“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.
“I did. I just didn’t need you to do it.”
“For what gain, Remy? The government? The rich men who convince us from a young age to stay quiet,” his dramatic whisper turns back on. “They convince us that it’s just easier to be the same. Forget who you are. Conform, repent, for the sake of everyone else . . . but us.”
“I didn’t want that,” I shook my head.
He steps closer. Navin is good looking, tall, and built just like his brother, but his darkness clouds everything. “You’ve told me that before. Do you remember?” He backs me against a wall, and I can see the glisten of sweat on his temples.
“No,” is all that I can say.
“No matter what I tell you, you’ll never understand that Ephemes don’t accept anyone who’s different. We are better than them, Remy. Don’t you understand that? And they will never allow us freedom or safety because of this.”
“I don’t believe that. There has to be a way.”
He moves his face close to mine, nearly rubbing our cheeks together, and strangely this is familiar. We have been this close before, which makes my heart drop.
“You’re even more of a Pollyanna than you used to be.”
“Your only solution is to eradicate.”
“I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone. You and I could be what’s best for everyone,” he whispers.
His eyes drill into mine. He moves closer, inch by inch, until finally his thick lips touch mine. I don’t kiss him or close my eyes. It isn’t long or aggressive, but when he pulls away, he isn’t happy.
“Why’d you set me up? So long ago . . . If you wanted me, why did I die for something you did?”
He takes a moment, studying my eyes and then my lips, and finally he pulls away to sit on the edge of the desk in the middle of the room. “I didn’t. She did. From the first moment I met your mother, that woman was willing to do anything. Somehow, she knew . . . the entire time it was you that I wanted. I never realized that she was ruthless enough to give her own life for yours to be taken. She didn’t want either of us to have what we wanted.”
We are interrupted by a figure coming in from the side entrance—moving stealthily and gingerly. Japha steps into the light, his white hair and scarred face looking more homely next to Navin.
“Where is he?” I am losing my patience.
“You need to see him?” Navin asks.
“I need to know you haven’t done anything.”
“Okay.” Navin places his hand in the air. For a few moments all is silent, then I hear the rustle of feet. Behind Japha and Navin, Ian, busted and bruised, barely able to walk without help, comes out blindfolded.
Navin shakes his head. “Remy, you know you can’t do that,” he says as though he is reading what I want to do to him.
“What do you want?” I struggle with my breath.
“Willow?” Ian cries out.
“Ian, I’m here. It’s okay.”
Navin steps into my line of sight. “I need to know some things.”
“I don’t remember anything.”
He reaches out and grabs my arm. I nearly tumble as he rips me from the room and into a large hall made with cement floors and green ceilings. Large paintings with women of all different colors and sizes line the walls, but there is no time to look at them since he yanks me so hard that I nearly fall to the ground. We enter a dark room at the end of the hall. I gasp as we enter.
“What are you doing?” I try to pull my hands away.
The walls are a deep red that look nearly black in certain angles. Shackles line the room to the left and weapons line the walls to the right. Every weapon, some that I have seen, some that I have never seen, hangs heavily against a metal-framed wall.
He throws me against the wall so hard that he knocks the wind out of me, forcing the wheeze from my lungs. Then he takes my hands, one at a time, and raises them until they reach metal restraints hanging from anchors on the wall. When he leans closer, his resemblance to Leigh is striking—a strange combo of Arek and Leigh.
“It’s so sad, what you became.” My words try to pierce the callous man, but instead fall flat.
