Page 36 of Possession

I look back at Dominachion, uneased by his particularly observant gaze on me. “Who did this?” I say and hold up the amulet, frowning at the black stone.

“Ah,” says Dominachion. “It took some time, but it was myself, mainly.”

“Yourself?” I repeat, surprised.

Dominachion smiles. “I was once a mage, though not like the ones you know. This was some time ago, but the mages were originally part of the Forewarned.”

“What?” I say, unable to help myself.

“The Following lived in harmony with knowledge from the Dark Lord, until a member one day betrayed the order. He was not a true believer; he came to gain power. Once he found it, he turned his back on his beliefs and converted likeminded individuals to his side. I am one of the mages who stayed with the Following and was able to, eventually, reverse the binding on the amulet.”

Aris is quiet from inside, and I have to assume that he’s satisfied with the explanation. I, for one, am reeling. The mages and the Following used to be together? As in… one group, who all worshiped Aris?

I have a million questions. For one, how did the mages get their power? It sounds like Aris almost gave it to them—is that true? Does Dominachion know the Grand Mage? Are they enemies? Is he why the Grand Mage seemed worried all those weeks ago?

Most pressingly: If Dominachion was the one to change the amulet, does he know of any side effects? Could he know where I disappeared to? Can he help?

Something in the air tells me that I’m not welcome to ask anything. The question about the amulet was tolerated—maybe Dominachion could tell it came from Aris, but anything more might anger them.

I nod and try to act comfortable with the revelation, mindful of Dominachion taking note of every movement of my face. I’m used to living under a microscope, but even this is a little much. His eyes on me are a violation; it feels like he’s doing more than just staring, like he can see more than what’s on the surface of my skin. With his grin and knowing eyes, it’s like he sees my soul. He reminds me of the Grand Mage that way.

Two halves of the same coin.

Dominachion suddenly claps his hands together and turns back to his entourage. “Well, let’s begin then, shall we?” he says.

Everyone nods as if they were just about to say the same thing and how charming it is to be in such agreement.

“This way, then,” says Silva, and he opens a door to lead the group towards the ballroom.

I’m one of the last ones out, uncertain at first if I’m meant to be following, but a look from one of the chapter leaders sends me right along. A dog tugged on its leash, I follow without a fight or question. I’m slightly numb, and don’t feel my earlier apprehension. I just want this night over with. I need time to myself to think about what I just learned.

Outside the ballroom’s entrance, before closed doors, stands Ryan. Even with a black and gold mask covering his face, he’s distinguishable. A giant among men, wearing a loose suit with stitch marks where it’s been altered and enlarged. he has to hunch to fit in the room, shoulders bunched together in a way that only serves to make him look more massive.

It’s been a few days since I’ve last seen him, and in that time, I’d forgotten just how big he is. The people around me start to briefly chatter and grin, but Ryan’s dark eyes are fixed on me alone. Somehow, I can tell that he knows my heart is racing.

“Ryan, the doors, if you would,” says Silva.

His eyes jerk to the older man behind me, and Ryan nods once before opening the grand oak doors. He enters first, presumably to get out of the way, and he has to bend low to get through. On the other side, Ryan straightens to his full height, and only the bottom of his torso can be seen through the opening.

Slowly, the chapter leaders begin to strap on their masks and filter through, until it’s just Silva, Dominachion and me left standing. Through the door, the gala is in its full might, though the dancers look far-off, the food tiny and inconsequential. The music, however, is loud, and making it difficult to hear Dominachion when he turns to me and surprises me with a wink. He’s still grinning as he puts his fox mask on. “I’ll see you inside,” he says.

I watch him enter, then glance at Silva. “Like before,” he says, voice muffled by the mask, “I will announce you, and you will walk in.”

He stares at me for a few seconds, as if making sure that I understand, and I nod to reassure him. It’s an easy enough instruction; he must think I’m exceptionally stupid. After a moment, Silva nods back and goes inside.

We don’t have to wait as long as we did on the staircase. It’s only a few seconds before Silva calls out the same absurd title to announce Aris, and then me, as an afterthought. I guess I should be lucky to be a thought at all. From inside, the musicians stop playing, the guests stop speaking, and the room seems to still. When Silva finishes, I emerge onto a balcony.

Hundreds of masked individuals turn as one to stare at me, and I look back, gaze sweeping across the room. Under fire-lit chandeliers is an assembly of elegance, the kind of setting a middle-class girl couldn’t hope to ever see—much less be invited to. It looks like something out of a debutante’s fantasy.

The room continues its silence, which is suddenly cutting and uncomfortable, and I look back at Silva for direction. He says, “They want you to speak.”

Oh, great. I’d rather spend three more years in a box.

I’ve never been good at public speaking. I kept far away from speech and debate in high school and hated any time a teacher made me present in front of the class. Even after everything I’ve been through, after everything I’ve experienced, I’m still scared of it.

I shift from foot to foot. What’s that saying—imagine them in their underwear? With all of those masks, thinking of them undressed just makes me more anxious.

“Um,” I murmur. Everyone is staring at me. I can’t see them in detail this high up, but the cutouts of their eyes are glaring.

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