Page 10 of The Puppetmaster

I was different.

Why the hell did I not prepare what to say tonight? Why was my get-up the only thing on my mind?

“Alena,” he probes, his voice dark and menacing. “Who am I?”

My heart skips a beat when he addresses me by name, and for a split second I wonder how he even knows it. But if he knows that I’m the person who signed up late, then he must also know my name. Miss Barry must have told him.

It can’t possibly be because he remembers me from back then, can it? No, that’s not possible. It can’t be.

“W-W-What do you mean? I don’t—”

I can’t even finish my sentence. I am so ashamed of my pathetic display and erratic breathing, and I feel helplessly trapped by his hard gaze. I would rather say nothing than to continue rambling on. Panic grips my heart when he raises an eyebrow at me.

“It’s a simple question,” he says. “Don’t overthink it. Who am I?”

And for some reason, his straightforward approach works.

“You’re the Puppetmaster,” I respond instinctively.

I feel extremely stupid with my reply just a moment later, but he catches my freefall by flashing a benevolent smile.

“Good girl,” he praises. “See, more often than not, the most obvious answer is the correct one.”

I let out a relieved titter, feeling as if a heavy weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

“And what do I do?” he asks next, continuing his odd interrogation.

“You own, you train, you... change people.”

I bite my tongue. Why did I just say that? I know what the Puppetmaster is known for. I know his reputation. But that last part is just a rumor, and an uncommon one at that. It makes him sound like a life coach or something.

He’s laughing at my description. It’s a deep, ominous laugh, frightening. It reminds me of a movie villain’s maniacal laughter when he’s about to execute the final piece of his evil master plan.

“I change people, huh?” he repeats, shaking his head. His grin appears almost sinister. “Well, for now let’s focus on the part you answered correctly: I am a trainer. Do you know what that means?”

He regards me intensely, sending a cold tingle down my spine. I feel inclined to nod, but words fail me.

“Training always comes with two things,” he guides, offering a clue to the answer. “Rewards and...?”

“Punishment.”

A silly wave of pride rushes through my body when he nods in agreement.

I am not allowed to revel in my excitement for long. I’m quickly reminded of the rather unpleasant way our conversation started when he poses his next question.

“Why did you sign up so late, especially when you know that it breaks the rules?”

“I didn’t know until two days ago that you were hosting a hunt tonight,” I respond in a rushed voice. “And I’m sorry for that, I really am. I tried to sign up as soon as I saw—”

“So you weren’t waiting for tonight’s hunt?” he interrupts, a somewhat surprised look in his eyes. “You were no longer subscribed to my waitlist? You never sought another chance to become one of my puppets?”

No longer on his waitlist? Another chance?How does he know that I’ve done this before?

“Do you remember me?” I blurt out. How could he possibly remember me, since we had no verbal exchange that night?

He looks at me with a hard-to-read expression, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it’s a blend of confusion and a slight... scare?

“Why would I remember you?” he says then, his tone shifting from surprise to nonchalance.

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