Page 53 of Obsession

He wants to extinguish mankind, but he won’t do so outright. Because where would be the fun in that? He is decay, the slow and merciless rot. Turning man against man as they fight and cling to life. He knows how we work. Humans will do, and have done, terrible things to survive: eat a neighbor when starving, deceive to get a leg up, kill thousands to gain a foot of land.

That is Aris’ form of chaos; it is not the simple explosion of a bomb but an implosion from within.

Look at the ants scatter and scream. How interesting! How hilarious!

I settle into bed fitfully, anticipating another bad dream. Just as I thought, my dreams are chaotic and dark, and I awake to the smell of smoke. I sit up confused, thinking that I might still be in Italy somehow, but I see that I am in the mansion, in my bed, and my curtains are on fire.

Chapter twelve

There is a frantic, dumb moment where I remain sitting in bed, even after realizing. My mind stutters on the knowledge, because this doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t connect that a simple fire would surround me—kill me, even.

At that, I do stand, stepping carefully on the floorboards while covering my nose and mouth. My room is on fire. I need to move. I need to get out of here—I don’t want to die. Most importantly, I can’t die.

I hear Jaegen’s voice in my head, telling me that only I can get close to Aris. Only I can end him.

And he must end.

I work my way to the door, tears streaming down my face from the smoke. I remember to grab a shirt to wrap my hand before trying the metal knob, and pull back with a hiss—hot. Too hot to open.

What now?

I could kick out the window and jump, but I’m on the third floor. I’d probably survive, but how many limbs would I break? I could call for Aris—and I should, shouldn’t I? But the words don’t come. It goes against everything I have in me, left of me, to ask for his help. To beg.

What’s more, he might be the cause of the fire. Maybe this is a test, or he’s acting out, displeased by the result of our dinner. After all, this is his palace, his home—how could anyone get close enough to harm it? And who would dare?

I hurry to the window, struggling to manhandle the antique frame. When I finally manage it open, I take a long, grateful breath of fresh air. Below, the lawn is sprinkled with followers watching the fire. Through my bleary, watering eyes, I see no sign of Ryan’s massive form, or Aris.

Heat laps at my back, the smoke making me dizzy and weak, and I know that I don’t have long before logical thought leaves. I kick the screen and stick my head out the open window, stomach twisting with vertigo. Three stories is higher than I thought. There’s a tree directly diagonal to me that might break my fall, but I would have to jump to make it.

My mind goes back to the daydream of falling from the tower in Florence, my head cracking against cement. Vision blotting as blood leaks into my eyes. The thought was comforting then but disturbs me now, as I am hit again with the will to live. It hits so strongly that my hands go white from my grip on the windowsill.

A few followers have noticed me and are pointing and motioning to one another. Remembering the gala, it strikes me to question if one of them set the fire in an attempt to kill me.

My mind races. If the followers are responsible and I jump down, I’ll be falling right into their arms. Stunned, probably with a broken ankle, they could take me out cleanly. But what’s my alternative?

The floor feels unstable, the blaze wild, the smoke black. There is no more time to think.

Adrenaline makes my decision for me, and I leap toward the tree. The sound of branches breaking is deafening as bark scrapes so much of my skin at once that I can’t identify a single point of pain, a hundred twigs failing to catch hold of me. My body twists, whipping around, and I can’t understand which way is up and which is down.

I discover direction again the moment I hit the ground.

There is no pain, not at first, just a rush as I land on my back and the air leaves my lungs. It’s only a dull shock, until I notice that I can’t breathe. I claw at the grass next to me as I start to feel the sting from knocking between branches and how injured I really am.

I shut my eyes. Let out a breath. And then another.

People are talking unintelligibly, coming closer, and I test my limbs. My legs don’t hurt too badly, my ankles don’t scream when I twist, so I should be able to put weight on them. But I don’t know if I can fight. Even at my best, I’m not a ju-jitsu master.

Sitting up takes most of my energy, and half of that is from holding back a pained cry. My ribs have to be bruised, maybe broken; every breath hurts. I never realized how easy I had it before, breathing; it strikes me now how ungrateful I was for my health.

I manage to stand, slumped forward with my arms around my core as cultists surround me. There are four, faces illuminated from the fire. One is Nora, Aris’ mind manipulator, and I don’t know the others.

Behind them, the house is being consumed by a raging inferno. No sirens play in the distance, and no one acts to smolder the flames; it’s as if the destruction has been accepted. It’s as if it has value.

“Will you kill me?” I ask with as much dignity as I can managed under the circumstances. I imagine the sight of myself, pantsless in a sleep shirt, covered in soot and leaves. Not very intimidating.

Nora tilts her head to the side, and the others exchange looks. “Why would we do that?” asks Nora. “You’re our guest.”

Am I still a guest if there’s no house to stay in?

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