Page 25 of Possession

You eat people? I raise a brow.

No. I don’t think any of you would taste well.

Maybe you’d ought to tell them that. My stomach turns as I think of dinner last night. There was definitely some kind of meat on the menu, but I ate it too fast to tell or really care what it was.

It was lamb, my little lamb.

I roll my eyes as I fetch a spare blanket from the bed, carefully covering the painting with it. Don’t call me that.

Well, he starts, then pauses. Someone is at the door.

I turn just as two rapid knocks sound. Care to tell me who it is? I ask warily, but his only response is a brief flare of amusement. Fine, then.

There isn’t much choice but to approach, but there’s no way I’m going unarmed. Aris might be thriving in this place, but I know a red flag when I see one. I pick up a silver candlestick from a side table and hide it behind my back, figuring it’s my best shot at a weapon. You just swing it—there isn’t really a learning curve for that.

I twist the knob and step back quickly, angling myself to better obscure the candlestick. From the slight crack I opened, I can tell it’s a woman standing there, but I can’t see much behind her.

“Hello?” I say.

“Mister Silva requests that you join him for breakfast downstairs,” the woman says. She’s wearing one of those old-fashioned maid uniforms that looks more like a Halloween costume than something for the workplace.

“Breakfast? Now?” I ask, not entirely keen on seeing Silva again.

She looks me up and down, and her smile is as tight as my grip on the candlestick. “He would like for you to bathe and change your clothing first.”

I blink, barely having a moment to react before the woman pushes the door open and walks inside. I’m torn between my stupefied shock that she dared enter and demanding she leave, all while I watch her thrusts open an oak armoire.

I approach slowly, blinking in stunned pleasure as she begins to remove dresses—long, satin gowns more suited for balls than breakfast. My eyes are immediately drawn to a cream-colored one in the back, but the maid chooses something black and slams the armoire shut before I say anything.

“You’ll wear this,” she says to me meaningfully, laying the dress on the bed. Her eyes are sharp as they peer into my own, as if she’s daring me to defy her.

“Okay,” I mutter, confused as to why it even matters.

Black is a symbol for me, Aris supplies. Darkness, the void, so on and so forth.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” says the maid. Her eyes briefly flit to the painting I covered, the corners of her eyes tightening before she disappears into the bathroom. A few seconds later, the sound of running water fills the tense silence in the room.

With a free window, I hide the candlestick under the bed before deciding to follow after her, anxiously watching as the woman pours salts and oils into a rapidly filling tub. It’s not that I think she’s doing anything nefarious, but it isn’t a bad idea to keep an eye on her. She sets me off-balance, much like Silva and this place itself, quiet and serious with her work.

“Take your clothes off,” she says, splashing at the water.

“I’ll wait for you to leave,” I respond—firm, at least, with this. I don’t need help bathing.

She looks back, giving me an exasperated, unhappy look, before eventually sighing and shaking her head. The reaction is a little extreme, considering. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong by standing my ground. Given the way Silva and Ryan stared at me yesterday versus how they treated Aris, I’m starting to think that no one here likes me.

The maid finally finishes and leaves in a huff, which is fine by me, so long as she’s leaving. I wait until I hear the heavy door close before I race to lock it behind her. It’s only with her gone that I feel I can finally breathe easy.

***

Twenty minutes later, I’m cleaned and changed, smelling like lavender and eucalyptus. The dress was easy to get on, I’m pretty much ready to leave once the laces in the back are tied. They don’t have any shoes laid out for me, so it seems I’m going barefoot again.

The aromas calmed me a bit, but all of my Zen evaporates when I find the maid outside my door. I’m not sure if she’s playing guard or what. She gives me a half-lidded look before turning and starting out down the hallway.

“Well?” she snaps when she sees I’m not following. “Come on!”

The woman is about my height and age, but she’s twice as intimidating. She’s one of those people who, when they speak, you feel like there’s nothing to do but listen. So, I listen.

She leads me downstairs, the carpets rough against my bare feet, keeping a pace like a workout routine. It’s hard to stop in time when she abruptly halts. I’ve been so busy keeping up with her that I don’t notice where we are at first, but the doors in front of us look like the ones from the dining room from last night, and I piece things together from there.

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