Page 144 of Through the Water

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Ariana

“You had the power all along my dear.”

-L. Frank Baum, The Wizard of Oz

Ipeeked out through the thick velvet curtains to see the rabid faces of the reporters gathered below the stage. There was a blonde woman near the front who caught my attention as she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

That made two of us.

The press had been salivating like sharks at the scent of fresh blood. They'd fought over space, each one waiting impatiently to see if the rumors were true.

Meanwhile, I’d vomited twice more since leaving Tristan’s office when it dawned on me that he wasn’t going to be immediately arrested and thrown in jail. In the crime shows on television, when someone wore a wire and got a confession, the bad guy always ended up in handcuffs.

I sat back down and let the stylists touch up my hair and makeup while staring daggers at Dean. He was playing on his cell phone, completely oblivious that I was plotting his murder from five feet away.

Maybe I had more in common with Tristan than I previously realized.

The security guard had wanted me to believe he was looking out for my best interests but forcing me to go through with this press conference was in direct opposition to that plan.

I waited until they finished with me before making my way over to him. “How much longer is this going to take?” I hissed.

He glanced up with a frown. “There are bigger things in play right now. Just be patient and follow my lead, okay?”

My nostrils flared, and I shook my head, hissing, “No. You promised me I wouldn’t have to go out there. I was just supposed to go to his office and get the confession. Why can’t you arrest him now?”

“Had you listened to me last night and gone to the damn safe house, you wouldn’t have to. Now, I suggest you don’t read a word of that speech unless you want to be held culpable when the truth comes out.”

I squeezed the pendant on my necklace until I could feel each tentacle embedding in my palm. “What am I supposed to do? Stand there?”

“Exactly.” Dean nodded. “Just stay silent. They can’t prosecute you if you don’t speak. Besides, Tristan had you declared mentally incompetent after your accident, so no one’s expecting much, if anything, out of you. Trust me.”

My skin was drenched in an obscene amount of sweat. There was also a sharp pain in my chest that I was convinced was the beginning of a heart attack.

But sure, why not hop up on stage to play the quiet game?

“Trust you? Why—because you’ve done such a bang-up job so far? How long do you think Tristan’s going to let me stand up there in silence before intervening?” I countered, my voice tinged with hysteria and terror.

Shit. Damn. Hell.

“When this fails, and it will, you do whatever you have to do to keep Killian and Morgan safe.”

Dean studied me with a raised brow. “And you—”

“I think we both know it’s too late for that,” I whispered, running my thumbnail over a tentacle and wishing I could bring the damn thing to life.

Our conversation ended when Tristan’s publicist arrived to escort me onto the stage. “Now remember, stick to the script,” she clipped out in a brisk tone. “No improvising. Are we clear?”

“Yep,” I squeaked out as she nudged me toward the lectern. The stage I’d been on almost every Sunday morning, singing with the worship band, no longer provided the respite it once had.

I squinted against the bright lights and focused on the faces below, coming back to the blonde reporter and her tortoiseshell glasses. A corner of her mouth lifted, and I looked away, bothered by the familiarity.

The microphone boomed loudly as I angled it down toward my mouth, like the sound of someone striking a bass drum. I straightened the papers and licked my cracked lips, my head swimming in warnings.

Stick to the script.

Just stay silent.

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