Page 75 of Possession

“How?” I say, locking the door behind me before pocketing the key. “Is there a department store here or something?”

He smiles like I’m being silly. “In the Institute? No, but there are places we have access to.”

My ears perk like a dog hearing his favorite word. So there are exits, and he’s about to show me where one is!

Obediently, I follow as we leave the dormitory wing and enter different hallways, one Henry leads me down. I try to memorize the many turns we take—right, left, left, right—but it’s almost impossible. The place is like a maze, not unlike the cult house.

The thought troubles me.

I don’t know if I’ve taken the threat of the Following seriously enough. Considering their magic and influence, it stands to reason they could touch me here. Maybe even take me again, though I don’t know why they’d want to. Aris’ killed half of their most prestigious members at the gala; I doubt that the rest of them are keen on worshiping him now. If they were smart, they’d switch gods. Silva even said it was someone else who gave him immortality.

“Can people get in here?” I ask.

He sends me a sideways glance. “Our barrier is impenetrable; the only way to enter is if a member of the brotherhood escorts someone inside.”

“What about Cera? How did she get in?”

“The girl who took you? We aren’t sure. There must have been a breach.” There’s a brief pause before Henry adds, “You’re safe here, Mary.”

With him next to me, I want to believe it; I almost do.

After several more turns, we stop in a room with a humongous door, one different from anything I’ve seen before. It’s about seven feet tall and just as wide with panels of gold on it, each depicting different scenes: nature, women and children dancing, men building incredible feats of architecture. Around the border of the door are carved vines that shimmer in the light, as if brushed with metal. The door reminds me so much of the Gates of Paradise in Florence that, for a moment, I think it’s a replica. Then again, there are runes and strange symbols hidden in the panels, small details that scream paganism. Not that they diminish the beauty—in fact, the minute details enhance the sight.

I make a noise to show how impressed I am. I can’t imagine how long it took to make this—how much money.

“It’s a portal?”

“It’s how we travel.”

“Where are we going?” I ask to stall, not wanting to wade through sludge again. Thankfully, I learned that the viscous portal liquid isn’t sticky, and it doesn’t smell. Still, the cold feel of it was beyond disgusting on my skin, and I’m not looking forward to feeling it again.

“The door is spelled to randomly connect to different stores in America. You never end up in the same place twice.”

My brows furrow as I imagine something as beautiful as this taking us somewhere so mundane. It has to go to other places; else it’d be a waste. Taking a look around the room, I note that it’s empty. Except for the illuminating sconces, the only thing in this room is the door.

So, this portal must be special. I just don’t know how.

Henry snatches my attention by tugging on an encrusted knob and pulling a golden panel open. Of course, there is a swirling, gray mass lurking beneath, which I try not to make a face at.

He beckons me forward, and, with a sigh, I wade through the inches of goo and pop out into a superstore. It would be a classic, American sight, if it weren’t for the frozen bodies. Dozens of people are suspended—

Mid-step, mid-speech, mid-laugh. They stand still like mannequins, unblinking, unmoving: fruit is appraised in an unmoving palm, a man is stuck handing his card to the cashier, a mother picks up her baby, whose face is pinched with frustrated tears. Someone is in the middle of putting up her hair, another paused before their eye-roll could be completed. A purse is about to fall off of a woman’s shoulder, gravity designed to push it down, but it hangs midair.

It isn’t just people who are stuck. Before me is a fly in the air, whose wings aren’t flapping, yet it hasn’t fallen, defying physics. Even the hands on the clock aren’t moving, and, if I squint, I can see that the dust in the air is just as still.

There is no sound, which is somehow the strangest part. There’s always music or announcements playing in stores. At the very least, chatter and footsteps, the squeak of carts, the beep of items scanned.

I look at Henry, suddenly worried that he’s also being affected by this eerie phenomenon, but he’s watching me. His expression is patient, maybe indulgent, as I have my moment.

“What… is this?” I ask.

“Every time anyone from the Institute comes in here, time is frozen,” he explains.

I spin in a quick circle, trying to find an exception to the spell, but there’s nothing. “Can they… see us?” I ask.

“No, they’re frozen. We can browse in peace, and once we leave, everything will resume as it was.”

I send him a doubtful look. “And the stores don’t notice their inventory randomly disappearing?”

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