Chapter 48
I freeze, heart pounding. Beside me, Helen stiffens. “Mary—”
“I hoped I was wrong,” Mary says conversationally. “I hoped we could trust you. Or at least that Hellion would be the only one creeping around while everyone else slept.”
The door behind us swings open, and Brother Thurston comes in, holding a knife. Three more cultists follow him—we’re outnumbered.
“Please, Mary,” Helen starts.
“Don’t.” Mary stands up, wand at the ready. “We tried to do this the easy way. How hard it gets now is up to you.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Adrian’s hands are held up to show he’s unarmed. Of course, he knows jiu-jitsu, as he demonstrated at the cannibal house, but I’m unsure how much use it will be with armed cultists at our back and a sorceress at our front.
“We’re going to start by making sure you stay put.” Mary nods at Brother Thurston, who tucks away his knife and produces three sets of handcuffs.
My pulse pounds at my throat. “That won’t be necessary.”
Mary shakes her head. “The fact I caught you in here demonstrates just how necessary it is. Hold out your hands and behave. You wouldn’t want the good brother to get them on too tight because you’re struggling, after all.”
No options spring to mind. My only magical ability is to summon cold, and I’m certain that would only make Mary angry at this point.
I don’t know what Helen might be able to do or summon with her knitting, but again, our captors aren’t going to just stand around and let her dig through her purse for a spell.
Adrian’s gun is no good since Mary can just make it explode in his hand, and he can hardly fight all the cultists unarmed.
“I’m very sorry,” Thurston says, seeming sincere as he cuffs our hands in front of us.
“Too bad we don’t have any witch hunter’s manacles lying around.” Mary looks at Helen. “Keep an eye on her—she’s a tricky one when she needs to be.”
The cultists grab Helen and Adrian by the arms and start to herd them out of the room. Adrian’s eyes go wide when he realizes I’m not being taken with them. “No—wait! Let me stay—”
“Sorry, you lost that privilege when you decided to pry,” Mary says, and shuts the door behind them, leaving the two of us alone.
My extremities go cold with fear. “Don’t hurt them! I’ll do whatever you want. Just let them go.”
Mary sighs wearily. “We’re only going to hurt them if they make us. They’ll be locked in one of the rooms upstairs until we’re done with you.”
It’s as though a hand grips my throat, constricting my breath. “What are you going to do to me?”
“What do you think?” She rolls her eyes. “We’re going to hypnotize you, just as we agreed. Except for the handcuffs and general distrust, of course. It’s a shame, I really did believe we could be allies, working toward a common goal.”
“We are. We can!”
She makes a skeptical noise. “Sit down. Dr. Yurevich will be here within the hour. I was going to play the good host and wait until after breakfast, but we might as well get started as soon as he arrives.”
I sit. Mary doesn’t speak to me, and I can’t imagine I’ll be able to talk her around to freeing me, so I remain silent as well. It gives me too much time to think.
What will I see when I’m hypnotized? Will I accidentally break out of it again? Or worse—what if I somehow become lost in my own mind, and Adrian won’t be there to intervene and bring me back, and…
Eventually, the sound of a car on the street pulls me out of my dire contemplations. Mary goes to peer out the window. “That’s him. Stay put—I’m only going to be gone for a minute. If you move, I’m going to shackle more than just your hands.”
She leaves the door open to the entryway as she goes to greet the doctor. If only Helen had time to train me in magic, even a little bit, I might have some chance of escape now. I could start a fire and distract her, or…I don’t know. Something.
As it is, there’s nothing I can do but wait. Mary returns, accompanied by a dark-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard, wearing a stylish suit and shined shoes that seem wildly out of place amidst the shabby surroundings.
“This is the subject?” he asks.
“No, it’s just some random sap I decided to handcuff in the parlor. Of course it’s him.”
“Of course.” Dr. Yurevich peers at me as though I’m a specimen on a glass slide. “So, you think magic might be involved in the memory suppression?”
“It seems likely,” Mary says. “But hypnotism worked on him before, to a limited extent. With your talents, I reckon we can break through any remaining barriers.”
Talents? “What do you mean by that?”
“Sorry, Ster, you lost the right to ask any questions when you decided to betray our trust.” Mary goes back through the door to shout up the stairs. “It’s time!”
I sit frozen while heavy steps tramp down the stairs. Four people dressed in robes embroidered with a half-open eye on the chest enter the room and crowd around me. Mary goes to a corner of the room and flips back the edge of the carpet to expose a trap door.
As she swings it open, firm hands grasp my arms and haul me to my feet. “Where are you taking me?” Fear makes my voice shake.
“Down,” Mary replies with a feral grin.
I’m half-carried, half-marched to the trap door, then down the ladder beneath. Two of the cultists remain in front of me, while the other two hover just behind. All carry knives on the rope belts they wear over their robes. There’s nothing I can do if I don’t want to get skewered.
The trap door leads to a small stone chamber with another door opening out of it.
Hooks line one wall, with more robes bearing the symbol of the Waking God hanging from them.
Mary pulls one on, as does Yurevich, then unlocks the door.
Only darkness waits beyond, until Mary speaks a word, and torches along the walls burst into flame.
The room beyond is far too big to fit under the house above. It must intrude on the neighbors’ property. More doors let out of it—is the whole area undermined with hidden rooms? Tunnels?
As for the room we’re in, rows of beds fill most of it.
They look surprisingly comfortable, with thick quilts to keep any sleepers warm.
At the far end stand a few benches and an altar.
A row of eyes have been drawn on the wall behind the altar, the one on the far left closed, the one on the far right open, the rest in stages between.
A heavy, floral smell hangs in the air, seeming to cling to the inside of my nose and lungs as I breathe it in. As the cultists usher me to one of the beds, Mary lights an incense burner on the altar, and the scent immediately grows even stronger.
“Lie down and make yourself comfortable,” Yurevich says, finally deigning to speak to me directly. “Breathe in the smoke—it will help relax your mind.”
There seems no point in resisting. Wishing that Adrian could have been here with me, I climb awkwardly into the bed, the cultists holding up the covers for me, then smoothing them down once I’m in place. Like I’m a child they’re tucking into bed at the end of a long day.
Yurevich drags one of the benches closer to the bedside and settles himself on it. “Are you comfortable?”
The mattress is soft beneath me, and the incense makes my head swim. “Yes.”
“All right, then.” He smiles unexpectedly. “There’s no reason to be afraid. Just understand that once I put you under, these memories will be very vivid. You won’t be able to rouse yourself, any more than you’re able to wake up from everyday life.”
My hands clench, the cuffs clinking softly under the covers. I’d shaken myself out of the hypnosis too easily at Danvers, but this seems like an extreme in the other direction. “I won’t know they’re memories, is that what you mean?”
“It will be as if you’re living them again. But don’t worry—you obviously survived whatever happened to you, so there’s no reason to be concerned.”
I’m less certain about that…but this might be my only chance to recover my memories. The circumstances aren’t as good as they might have been, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.
The doctor is right—I survived my foray into the past. Whatever lurks hidden in my mind can’t be too terrible…can it?
Yurevich places his fingertips on my forehead. “Just a bit of magic to make sure you go under,” he says in a reassuring tone. “Now, count back with me. Three…two…one…”
With every number, I sink deeper into the bed. No, not the bed—the floor, the ground, the earth, the years…
The creature before me makes a complicated wriggle that I think is meant to be a shrug. “But I’m getting ahead of myself,” it says. “What’s your name? I’m Bianca Giuliani.”