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“My mom’s bills… if they’re not paid…”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I have already organized it. You can call your mom tomorrow and talk to her. I’m not keeping you as a prisoner. I’m trying to take care of you and yours, and I hope that you’ll realize it is safer this way.”
“Nothing that relies on anybody else to do anything is safe,” I say, almost reflexively.
He leans over and kisses my cheek, a simple and sweet expression of reassurance. It is so hard to reconcile this romantic with the man who stuffed me into the trunk of the car just yesterday. I have to get a grip and remember that this man is dangerous. Very dangerous. And no amount of beige sweaters and sweet nothings will change that.
“I promised Crocombe we’d be back at Direview in time for tea,” he says. “We’re having a welcome dinner for you.”
That sounds sweet. They’re trying. But what underlies their trying is dark, and I’m not going to fall for it. I can’t forget that I am missing work, that my apartment is a bloody mess, and that there’s probably going to be a missing person alert for me — unless Cosmos’ associates have cleaned my life up behind me, just rolled it up like a carpet.
I’m caught between two urges, one to escape and one to just sink into this world that is being made for me. The latter urge terrifies me. There is something so seductive about not having to try anymore, not having to make choices anymore, just being able to do as I am told and be a kept woman in a dark world.
8
“Welcome to our little family, Elise.” Bryn toasts me with a crystal glass full of port or maybe blood. Who knows with this collective of the terminally odd.
Dinner at Direview is held in the main hall with everybody present. Each of the men sits on one side of the table, and their respective partners sit on the other side. The exception, of course, is Bryn, who insists on sitting at the head of the table like the tall, dark, dominating figurehead he is. Nina sits at the other end of the table, and the rest of us are spaced out in a way I think is kind of awkward but what do I know. The food is good, and I am glad for it because it gives me an excuse not to say anything.
Conversation goes on around me and over me. Nina makes a few polite attempts to draw me out, and I keep my responses short and polite in return. I am tired. I am scared. For a time I managed to enjoy the data center upstairs but now that I am surrounded by the people of Direview it’s not possible to ignore the cult vibes in this ancient dining room.
I find myself staring at Thor out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know where to place him in this mess, because aside from looking like a massive beast of a man, he seems somewhat normal. I’m curious about so many things, caught between just the slightest hint of belief because I saw Crichton’s flaming head trick, and the more concrete certainty that none of this could possibly be real.
Finally, the meal is at an end. I’ve managed to avoid being drawn into real conversation, which suits me fine.
“Why don’t the ladies enjoy the drawing room while we discuss business?”
I roll my eyes at Bryn’s misogyny, but everybody else agrees and so I go along with it. I do wonder what business the three men have to talk about. What do mad cultists with demonic slaves and brainwashed brides chat about after dinner?
“So,” Nina says, settling into a chaise lounge like the elegant, willowy angel she is. “What’s your angel power?”
“I have no idea what an angel power is.” I try not to sound completely derisive as I answer, and I’m not sure I entirely succeed. Angel power sounds like a special kind of absolute bullshit.
“I have the ability to enter the mist and see things that never were. It’s kind of like being psychic with extra steps.”
“I don’t have any powers,” I shrug. “I don’t believe in powers.”
“I am sure you have some kind of as yet untapped ability. Perhaps it will emerge under stress.”
“Two different men tried to kill me in the same day, and no special powers emerged. I respect your beliefs, but I don’t believe them. I know there are demons, but I’m not sure there’s such a thing as angels. I’ve yet to see any other evidence.
Anita and Nina exchange smug little smiles. “It’s okay,” Anita says. “I would have thought this was all bullshit too until it got weird. When things get strange for you, you can talk to us. Don’t be ashamed.”
