chair, her glass and almost empty bottle of rum in hand. Her disheveled room had everything out of its usual place. She swiped her face with her arm, unwilling to release the objects cumbering her hands. Her mind ached. The glare that refused to leave her face bored at her first man, and she believed it well deserved. He looked thinner than usual but would always have a husky figure.

Vaster patiently waited for her to respond.

I don’t see why he needs to do it on my ship. Her sharp words hurt her head.

Vaster nodded. I think he doubts he could make it off.

I don’t see why it needs to be now! Acantha yelled, emptying the rum bottle into her glass. The last drop made a finalized ping in her ears. She pressed the glass against her lips in exact unison as she thrust the bottle against the opposite wall, shattering it. The burning in her throat didn’t last long enough to satisfy her.

Vaster’s eyes darted back and forth from her to her swords planted in the bedpost, where several chunks of the finely carved wood were chopped out.

Fine, Acantha seethed in defeat. The word darkened her mind and the room with the implications of the request. It might as well just happen in one disastrous moment. Then I can be done with it, she thought, but a glance at Vaster reminded her that there would always be more to lose.

The feelings of change banged against the insides of her chest, begging for relief. All she wanted was normalcy. She liked familiarity. How, after all these years, had she not conquered this dread of change?

Set it up, she growled.

Vaster nodded and shrank back out the door. He hurried straight up to the helm and relaxed his shoulders. Jennings looked to him. Take us to our next port.

Jennings gave a firm, thankful nod and gripped the ship’s wheel in both hands.

Four days later, the sun burned extra bright. The long, wooden docks of Bortendam spread out into the sea in web-like patterns. A long line of hopeful recruits traveled up the longest dock, straight to The Dark Eve.

Old Mort the cook sat in a chair on deck, squinting his colorless, fuzzy eyes toward the front of the recruit line.

Vaster stepped into his view. Captain will be out soon, and then we’ll start. He peered down on the old cook with pity.

Mort nodded, flinching with pain. His old, shaking fingers slowly stroked the back of his mangy black-and-white-speckled chicken Mr. Kinkles, who lay in its fake-dead state upon his lap.

The captain’s doors swung open. Acantha stepped out dressed from head to toe in her gear. It was the first time in months that Vaster had seen her so put together. Even though she wore her hat, her arm still instinctively shielded her eyes from the brightness. No one, applicant or crew member, dared breathe or move as she noted the place of everyone aboard and off the ship. Without a single word, she walked straight to the helm. She gave Vaster a murderous look while passing. Get it done, she barked.

One by one, stay in line, or lose your head! Vaster yelled at the recruits. Step into the box.

A chalk square had been drawn on the floor of The Dark Eve in front of where Old Mort sat. One by one, each of the men filed through, stepping into the box. Old Mort squinted and smelled each of them, a strange process that received several quizzical looks. Mort either offered a quiet, nodding acceptance or a grunting rejection. For hours this went on until every recruit from the line was examined. The entire time Acantha paced like a wild cat at the helm. The rejected men were sent back to town, and the accepted men waited in a huddle in the corner. The process continued until the sun had traveled past its peak in the sky.

In the end, fifteen shabby men were chosen. Most were middle-aged, except one younger scrawny chap, aged about sixteen. Acantha curled her lip up and took a heavy breath at the group.

Return here tomorrow to complete the process, Vaster yelled, dismissing them from the ship.

Acantha watched each person closely as they left, each a potential enemy trying to invade. Then her attention flew to Mort. He diverted his eyes and walked shamefully away, shuffling back into the ship. She then noticed Vaster’s disapproving look. Standing straight, she walked down the helm.

Vaster glanced at both Scar and Jennings. I think she’s improving.

Jennings leaned against the railing and shook his head, disagreeing, while Scar silently scraped his nails with his knife. Jennings stood straight, towering over them while stretching his dark, tattoo-covered shoulders. Scar took a slow breath and shook his head, brushing his knife against his cheek to itch the skin over the long scar that stretched from mouth to ear.

The three men moved from Acantha’s path as she stormed by. Every footstep propelled her anger deeper. No one dared to look at her. Her irritation almost made her break inside. She felt like pulling her sword and giving them a reason to look away.

She stormed off The Dark Eve. Soon the sounds of the wooden docks changed to the hard thumps of earth beneath her feet. The scenery was all but a blur as she pushed past the stone buildings of the town. Nothing could calm her temper.

