Page 9 of Possession

“Would you like to read?” I ask Aris quietly.

Yes. History, he says immediately.

I pause, look at the stairs, and then go to fetch the book.

Chapter three

A week passes after the Grand Mage’s visit. It’s another week of pacing and reading, taking hot showers when my fingers start to feel numb, and pushing mush around on my tray. It’s another week of our endless sentence.

Today has been all right, all things considered. Normally at least one of us is brooding, but there’s been none of that. Earlier we played a few rounds of solitaire and are now preparing to recline and relax as I put a tape into the VCR. We’re usually only allowed to watch children’s movies. Nothing with violence is permitted, but there’s a few exceptions.

One is what we are watching now, which is a romantic comedy. In it, the female lead gets into an accident after an argument with her male counterpart. She then storms out of their apartment and is immediately struck by a van. The trauma of almost losing her causes the male lead to suddenly value and respect her, solving the entirety of their issues. They marry in the end.

The problematic part is in the blood from the car accident. Apparently, the mages think that watching it could exacerbate Aris’ violent nature, which is why the film’s approval was begrudging. I’ve seen no evidence of this increased bloodlust, but I don’t know if the thought is entirely baseless; it stands to reason a war movie might inspire him.

I don’t know why it matters if he gets more violent, since Aris is stuck in me and I’m stuck in here, but the wizards have all of these contingencies in the event of his escape. We’ve been given lots of videos on anger management, conflict resolution, empathy learning, and so on. After the latest set, our reward was this comedy. Of course, we’ve seen it before, but they take it away sometimes to incentivize us to watch their videos.

Normally, watching the same thing over and over would bore me, but Aris keeps things interesting. In each viewing he manages to point out details I never would’ve noticed on my own, from set design to wardrobe to dialogue. As is to be expected, he doesn’t laugh at the appropriately scripted comedy—rather in stressful, emotional situations.

“Anna, I love you,” cries the male lead, Chris, from Anna’s hospital bed. He holds her limp hand in his own, clutching it tightly to his chest. “If you come back, I’ll do anything. I’ll be better, I swear!”

Anna suddenly flatlines, her monitor beeping wildly.

This amuses Aris. Do you think that’s a no from Anna?

It’s a no, I say. Maybe I’ve been with him for too long, or maybe I’ve gotten twisted somewhere in the middle of all this, but I start smiling.

We both sigh when the doctors rush in with the defibrillator. We know what happens from here: they will save her life, Chris and Anna reunite, and all will be well and good in their happily ever after.

I’m about to turn the TV off, since we’ve both lost interest, but my attention wavers at the sound of an opening door. Our cell is the only feature in what is essentially a large basement. Access to the basement is possible only from the door a level up, and it’s this door which is now opening.

I glance at the clock in confusion. It isn’t time for a shift change. The guard sitting seems just as perplexed, and he walks to greet this newcomer with a raised wand.

Something is wrong, Aris and I think together.

My finger hits the off button on the VCR, and silence engulfs our cell. Slowly and quietly, I crawl to the side, hiding behind the large television. Neither Aris nor I say anything as we listen intently to a pair of heavy boots taking the stairs one step at a time. Something like dread settles in my stomach.

“Hello? Is there a problem?” the guard says to the unseen visitor. A few slits in the wooden stairs show us his tense body.

“No,” I hear a woman say a second before a knife is thrown and embedded in the guard’s chest.

He slowly looks down at the wound, horror and pain stunning him stupid. It takes a second for him to accept what this means, and then he raises his wand to strike. It’s a second too late. A blonde-haired fiend is upon him, twisting the knife and slashing it through his gut. Something falls out of his stomach, and he lets out a wet gasp before collapsing on the ground.

For a second, I just stare. All I can think is that this isn’t happening. Because how could it be happening? I must have lost it—officially, psychologically.

Mary, this is real. Be ready.

For what?

For you to be next.

I can’t help the terrified mewl I let out, but I realize my mistake when I hear how loud and desperate it is. I slam my hand over my mouth, but it doesn’t matter—it’s too late. The woman’s head has swiveled in my direction, and her eyes narrow as she pulls the knife out of the man, his body jerking from the force.

She knows I’m here. Okay, she knows that I’m here, but it doesn’t matter—she can’t get in. There’s no way she can get in here.

It’s my only comfort, but it doesn’t calm me as much as it should. She managed to break into a wizard’s dungeon, so who knows what she’s capable of?

Emotion slows you.

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