Meryl lets out a large terrifying, raging sound and grabs me by the neck. His fingers are so long, he can use one hand and place the other on his gun. “Every time ye say something like that, it makes me want to end ye. It’s that kind of talk that got many people killed. There is a way of ending all this.” He grins as his nose nearly touches mine. “Kill them all. Take away the other side so there’s no longer anything to fear.”

“Or hunt,” one of the other guards says.

“That’s why they do those things. Fear. They don’t understand you because the government has forced you to hide for so many years,” I say with a clamped neck. The pressure in my head begins to build as the blood stops.

“They don’t need to.” He clicks his tongue against his cheek and shrugs his shoulders when he finally lets me go.

From the veranda looking out over the expansive castle living room, the hustle continues, yet it is hard to see through the six suited guards. Double doors, with chipped green paint and rusty hinges, are at the end of the hall and Meryl reaches out to push them open. The clang tells me just how heavy they are.

We enter a grand room. Red tapestries hang from the ceiling and red carpet spreads out beneath our feet. It is ratty and old. The windows are boarded for construction. A desk sits in the center, while computer and television monitors are strategically placed throughout the room. Between the shoulders of two guards, I can just make out a monitor that appears to shuffle through pictures of different landscapes and buildings. Suddenly things begin to become clear. Navin isn’t a criminal with no money and no power; they are building something bigger than Arek and Leigh understand. My eyes squint to make out the video that is playing on a different monitor. Then another. And another.

I understand now. They are cameras from all over the world—on buildings, bodies, and in places that shouldn’t be seen. The President of the United States is walking through the hall with her husband. It is all surreal, hitting me in ways that are unfamiliar. I know fear more than anyone, and I know sadness, but deep within, there is always the knowledge that these feelings will go away. Today it is deeper, wider, grander, and all encompassing. This could never end.

Our. New. Normal.

The monitors follow the Prime Minister, the Queen, members of the cabinet, and political powers of the world. Navin and Japha have the most terrifying kind of power in the world—unknown and unexpected.

A heavy presence enters the room. It feels the same as the night before when Geo and Arek Traced my subconscious and my demons played games. I look down half expecting the gray decaying fingers to be reaching through the cracks of the floor. Yet it is just damp, dirty carpet.

Meryl and the men leave after turning the monitors off, and I stand alone in the dark room.

“Remy. Or are we still calling you Willow?” It is Navin. I know instantly by the pressure in my head, however Arek and Geo made sure that I am prepared. My rhythm protects me. Finally, I see him coming from the shadows of several large pillars.

“Whatever you want,” I say quietly.

“So, you remember everything?”

“No.”

I don’t think he believes me. His granite-like eyes make me tremble and I look away. “Tell me what you do know.”

I try desperately to keep my mouth shut, but I can feel it. A pulse of electricity surges through my jaw and then my mouth, the words wanting to come out. I try to use willpower, but in the end it isn’t enough. Geo and Arek must know that the best training in the world cannot prepare me to go up against Navin so quickly.

“I remember my father . . . seeing Japha with my mother in the carriage . . . your relationship with my mother . . . killing my mother . . .” Somehow, I escape telling him that I saw him kill her.

“It’s strange the things we remember first, isn’t it? You are a tragic story, Remy. No one wanted to see you fall from grace. Not even me.”

I stare at him. “I don’t remember everything.”

Someone enters behind me, and I can only hear their voice, “They’re not far off. You should go.”

Navin nods and comes to my side.

“Do you remember that you used to be like me?” It is hard to distinguish between mind control and simple conversation, so I say nothing. He continues, “Obviously from your face, you don’t. I remember the first time my brother brought you home. You were so sweet and timid. Nobody wanted you two together.” I am curious and he can tell. “It was like Romeo and Juliet. I thought it was so ridiculous, the two of you wanting to be together, and yet simply because the Powers told you you shouldn’t . . . you were going to end everything and just be miserable. Does that sound sane? Remy, the Powers tell people what they can and cannot do. So, you two were from different bloodlines. He’s Rykor and you are Landolin . . . and yet you were willing to do it. That’s when it all changed. I wasn’t going to give up so easy.”

“I know what you want from me, Navin. You can make it sound any way that you want, but I know what you really want,” I say quietly.

He pauses for a moment. “The sweet Remy that had so much passion.”

“I didn’t for you. Never for you.”

The anger that I had seen that first night creeps back into his eyes.

“Let’s say it like it is, Navin. You want power.” It isn’t easy to keep my brain defensive and carry on a conversation.

“Let’s go,” he says as he takes my arm.

“Where are we going?”

“I know my brother. We won’t be waiting for him.”

“But Ian’s still alive?”

Navin shrugs. “Nearly. You want to find out?” He dangles the carrot, leaving me no choice but to follow. Soon, several men surround us as we race downstairs.

“You’d better find me,” I chant, in hopes that Arek will somehow hear me.

\/\/\/

For the first time in weeks I wake up hot and sweaty. My clothes stick to my skin, especially since I am still dressed for snow and the high-collared shirt suffocates me under the intense humidity. My eyelids seem to be made of stone and weigh too much to fight. When I raise my hand to wipe my eyes, my palm slaps my face—at least it wakes me. My hands do not feel like my own.

I survey the room while lying on a brightly striped, thick, and surprisingly comfortable couch. It seems to be night as very few lights are on and only the sounds of insects can be heard over my breath. The décor on the walls is split in half—the upper part is a deep, muted army green and the lower is a gray blue tile, and yellow vases sit on wood tables with bright flowers. In truth, it is amazing. I don’t get the feeling that I have been here before. The décor is new, however the cracks and crevices in the walls tell me of the history this house has seen.

The door just ahead is yellow and shaped like a nine-foot keyhole with chunky wrought iron handles and locks. The fog in my brain is still thick so I sway to the left and right when I sit up. Beneath my feet are weathered, black and white tiles adding humor to the unexpected decor. After a few moments, when my feet feel stable enough to stand, the table next to the couch helps. I peek through the large Jalousie windows. Flat rooftops sloping down reach out for miles. I can see that the sun will come up soon.

There is a second door in the room that is locked, but just beside it are folded clothes on a weathered bookshelf. The tank top and linen pants smell newly washed as they fall onto my body. The only thing left to do is pace, so I do, back and forth until the click-clack of the door tells me that someone is entering.

Three men dressed in jeans and T-shirts, their ears plugged with Bluetooth pieces, come in. Their guns are prepared, as though they expect someone with great strength. My withered body—bent at the chest with fatigue—should tell them my inability to fight.

“Let’s go,” one of them says.

“I should just follow?”

“To get what you want.” He throws a watch at me that drops heavily in my palms. My hands shake at the cracked face and even more so when I must wipe blood away from the engraving of my name and Ian’s. No more is said as they lead me through the halls.

The rest of the house continues to emulate a mixture of color, age, and unconventional style. Do I love it, or do I hate it? Something in my chest tells me that we are getting closer and my breath begins to come in and out in waves. We enter an office.

Navin sits in the corner, staring at a computer screen.

“An artist must have lived here,” I say, as I wrestle my brain to stay on a beat that he can’t get in. I can feel him try instantly.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

He shakes his head and keeps quiet. The manipulation and power in his silence brings a smile to his lips.

“Why am I here?” The gold rimmed chair next to me is high enough for stability, so I use it.

“You and I could have done so much. The prophetic healer.” He smiles and comes closer.