Six months. It had been six months since Dagan’s death at Woodmor and the witch. Images from that night flashed through her mind. The witch’s spell had caused a paralyzing mental prison that sent her back through time, making her relive everything that had taken years to repress. Now it was all there on the tip of her consciousness, driving her mad. At her memory of the immobilizing effect, its tingling sensation rushed back. She could see herself on the cold ground, breathing evenly despite the heavy pressure that held her still. Remembering that vibrating sleepiness flowing through her veins made her shudder.

Whatever the witch had let go inside her head, Acantha was struggling to dominate again. Every time she closed her eyes a window swung open in her mind, spilling out her life. Six months and still she had no leads for where to find the witch and no idea how to draw her out.

A high-pitched scream vibrated in her ears. She drew both swords and spun. Her eyes focused for the first time upon her surroundings, stone buildings with green moss growing on them. The triangle straw roofs looked sturdy among the swaying green pines in the background. Moisture floated in the air, and all around her, the villagers stood with mouths clasped and eyes wide with panic. Their fingers pointed directly at her.

Acantha turned again, ready for a challenge. She needed the right type of distraction. But as she circled, there was nothing. She looked back to the villagers. They shrank away. Acantha looked down. Darkness frothed from her. The thick cloud billowed around her feet, blocking her view of the ground.

Now, she felt tingling in her blood. She looked up again, and the area was clear—not a single person in sight. The darkness swirled around her like streaks of black water floating through the air. She sighed. She was tired—emotionally tired. On top of it all, she was still trying to understand this darkness.

The consequence of traveling through Death’s Mountain churned around her feet. The first time the dark cloud came out of her, it had killed the great Wraith King, leaving her unscathed by his giant sword. Now it was unlocked and always with her. She had no idea how to control it beyond keeping it inside of herself.

Acantha twirled her fingers in the thick, flowing tentacles. She took a few seconds to breathe deep. As her anxiety lessened, the threads dissipated. She had discovered that the darkness—the only name she could figure out for it—tended to come out depending on her mood.

The witch had knocked her out before her dark defense could activate. What would have happened if the darkness had been released upon the witch? The possibilities plagued her mind. It may have been the only upper hand she had against the witch’s powers. She shook it off, determined to not fly into another fit of anger and depression.

The sky was almost completely black. A man lit torches around the town. For the first time, Acantha recognized Bortendam, the last border village before hitting Viking waters. Upon the cliffs surrounding the back area of the village, a tall, flat, dragon-like totem pole loomed. Why not replace one bad memory with another? She spun around, not quite sure where she was headed.

She saw a post holding a large jar with a candle lit within it. Her heart skipped a beat. It reminded her of the witch’s green glowing orbs, the beacons that had directed her into the swamp so long ago. She quickly shook the rest of the memories away. The familiar lantern dimly lit the vibrant colors of a gypsy carriage house. A paned door showed glowing candles inside. A large, hand-painted sign said Madam Mirella, Teller of Fortunes.

Acantha lifted an eyebrow. What did she have to lose? She had spent so much time looking on her own, and it had led her to this place. She stepped over the strange ropes leading up to the wagon house and climbed the steps to the door. A bell rang above her head, chiming in her ears.

A woman’s deep voice spoke. Come in and make yourself comfortable.

Acantha batted the red tasseled drapes away, passing through to a low round table with a crystal orb in its center. The only places to sit were on piles of pillows or a couple short stools. The pounding in her head was coming back. She looked around for any libation, momentarily stepping back through the red curtains toward the door, but found nothing except star charts and gypsy nonsense.

The back curtains moved, revealing the Madam fortuneteller.

The short, plump lady was in her fifties. She was severely overdressed in a blouse that was far too tight, revealing her over-endowment, a crass form of bringing in business. Her face was covered with bright makeup down to her cherry lips. Don’t be afraid of your future, child. Madam M batted her dark, fake lashes. Acantha stepped back through the curtains. The fortuneteller’s expression changed from theatrics to a recognizable fear.

For a moment, the air stood still between them. Finally, Madam M motioned for her to sit. My Lady, she said; her chubby hand shook as she gestured to the stool in front of the table. Acantha threw her jacket back as she sat down, purposely revealing her two swords. There was always room for a silent threat to avoid nonsense.

The fortuneteller scrapped around for her deck. The thick cards were as large as her hands, and the repeating hand-painted picture on the back was a spider’s web with dewdrops on against blue sky. Madam M’s fingers quickly shuffled them. Acantha closed her eyes, trying to pull back her irritation.

