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“Yes, Trent would have been useful,” Oriax said, and pretended to wipe away a tear before laughing gaily and saying, “But a sixteen-year-old who is already pimping and pushing heroin? We’ll find something useful to do with him.”
“Let me redo the Piercing,” I said. “I can find out what he’s afraid of.”
Messenger shook his head slightly. “That ritual may be performed only once. Oriax knows this.”
“Yes, she does,” Oriax said, mocking his seriousness.
“You set up Chandra,” I said to her.
“Not quite,” Oriax said.
“I just seduced her apprentice. See, I’ll tell you a little secret.” She came to me, close enough, too close, and though at that moment I raged inwardly at her, I could not resist entirely the gravitational pull she exerted over me.
“All are sinners,” Oriax said. “All fail to do their duty at some point. Everyone falls, even Messengers of Fear. Chandra had a soft heart. I had seen her intervene in the time line before and I knew she would do it again. But I needed someone to inform Daniel, and, well, Daniel doesn’t listen to me. So I had a charming . . . discussion . . . with this great blond lump here, and he was not hard to convince. He ratted out Chandra. The law of averages made it reasonably likely that he would be temporarily assigned to Messenger—he’s very well thought of, you know. Oh yes, he is the Golden Boy. Once assigned to Messenger, Haarm would be in a position to help me with Trent. That didn’t work, but I did manage to salvage a few things: Chandra is out, and I saved this potentially useful creature.” She waved an elegant hand at Oliver. “Unless of course you intend to attack him with plush animals, Messenger. And even now, there’s still hope for Trent. Who knows what he may do when he returns to his life? You may not have broken him entirely. He may yet be salvaged.”
Messenger did not answer her. Instead he said to Oliver, “You have escaped your due punishment. You are free to go.”
“He’ll go with me,” Oriax said.
“He cannot be forced to do so,” Messenger said. “He is free to make his own decision.”
Oliver perked up at this. He climbed to his feet, shaky, traumatized, but recovering his wits. “What’s the deal?” he rasped.
“Go back to your life,” Messenger said. “Consider what has happened. Take stock of what you have done, of the damage you have caused. Change your life. Be a better person.”
Oriax laughed delightedly. “Oh, that’s so very Messenger.”
She stepped to Oliver. Without looking at him, but keeping her eyes on Messenger, she stroked her hand down Oliver’s cheek. “Did the bad, bad Master of the Game scare you, little Oliver? Did the bad Messenger hurt you?”
Oliver’s knees buckled and he knelt, gazing up at her, his face no longer ravaged by fear. His mouth was open and his eyes ecstatic.
“Yes, I think he’ll come with me,” Oriax said, her voice dripping contempt. “I’ll find uses for him. Isn’t that right, Oliver? You want to come with me. You want to serve me. You want to swear eternal allegiance to Malech. Don’t you?”
“Yes! Yes!”
She bent slightly at the waist and just brushed his forehead with her lips. I thought he might faint.
“Now there is one last question to be decided. You. You mini . . . I mean, Mara.”
I managed to shake my head but words did not come. They didn’t come because at that moment I wasn’t sure what I would say.
“Haarm is mine now, but you could borrow him if you came with me now, Mara. He’s a handsome boy, isn’t he? And he will be more attractive still when he has met my lord and sworn allegiance. You don’t have to live a life of loneliness, Mara. You don’t have to pass your days in your sterile abode awaiting the appearance of the boy you can never have. You don’t have to serve out the rest of your sentence. You can escape your doom. You can come with us.”
“With you?” I said.
“In every way, Mara,” she said, and now she was so very near. I heard her voice as a whisper in my ear. I felt, or imagined I felt, her breath on my neck.
Haarm was escaping his fate. Haarm’s body would not be slowly, inexorably covered with the tattoos that would forever remind him of a hundred terrible encounters with evil. Haarm wouldn’t live years of pain and loneliness and the sadness they brought.
I imagined the months and maybe years ahead of me. I imagined the distance that must inevitably grow between me and Messenger as he pursued his own obsession for Ariadne.
And, too, I took stock of my doubts. Was this worthwhile, what we did? Did it matter to me if some balance were maintained? It wasn’t up to me, it couldn’t be. There would be others to take my place.
And what of the day when Messenger deemed me ready to become the Messenger of Fear? What would be left for me when he departed for good and I was fully, absolutely, alone?
I knew I was being tempted. I knew Oriax was manipulating me. I even saw clearly that part of her motivation was mere spite toward Messenger. He had withstood her temptation and she hated him for it.
Haarm was crude and unfeeling, but he was being offered to me and it wasn’t like I had better offers lining up. My future was bleak.
