Though I’m running out of patience, I want to hear about the last two days, want some questions answered. “What happened after you found the two of them kissing?”
She flinches at my words. She might not blame the Cajun, but deep down, she still feels betrayed.
She’s about to know more betrayal.
“I . . . I . . .” She frowns, seeming surprised to have lost her train of thought. Right on schedule. With just ten more minutes of tape left. “So I . . . scribbled a note to Jackson, telling him that I had to continue, that I hoped he would be happy with Selena. I asked him to please look out for Matthew, to explain to the boy that it’s safer for everyone this way. For some reason, I’m convinced Jackson will protect him.”
“How did you get here?” I ask, my tone growing curt. My head is splitting. And her earlier blathering about voices has reminded me of a time before my tonics.
I never want to return to that time of shame—when other things divided my laserlike focus.
Before I ruthlessly eliminated the distractions.
Evie presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, rubbing. After blinking several times, she continues, “I stole Finn’s truck, figuring that he could easily get another one with his abilities. I drove till it ran out of gas two days ago. Then I just followed the road, hoping I’d find someone who would help me. I-I’ve been a wreck, Arthur. So confused, crying nonstop.” Her voice grows fainter. “I have never in all my life needed kindness like I did from you today. Thank you.”
No. Thank you. “I’m surprised you didn’t want to bring Matthew with you.”
“I wanted to so much. But how could I take him away from all of Finn’s food and safety? From the promise of security at Selena’s? Jackson was right—sending everyone into trouble was easy for me to do. Bringing Matthew north would’ve been selfish.”
I steeple my fingers. “But I thought you had powers now. You could protect him. What about the lotus?”
“It takes so much concentration. I think Matthew helped me with that, helped calm me. But I wouldn’t want his life to depend on it.”
Yet another power she can’t demonstrate.
She draws her leg up on the chair again, but it slips down. She doesn’t repeat the effort. “And I don’t want to use those powers, not if I risk turning into that witch.”
“Do you really think you can survive in this world on your own?”
“I have to try.”
“An army led by a sadistic family almost ‘enlisted’ you, forcing you to burn down your home, with your mother’s body inside. Then men who wanted to enslave you wrecked your car, risking your life. That militia caged you so you could be used by hundreds of soldiers.”
She pales, murmuring, “And somehow through all that, I managed to hold on to my . . . my humanity. I’ve kept the balance so far.”
“You believe that’s because of Jackson. Now what happens? Your anchor’s gone, fled into the arms of another.”
Her eyes water once more, yet she juts her chin. “M-my gran will help me the rest of the way.”
“You’re not tempted in the least to embrace your”—pretend—“abilities? So much strength to be tapped?” She can imagine such awesome power all she wants, but it won’t change the fact that she has already been defeated. She lost this match hours ago.
Evie told me that her mother’s view of the world had gotten rebooted violently. Evie’s is about to be as well. The optimistically cheerful girl—who never complains, who wants to be friends with everyone, who still waves at strangers—will disappear this night. One way or another.
“I can’t embrace those abilities, Arthur. I don’t think . . . don’t think that the good can be separated from the bad . . . risk is too great. I don’t want to become a killer.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried killing?”
“I . . . I’m sorry. What did you ask?” Her head bobs once, but she fights to stay awake. Defeated.
Thinking about loose ends, I say, “Did you ever remember the answer to that doctor’s question? I want to know why you should have rejected your grandmother’s teachings.”
“Not yet. Feel like I’m sooo close.”
Alas, you’ve run out of time. Now I must make a decision.
Should I keep her as a subject—or a companion? As I gaze at her heavy-lidded blue eyes and her waves of glossy blond hair, I again consider giving her a place in my bed, rather than in the dungeon.
Though she will never leave this house alive, at least she would survive longer than the scholar.
Jackson wanted Evie to teach him to court her; perhaps she could teach me how not to kill her.
Or would she be too much of a distraction from my work? I have never tolerated distractions.
It is time to decide her destiny, to play God with her future. I ask one last question: “Are you in love with Jackson?” Earlier, when she described that kiss with him, I barely quelled the urge to slice off her lips.
Subject or companion, Evie?
She seals her fate when she whispers, “Every time I close my eyes, I see his. Even after what happened . . . Jackson still has my heart.”
Rage boils up inside me. “Not quite, dear. But I will have it. I will squeeze it in my hand.”
She can barely keep her head raised. “Hmm?”
“It’s time, Evie.” I rise, slipping one of the scalpels from my case.
She squints at it, but the sight doesn’t even register in her foggy brain. She slurs, “What’s that?”
“A scalpel, which I will use to carve up your pretty face if you don’t stand this instant.”
She gasps, opening her eyes wider, shaking her head to clear it.
I have to admit that this is my favorite time with a new capture. I can only imagine the nauseating, sinking sensation as comprehension dawns. That gut-wrenching sense of betrayal.
Then the bone-chilling terror. “Stand. This instant, girl.”
With a cry, she rises on quaking legs, collapses back in her chair, then attempts again. Adrenaline is beginning to pump through her system. She’s a touch more alert, but her movements remain sluggish.
“Arthur, wh-what’re you doing?”
I snatch her upper arm. “Walk. Now.”
“Oh God, oh God, where are we going?” She shuffles clumsily beside me.
“Into the dungeon.”
“D-dungeon?” She sways as if she’ll faint, but I yank her upright. “Wh-why are you doing this? What’d I do?”
“You entered my lair, as good as offering yourself up to use for my studies, for my . . . experiments. Your body equals knowledge not yet harvested. That is your only value.”
“Experiments?” She sounds like she’ll vomit, but I have a powder in the lab to prevent that.
Ever mindful of my corduroys. “You were doomed as soon as my front door closed behind you. I need you, Evie. My work is everything. I must know everything.”
“Please don’t hurt me, Arthur! You heard my story—did I survive all that just for you to . . . hurt me now?”
“You told me lies. All lies! Again and again, I was on the verge of punishing you. You cannot lie on your patient history!”
“You’re one of the Arcana, Arthur. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out which one, couldn’t remember my grandmother’s cards well enough to match one to your tableau. Not until I saw your experiments down here in your creepy little lair. You’re the Hermit. The old man holding a lantern.”
“One among your number?” I draw my lips back from my teeth. “Never!”
“You’re denying it, just like I did. No wonder Matthew grew so frustrated with me.”
“If you believe I’m one of you, then you came here intending to do me ill!”
“No, I sought you out, hoping you knew your destiny as one of the Arcana and could teach me mine, hoping that you’d actually be good—unlike most everyone else I continue to encounter. But I was prepared to defend myself if you weren’t.”