The fortuneteller offered her a card. Lick it.

Acantha stared.

What do you have to lose? the fortuneteller asked while still holding out the card.

Acantha’s nerves rose under her skin. She had more urge to jump over the table and beat Madame M to death. She grabbed the card and licked it. How often were those cards cleaned? Had she just put her tongue against someone else’s spit? She almost shuddered while handing it back. The fortuneteller gave the card a good lick as well and continued to shuffle. Acantha’s eyes widened.

Why do I always get stuck with people who are out of their minds?

As Madam M flipped the cards over again, Acantha noticed that the sky-blue back had changed to red. She blinked several times to shake the color from her eyes, but the red remained. She stared at the phenomenon; there were very few in the stack, around ten or so, but as the fortuneteller spread them upon the table, more than twice that amount fanned across the surface.

Choose three, she instructed.

Acantha took a deep breath, hoping this wasn’t a waste of her time. If you are a charlatan, I will know. She reached for a card and barely pulled it out from the rest of the deck. And if you are not. She paused for lasting effect while pulling out another. I suggest you do not read too much. The threat hung in the air as she pulled out the last card.

Madam M swallowed, sneered, and stuck out her chin, gathering the rest of the cards except for the three chosen. She shuffled the deck again and placed the stack next to her right hand. Her finger tapped the stack, and she lowered her ear, listening to the sound. She tapped it harder several times and then shook her head to clear it.

Acantha internally sighed. This lady is beyond crazy. She glanced over to the wall. There was a small, silver-plated statue of a woman dressed in a draped toga; she held a basket of fruit on her shoulder. Acantha turned back to the clairvoyant. Hesitantly, Madam M took the three chosen cards and flipped the first over, revealing a man holding a looking glass. He stood with his knee up on a log, spying into the distance.

You are searching for something. Madam M focused on the card and laid three more from her deck next to Acantha’s first choice. One was an hourglass with sands sprinkling down. You have been searching for some time now. The next had a simple question mark on it. You do not understand how to find what you are looking for, or what you are looking for.

Acantha did not relax her heavy stare. So far this was only pointing out a whole lot of the obvious. She glanced around the room once more and did a double-take. The silver statue stood dressed the same, but the basket of fruit was sitting on her waist under her arm. Acantha squinted. Maybe that was how it was the whole time, and she just saw it wrong. Either way, she turned her attention back to the cards.

Madam M turned over another card from her deck. This one depicted a pile of gold. Obviously you seek after treasures. She paused. Anyone could have guessed that, she whispered under her breath just before flipping another. But also a person. There was another pause. Poor soul, she concluded quietly.

Acantha lifted an eyebrow at her commentary as she flipped another card. This one had a lady holding a weighted system.

You want justice. The word lingered with surprise on Madam M’s lips.

Curiosity gleamed in the fortuneteller’s eyes. Yes, Acantha finished the thoughts in the teller’s mind. Why would I of all people be looking for justice?

Madam M moved on to the next of the three chosen cards. She flipped it over, revealing a king sitting on a throne with the glory of the sun behind him. She cleared her throat. You come from royalty. She lifted an eyebrow and stared. That means my fee has just increased. She gave a nervous smile, to which Acantha glared. The fortuneteller flipped over more cards from the deck, going faster this time. Acantha briefly saw one with a man trekking through the desert with a walking stick. It has something to do with those who have gone before you. Madam M focused, squinting through the process. Your family line, perhaps? It is very personal to your family.

Her family’s life was fraught with complications. In her flash to the past, Acantha had come to learn that Lord Bracket had been in league with the witch. The idea was hard to wrap her mind around since in the end, the witch cursed the entire Bracket line, ending their existence in the world. She could remember the witch yelling at Lord Bracket in the grand Golden City hall, asking why he had not just slit Acantha’s throat when he had the chance. A deep concerning question had plagued her mind since learning this: why hadn’t the old hag merely slit her throat when she’d had the chance? Every time Acantha thought about it, she could feel the clear instinct in her gut; the witch had a profound hatred for her family. She had a hard time believing it was just because of a large pile of treasure.

The last card Acantha chose was a skeleton dressed in long black robes, holding the shearer’s staff.

This is just poetic, she thought. A cold chill vibrated up her spine as she remembered the dark figure of death in the cold mountain.

Madam M simply stared at the card. Did she not want to say what the card meant, or was she speechless?

