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“I am.”
“How?”
She reaches for a cup on the side table, offering me a straw. “It will hurt to swallow for a little while, but this tonic should help you to recover quicker,” she says, not answering my question.
My lips part and I suck, the sudden need to slake my thirst taking over. The liquid is warm, but not hot and tastes pleasant, sweet. But she’s right, it hurts to swallow. The muscles in my neck feel bruised. I reach up to touch my throat, pressing gently against the skin and wince from the pain. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” she asks, placing the cup back on the side table.
“No. I—I don’t. I just feel…”
Strange. Not really here, somehow. Like part of me is still with my mum in that vision… Was it a vision? It felt real, like I was with her, and if I was with her does that mean I was…dead?
I force that thought away. Refusing to acknowledge it or the sadness it makes me feel at leaving her. Instead I allow other emotions in, focussing on them instead. They’re strong, powerful.
“What?” Thirteen persists, gently stroking my hand.
“I’m angry. Ithurts,” I reply, and I don’t just mean physically, as I rub my palm against my chest and try to figure out if my heart aches because of the vision, or something else. I suspect it’s both.
“You’ve every right to be. I’m so sorry. It never should’ve happened.”
“What shouldn’t have happened?”
“I didn’t think…” She shakes her head. “I’d hoped that they wouldn’t… I thought the letter would be enough to make them stop.”
“The letter? What letter? Make who stop?”
“From your mother to The Masks.”
“You had another letter from my mother, forthem?” I whisper, drawing my hand out of her hold. My jaw begins to chatter as I try to unravel my confused thoughts. Why would my mother write a letter to The Masks?
“Six months before I came here, I was given three letters by my grandmother on her deathbed. One was addressed to me that I was instructed to open there and then. One was addressed to you that I was instructed to give to you two weeks after you arrived here, and one was addressed to The Masks that I was told to give them the night you were taken to the Room of Fantasies three nights ago.”
“Three nights ago?” I repeat.
“Yes. You’ve been in and out of a drug-induced coma.”
“A drug-induced coma? Why?”
“So you could rest, recover. Do you remember anything about that night?”
I frown, trying to focus as bits and pieces slowly come back to me. “I remember dancing in The Menagerie. I remember One playing the piano and Six and Seven singing whilst I danced… I—I don’t remember much else.” Memories rapidfire in my brain like parts of a movie edited to confuse and baffle the audience. I see Jakub holding a tiny bottle. I see Leon covered in blood, I see people fucking, I see Konrad with rage in his eyes. I remember feelingnumb, but none of it makes any sense. “I’m not sure… It’s confusing.”
“Something happened after the show,” Thirteen begins, squeezing my hand, her grey eyes round and filled with guilt.
“Tell me,” I whisper, a sudden feeling of dread that’s quickly accompanied by a deep well of rage spreading through my veins. It’s so powerful I can almost taste it. Why am I so angry?
“Leon—” she begins, only to be cut off as the door to the room opens behind her. My focus moves from Thirteen to the door, the door of a room I don’t recognise. The furniture is all dark wood, there are no pictures on the walls, none of Thirteen’s equipment or drying flowers and herbs, nothing but bare stone. This isn’t Thirteen’s room.
Panic floods my system.
“Where am I?” I ask, focussing on Thirteen and not the monster who enters the room.He’sthe reason I hurt. I might not remember exactly why but my physical reaction to his presence is enough to tell me I’m right. I’m certain of it.
“My private quarters,” Leon answers, cutting off Thirteen as he places the tray of food he’s carrying on the bureau to his left. Today he’s dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans, a purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a purple eye mask with gold flecks scattered across the surface. To many he would be attractive, mysterious. To me, he’s a monster dressed to confuse and entice. My heart hiccups inside my chest and a sudden rush of fear and hate blooms like wildfire under my skin. It’s worse than before. I’ve feared him, hated him, but this is something more.
“No!” I shout.
“Christy, listen to me,” Thirteen says, reaching for me as I push up onto my hands and shuffle backwards on the huge bed.
