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Chapter 2
“We’re here.”
Vanya shakes me awake, but it takes several slow blinks before my eyes focus well enough for me to regain my bearings. Narrow space. Enclosed. We’re still in the van. Beyond the window, I make out a row of buildings. Their black awnings and brick façades stand out—seemingly not one of the hotels or mysterious venues I’m used to being smuggled into.
“Just take it easy,” Vanya warns as he maneuvers my arm around his shoulder to ease me from the van. “We’ll make this quick, and then you can sleep on the way back.”
Quick. My stomach lurches at the word. Was that twisted code for a more nefarious game?
After a few short paces, we enter the nearest building. Inside, clothing hangs from black velvet walls while a hostess mans a desk at the center of an elegant lobby. Beyond her is a waiting area with leather chaises. A store of some kind? It reminds me of the exclusive boutiques Briar frequents.
The people here must be used to patrons a bit more haggard than the polished circles my sister surrounds herself with, however. The girl who greets us doesn’t bat an eyelash at my battered, bruised frame.
“We made anappointment,” Vanya says.
“Of course.” She nods and beckons us forward with a wave of her hand. “This way. Your men can bring the delivery around back.”
Delivery. Her careful tone strikes a nerve. So Mischa planned this trip to mean more than a shopping spree. Of course he did.
I crane my neck and spot one of his men carrying something from the van out front. Before I can decipher what it is, Vanya tugs on my arm.
“Come.” He guides me to one of the chaises at the center of the waiting area before he takes up a position near the mouth of the showroom. “Quick,” he mouths.
But when the sales girl returns, I doubt speed is what she has in mind. Behind her, another woman pushes a rack filled with various items of clothing.
“We were told to select some items for you,” the girl explains. Her name tag reads Jenny, and her smile is genuine enough. “However, we still like to get a feel for the style of our clients. Perhaps you’d prefer to select them yourself?”
Select. Style. Myself.
I don’t think I’ve ever had clothing of my own. Always Briar’s old things or hand-me-downs from the servants.
I don’t even think I have a favorite fabric, or cut, or style.
Mischa had counted on that. Apparently, he had them just give me clothing “at random” without any thought put into what I might like. A part of me is exhausted enough to feed into the narrative of his prisoner and refuse to supply any input. It’s what Vanya expects, and he eyes me with more concern than I’d like.
To be fair, I don’t even know which of the garments hanging on the frames calls to me the most.
“You can show me,” I hear myself croak. “I’d like to see what you have.”
* * *
An hour later, Vanya finally intercedes, cutting the shopping trip short. With swift efficiency, he has the items I already selected brought out to the van before he comes for me himself and helps me to my feet.
I barely have enough time to choke out a parting thanks before we’re back on the road and whatever drug he injected me with earlier takes its full effect. My tongue feels too heavy to control, and questions spill from it unbidden.
“Did I just help him commit another crime?” It’s funny. I can’t even come up with a solid tally of the criminal acts I’ve done for Mischa so far.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vanya replies. “You did nothing.”
“He sold something,” I decide, using what little logic I can muster as pain gnaws at my consciousness. “What?”
“Nothing. At least…Youwon’t be the one forced to answer for it.” He looks away, his jaw tight. “Just try to get some rest.”
But I don’t sleep on the way back. I die, am reborn, and awaken as something else. Someone else.
Someone whole despite her broken body. Her clothing and her life have been bought on a monster’s dime—but she’s more reckless than the old Ellen Winthorp ever was. Or maybe she’s just that damn tired.
“Easy does it.” Vanya’s breath bastes my cheek, drawing me awake.
The world sways around me, but it’s seconds before I realize why: I’m in his arms.
Gingerly, he carries me into the red room and sets me down on the bed. “Sleep.”
Already numbed by the drug and pain, I don’t resist unconsciousness as my identity continues to morph around me.
