Page 43 of The Last Session

Jesus. Hanging out in a hot tub with Jonah?

I kept a pasted-on smile as we bid farewell and continued the tour. As we walked, a new thought struck me: Was it possible Jonah was somehow connected to the Center? Had they sent him to New York to gather intel? Was he now here pretending to be an attendee to manipulate me?

Or was that completely paranoid?

Either way, his presence was definitely a sign that I was on the right track, whether he’d come here of his own accord or not. If he was working for the Center, though, then my thin cover was definitely blown. No way yet to know.

Grace led us past the pool to another canopied area with tables and chairs. “This is the veranda. We usually eat here if it’s nice out. But there’s also a dining area inside.”

“Ooh.” Mikki craned her neck. “I’m so hungry. I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch.”

“Don’t worry, we’re putting together some snacks for you guys now.” Grace led us down a gravel path further into the desert, behind the castle, which was dotted with several large structures.

“That’s the yoga pavilion.” Grace pointed to a large, circular khaki tent. “We’ll hold our sessions there.”

Beyond the tent was… nothing. Just flatland, then gently swelling hills, then the mountains. The air was so clear I could see the crinkles and curves of their peaks. They didn’t even look that far, though they had to be hundreds of miles away.

“That’s our ceremonial space.” Grace pointed to a circular area marked by benches. A huge stack of logs sat in the center, presumably for a bonfire. “And past it is the greenhouse.” The glass structure sparkled in the sun. “We grow a lot of our own food. We’re hoping to expand soon. One more thing.” Grace led us towards a line of smaller circular tents. “Your rooms!”

“Tents?” Mikki sounded unenthused.

“Semipermanent yurts,” Grace said. “They’re actually very comfortable.”

“We can’t stay in the permanent building?” Mikki gestured. I was surprised at her boldness.

“There’s no space.” Grace shrugged. “The rooms are taken by residents.”

“All of them?” Karen clucked. “That place is huge.”

“Well, a lot of the rooms are studios.”

“Studios?” I echoed.

“Like I said, almost everyone here is an artist.” Grace nodded. “So we each get our own space to create.”

“Well, good.” Karen patted Mikki’s arm, her mouth quirking at the corner. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt anyone’s creating, would we?”

Mikki rolled her eyes but smiled back.

“How many residents are there?” I asked.

“Currently…” Grace looked up. “Well, there’s Moon and Sol, of course. Steven’s here full-time.” Steven—the mosaic guy? Was he living here?

“And we have three other full-time residents who like to leave during retreat weekends,” Grace finished.

Could one of them be Catherine? If so, where was she now?

If only I could just ask Grace. But not yet—first I had to spend more time with her, to see if I could trust any answers she’d give. Because so far, at least, she seemed like Team CRH all the way.

The yurt was actually larger than it looked from the outside. Beyond the cot, there was a beat-up dresser with a battery-operated lamp, a round mirror, and a squat cushioned chair by the window. The window was just an open square—no glass, no way to close it, just an embedded screen with a roll of fabric tied at the top. A warm breeze blew in, lifting my hair.

Outside, facing away from the tiny yurt village, was that endless desert landscape.

I felt a twinge of unease as I perched on the bed, mindlessly opening my backpack and pulling things out. I’d assumed this would all be larger, fancier, like a bougie yoga retreat—dozens of people sittingin rows of folding chairs, watching speakers pontificate from a stage. This was small, eclectic, even a bit dumpy. And much more intimate. Which meant I would have less of a chance to hide during whatever healing sessions were going to take place. Somehow I hadn’t even considered that aspect of the retreat when signing up.

“Knock, knock.” Mikki opened the thin wooden door and wandered in, gesturing with a vape pen. “Looks like we’re neighbors. If you hear any primal screams coming from my yurt… I’m just considering how much money I paid to stay in a tent.”

“We are kind of roughing it, huh?” I chuckled.

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