Page 31 of Possession

What is he then?

He is more.

I have no idea what he means by that.

Lunch, Aris reminds me.

You know, I’m hoping that in this whole sharing arrangement, I’m going to be doing more than eating, bathing, and sleeping.

We’re just getting started, Mary.

I have a brief, almost unreal moment as I realize that this is my life now. I live here. With them. I share my body. For whatever reason, the realization doesn’t scare me as much as it did yesterday. I find myself starting to slowly accept it.

I clear my throat, and the sound is so obviously un-Aris-like that Silva goes still at my feet. Very slowly, he tilts his head up to look at me and swiftly finds whatever confirmation of the switch that he was looking for. His frown returns.

Silva stands quickly and picks imaginary dust off of his blazer. “Mary,” he greets in a firm voice.

“Hi there,” I say, and the pinkening of his normally snow-white cheeks show me his displeasure. “So… lunch?”

His face pinches. “Of course.”

Aris settles above my heart as the sound of crunched bone plays in my head. I follow Silva back to the dining room.

Chapter six

Days turn into weeks as the preparations for the gala transform the solemn mansion into a bustling abode of decorators, craftsmen, and travelers. They’re largely concentrated in the ballroom, but, from black balloons to shrines of animal skulls and dead insects, massive displays have been put up throughout the house. I’ve spotted contractors making slight renovations and heard a few dozen auditions for performing musicians.

At least a hundred more members of the Following have shown up, though we haven’t seen them. They’re under strict orders to leave us be until we introduce ourselves at the party. Still, there is proof of them everywhere—in footsteps and ceaseless, endless chattering.

It’s exciting, and I should be excited, but the more time we stay in our room to avoid notice, the more time I have to think. Beyond my life suddenly upending, which is something I’m still trying to come to terms with, there are pieces of this puzzle that don’t quite make sense.

It eats at me. Why did the Grand Mage want to recruit Aris so suddenly? Could he have known that the Following of the Forewarned would send Cera to free us? And who is Cera? How was one girl able to make her way through an army of mages? How did she get through the barrier—and pull us through as well? How did she change the amulet? Why was her magic different?

What did she do to it?

I could ask Silva, but would he tell me the truth? He’d talk to Aris, but Aris isn’t interested in any of this. The mere mention of the mages and Cera puts him in a foul mood. He says to let it rest; I can’t.

As my life here becomes more routine, I become more and more troubled. Nothing has come easy for me for some time now, so a life where I’m constantly doted on and cared for doesn’t feel right.

“All right, I’ve got it,” says the seamstress.

I let out a long breath of air, relieved. I’ve been standing for an hour now, terrified of getting pricked by her fast-moving needle. It isn’t until I’ve relaxed that I realize how much the stress has been affecting me.

She packs her things up nice and neat and helps me out of the dress. It isn’t finished yet, but I can see the vision of what Silva wants for the gala—elegant and regal. It’s old fashioned and feminine, while simultaneously rejecting what modernly empowers women. Anything that might be able to sexualize me is covered twice over, ridding me of identity and influence.

Once I’m freed of the garment, the seamstress is out of my room faster than I would’ve thought possible for a crone, leaving me with my thoughts. Of course, I’m never really alone—Aris is there, but he’s busy reading the minds of all the newcomers and learning many private things, all of which he keeps to himself.

Things have been tense. We don’t normally fight—it’s too much of a headache—but he doesn’t think that there’s any need to know what Cera did to the amulet. Given that it’s what keeps him trapped, you’d think he’d care at least a little, but he shrugs off any attempts I make to talk about it. I’m starting to suspect he already knows and just won’t tell me.

Admittedly, life here isn’t terrible, but it’s a life reserved for Aris. There isn’t much of a place for me.

What do you mean? Aris asks. I feel his sudden attention like a blistering fever, my skull aching from the force of his arrival.

He quickly relents, receding. It’s the closest I’ll get to an apology from him, though he isn’t doing it on purpose. Since we’ve arrived here, he’s only gotten stronger. Like a flame trapped in a wooden cage, I feel him growing each day, chipping the edges of myself.

See how they look at me. You’re their god, and I’m just the vessel you’re trapped in.

Insecurity isn’t a good look on you, Mary.

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