Page 2 of Possession

I’m dying to see if the guard has raised his wand, but I don’t dare to look up—that might antagonize him in some way. I stay tensed in preparation for a hit, but nothing comes.

They will die soon enough, Aris vows as I exhale in tired relief. He is swirling through me again, restless with anger he has no way of releasing. I will break their bones and their wands, and what will they be then?

He goes on with his imperious threats as I lay back down, relieved to consider myself safe for the moment. The sheets have already gone cold from my brief trip to the bathroom. I think they keep the temperature low because Aris likes it and they want to make him happy. It doesn’t make sense to me, since they’ve locked Aris in a cage and that isn’t exactly something he will forgive, certain comforts or not. And either way, the amulet can never come off and Aris can never come out, so it doesn’t really matter.

Why don’t we read a history book? I ask. He doesn’t like being interrupted during his rants, but he considers the question without comment.

Fine, he eventually murmurs.

I walk to the bookshelves, scanning for something new. Most of what we have is textbooks. Aris doesn’t have much patience for anything else, and I don’t mind what we read so long as it keeps him quiet. After consideration, I reach for a book focusing on the early Renaissance era and hover above the spine, waiting for Aris’ approval. When he gives his invisible nod, I bring it back to bed to read.

Two seconds after opening to a page, Aris announces that he’s ready for the next. I turn the page. This textbook, a thousand pages thick, will take maybe an hour to flip through. We have a good system; by the time I can process the pictures, Aris has read the entire text, and we carry on in peace. He could read it faster if he were out—he could do lots of things if he were out—but since he’s stuck with me, he reluctantly accepts my pace.

Knowledge placates Aris. He’s curious about the modern world. He’s been here before, but that was a long time ago, and he didn’t get to see much of the twenty-first century before he was captured.

The more I know, the better I can rule once I’m free.

I nod along with what we both recognize as an absent delusion, flipping to a new page. This one is all text and no pictures, and I look away in disinterest, glancing at the guard. To my surprise, he’s already been replaced. I hadn’t heard him come in, but, then, I wouldn’t. Henry is always very quiet.

Henry is older than the other guards by at least five years, which makes me doubt that he’s an acolyte. He has an aura of intellect to him, too, one that the others lack. That, along with his collected manner, makes me think he’s much too experienced for the task he’s been given. He’s certainly too kind for it. Over his many, many shifts, he’s met my gaze often and never flinches or threatens us. He doesn’t bring weapons or his wand either, which I find curious.

We don’t speak much—we never really have, but he likes watching me. Aris tends to remind me that Henry is watching us because that’s his job. There isn’t much interesting about me, Mary, alone. Aris is what everyone cares about, what everyone is afraid of. Still, the other guards don’t look at us like Henry does. Even though I’m just a girl in a cage, they’re scared of what lies beneath the surface, while Henry seems to see me.

Next, Aris says, irritated—probably because my thoughts have wandered.

I turn the page dutifully and do my best to focus; after all, Aris does need my eyes to see. But I can’t bring myself to concentrate. Not with Henry right there.

There isn’t much to do in here but think, and I think about Henry often. I wonder about him. Like I used to with people at the airport, I make guesses about his life. I play at his interests, what he does for fun, where he’s from, where he likes to go. Sometimes it makes up for the fact that I know absolutely nothing about him.

Why suggest reading if you aren’t going to pay attention? he snaps.

I hate to tell you, but the feudal system in Europe isn’t that interesting.

He sighs and shifts. With a slightly heavier pressure on my heart, I imagine him laying down and lifting his legs up, using the organ like a foot rest. How can one man be so distracting?

My cheeks heat. He isn’t, I say, but my thoughts betray me.

Aris’ annoyance meshes with sudden, self-satisfied amusement. How can you think he’s the handsomest man ever? You haven’t seen me yet, Mary.

I shut the textbook with a noise that echoes around our cell. My cheeks are only getting hotter. First of all, you’re not a man. Secondly, genocidal maniacs are not attractive.

I would say “homicidal,” not genocidal. Killing every human would leave no one to worship me.

Is destroying millions genocide or homicide? It’s an argument we’ve had several times before, and not one I’m in the mood to rehash right now.

What else is there to do? Aris asks, which is a fair point.

It just feels a little early to be discussing murder.

Would you say you’ll be more interested in such conversation after noon?

I roll my eyes, response fizzling when I look back at Henry. All thoughts of Aris fly out the window at seventy miles an hour when I notice that he’s coming closer.

At the entrance of our cell, I can see him so much clearer. There are no bars, locks, or doors to keep us in. The entryway is open, in fact, and if a layman were to walk by, he might think that I’m not trapped at all. In reality, there is an invisible wall of energy barring my exit. No one can pass it, not without getting shocked with enough volts to knock yourself unconscious.

Henry pauses a few feet from where the invisible energy field rests and sends me a smile that is so soft and warm that it makes my eyes water.

But Aris’ distaste soon sours my emotion. He wants something, Aris tells me.

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