I turned, trembling all over, to face the man I’d been running from for months. His face was twisted into a rapturous grin that didn’t touch his wild eyes. His gaze was hard, yet he also appraised me with something like desire. The masked man beside him merely stood silently, the gold eye on his mask a horrible reminder of all I’d suffered at the hands of these people. Hot bile threatened to spill from the back of my throat.
As he’d been at the Gathering, he was dressed in a three-piece suit. Blood was still soaking through his shirt, but he paid it no mind, as if being shot twice at close range was no more significant an event than his morning bagel.
Jim J took a step forward, and I instinctively flattened my back against the outside door, aiming my gun at him.
“By all means, shoot me again,” he said with a shrug. “You’ll find the results to be disappointing, however. I am the Chosen—an immortal.”
I didn’t care that flight was futile. I grabbed the door handle, pushed the door open, and ran outside…right into the arms of another masked man. Huge and imposing, he grabbed my shoulders and forced me back inside with a hard push. I tripped over the totes scattered across the floor and fell on top of a pile of old, discarded clothing. It was a soft landing, but the wind was knocked out of my lungs. I lay there, defeated.
“Smith, please escort the Vessel down to the stage,” Jim J said to the larger masked man behind me. “We have preparations to make.”
Smith lumbered over to me, narrowly avoiding the debris. I put up a token resistance as he manhandled me to my feet; I knew it was over. Whatever was going to happen, I couldn’t stop it now. My only hope was to look for an opening, to wait for them to make a mistake.
I was led to the doorway where Jim J waited. He raised his left hand to my left cheek, and I flinched. He caressed my skin the way a lover would, and it sent chills down my spine.
“You are lovely,” he said. “I’ll drink deep from my Vessel tonight.”
“You’re sick,” I whispered.
Jim J flashed me his awful, demented smile, then leaned in close enough that I could feel his hot breath on my face.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “This won’t hurt.”
Before I could react, he’d withdrawn a syringe from his jacket pocket, and in one fluid motion, he stabbed the long, thin needle into my neck and pressed down on the plunger.
I only remembered the twisted pleasure in his wild eyes before the world went dark.
“Claire.”
Someone was tapping my cheek. I was in my bed at Summerhurst, but I was too tired to open my eyes. I groaned and tried to roll over, but I couldn't.
“Claire,” the voice insisted. “Come on.”
“John?” I murmured sleepily. “I’m so tired.”
“I know. But you have to wake up before they get back.”
I cracked open one eye, and to my disappointment, my bed was nowhere in sight. Instead, I was lying on top of a steel table, my handsand feet tightly bound with rope. Overhead, there were dusty red curtains, broken light bulbs, a stage bridge…and a halo of golden hair that I instantly recognized.
“Holly,” I croaked, my throat parched. “Where am I?”
Her hair had grown out since I’d last seen her. The ends touched her jaw now, and her blue eyes were the same as ever…but she looked unwell. Her cheeks were hollow and gaunt, and her gaze was haunted.
“Still in the theatre,” she replied. “On the stage. Jim J stepped out to try to reach Mom over the radio before the ritual. She’s still back at our camp.”
I was trying to come back to reality, but whatever drug they’d given me pulled back hard on the edges of my consciousness. I blinked rapidly, trying to clarify my blurred vision.
As it cleared, I realized we were on the old theatre stage, and the audience seats were empty. Candles surrounded us. The stage backdrop depicted a faded mural of under the sea, its paint chipping and peeling. Wood cutouts of coral, seashells, and fish cluttered the back half of the stage, along with half a dozen tridents and pirate swords. A rusty, authentic-looking anchor hung on the backdrop, the tips of its hook glinting in the light.
Holly took out a knife. I flinched, but she started sawing at my bonds.
Is she trying to free me?
“We don’t have much time,” she said, determined. “We’ll hide you somewhere until I can get you out.”
“What?” I mumbled. My consciousness was a wet match that simply wouldn’t ignite. “I can’t…can’t move, Holly. I won’t make it.”
If she responded, I didn’t hear it, pulled under by a wave of fatigue.
