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Between me and the wall was a garden, with a fountain in the shape of an octopus, each of its legs acting as a waterspout. There were birds in the fountain, drinking and washing in the glistening water. Nearby, a man with a pair of earmuffs was running an electric grass trimmer—not a leaf blower—over the grass.
It was the most normal sight imaginable.
No one would’ve believed this was a mansion of demons and mages who could command them from this serene scene alone. Looking down again, over the window ledge, I saw the shrubs at the bottom and the path near them. It suddenly didn’t look like such a long drop anymore. I was still hesitant to make the jump, though.
There were several hundred feet between me and the wall, between me and freedom; how was I supposed to cross all that without being caught?
Still, I needed to do something. I couldn’t stay here, and I had to find Max.
Max!
He had been out all night, the Gods only knew where. He hadn’t contacted me, nor had I felt him try. He must have thought I was dead… I could only imagine how lost and entirely alone he felt. The longer he was out there, and I was stuck in here, the more danger he was in, and the closer that danger got to him. I needed to get to him first, before anyone else could, and I needed to do it fast. But how? How the hell was I supposed to escape?
A knock at the bedroom door sent my panic response into overdrive again; not that sleeping had helped me relax at all.
“Who’s there?” I called out.
There was no reply. The door simply opened… and something unexpected happened. Lucien Diaboli stood at the door. He was well dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black, buttoned-down shirt. His shoes were clean, and polished, his top shirt button was popped, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
In his hands, he held a silver platter with a dome on it and a glass of what looked like orange juice. A tense moment passed since his opening the door and his decision to speak, the silence filled by the drone of the grass trimmer going off outside.
“What—”
“—good—”
We both spoke at the same time, then abruptly stopped. I decided to pick it up again. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
He swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. “Good morning,” he said. “I came to bring you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I sneered.
“Yes. I figured you would want to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
After a moment spent considering my response, Lucien decided to enter the room. His growing proximity served only to make my heart start rapidly beating, only not for the reasons it used to. I was terrified of him. Terrified of him, and of his family. I didn’t want him, or any of the others, anywhere near me.
Lucien noticed.
He paused mid stride, then continued over to the little desk on the side of the room. There, he placed the platter, the domed dish, and the glass of orange juice. He stopped, then, and even though he opened his mouth to speak, he didn’t look directly at me.
I didn’t think he could; not after last night.
“I wanted to say a couple of things,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”
“Why should I?” I snapped.
He nodded. Not at me, but at himself. “You don’t have a reason to listen to me, you’re right. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”
“I don’t want your words or your food,” I said. “Your family butchered mine last night.”
Lucien swallowed again, and visibly winced, as if my words had cut him. Good. “I’m sorry,” he said, after a pause. “I’ll leave.”
True to his word, Lucien turned around and headed for the bedroom door. Before he could reach it, I changed my mind. I wanted to know what he had to say, what he thought he could possibly say, about last night. He was probably going to lie to me, but there was also a chance he would slip up and say something he didn’t want to say.
Something important.
Something that could help me get out of here.