The fortuneteller pulled more cards to aid her response, but she squinted with even greater confusion. Death is… Madam M spoke in a puzzled tone and held out a card to Acantha. It was a picture of the sun setting backward in the sky.

Acantha moodily lifted both eyebrows.

Madam M plopped back in her chair with a complex look on her ugly, painted face. You’re dead. She paused, shaking her head. Or not. She shook her head more. Because of course, you’re sitting in front of me. She bit the card, checking its authenticity. Well, I guess you’re dead.

Acantha tightened her lips. Confusing, isn’t it?

Madam M’s eyes widened. It could mean your soul is dead. We all know who you are. She chuckled nervously.

Acantha did not react. For the first time, she heard the clock ticking above their heads. She looked up as each pulse pounded deeper and deeper into her mind. She glanced back to the wall and shelf and held her breath. The statue was gone. Only the small basket of fruit remained.

She peered around discreetly, and as she turned her head the opposite direction, on a small ledge near her face was the silver statue. Basketless, it stared straight at her while taking a bite of an apple. Acantha blinked twice and turned her head back to her hostess.

Tell me, fortuneteller—how do I find what I am looking for? she asked before looking back to the little statue. It was gone.

Madam M drew more cards from the deck. The first card looked like a line of travelers in bonnets pulling carts. The next was a knight holding a sword, and the next was a harvest card. Madam M stared at the harvest card as though in a trance. Acantha shifted her weight to draw the teller’s attention, but the fortuneteller didn’t move or blink. Her eyes were frozen.

Acantha cleared her throat, and Madam M shook her head like waking up. She drew in a deep breath and smelled the card from top to bottom, as if relishing a bouquet of flowers. She then relaxed, letting the breath all the way out, and spoke. Does this card mean anything to you?

The harvest card beamed with golden fields of wheat on rolling hills. Acantha blinked several times as she reviewed it. The blue skies were almost the same color as in her dreams. Her mind flashed easily over her reoccurring visions.

The sun on the card flared down, blurring her sight. Clouds flew through the sky, making it spin. The wheat rose out of the ground around her to the height of her waist. She could see the shadows of the men with their sickles sheering the field. The whole scene whirled in her mind until the blue eyes were there in her focus. The world moved behind that shadowed face.

I don’t know. The words escaped her lips. How could a vague, recurring dream mean something to her?

Madam M squinted, disbelieving, and flipped more cards, counting them.

Seven, she mumbled. Seven harvests.

Acantha inched forward.

And… Madam M pulled out a card with a silhouetted hillside with grave crosses. The last card had a flaming sword.

She drew her head back hard and took a deep breath. You must seek those who went before you. They will direct your path. It is a tangled web, and many are caught up in it. Madam M showed the webbed card. It will take you seven years. There will be a traitor. Watch your crew—he may already be among you. Madam M lifted up a card of a man hanging by a rope. In the end, the dead will guide you. She pointed to the hillside graves and then went to the last, the flaming sword. And God will free you.

Acantha’s insides dropped. This had been a waste of time. God had nothing to do with it. She sat back with renewed anger.

Tell me, fortuneteller—how do you find a witch?

Madam M’s eyes perked up. She reached to grab the cards, but Acantha’s hand came down hard on top of the deck. The silver statue was there on the table, next to the edge, holding its basket on its head. An eeriness caused her to shudder inside. She batted the statue off the table before picking up a card. She turned it over, looking at the painted webbed backing. You made these?

Madam M straightened her frame. Every true mystic makes their own cards. She noticed the small figurine on the ground.

Acantha noted the proud tone her voice. This, she determined, meant it was the craft of her family. She must have been taught at a young age. What does the webbing mean? Acantha asked while flipping over a card to see the design painted on the back.

A spider’s web can warn of danger lurking near. As an enemy touches the web, it vibrates, alerting the spider. So can the cards.

You are considered a witch, right?

Madam M shrank back. To some.

How do I find a specific witch?

A name always helps. Madam M folded her hands in her lap.

What if I don’t have a name? Acantha stood, scattering the cards to the floor. What if all I know is that her magic has a green glow about it, and that she likes to make deals?

Madam M licked her lips, thinking hard. If her magic has a visible apparition, then she would be quite strong and quite old.

How do I find her? Acantha started to pace. She could feel the tingling rise inside.

I don’t know. Madam M looked away. Maybe if you let me consult my cards again?

Acantha could feel her insides bursting. You’re useless. She turned