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Rochefort marched me deeper and deeper, down corridors, up steps, and around bends that were too long to be part of the club. The building could not be this substantial. None of this made any sense.
He threw open a door and shoved me inside. I stumbled and spun in the middle of the floor. The gilded room was vast and surely fit for a king. Silk and lace, enormous windows swathed in darkness. There were no stars outside tonight.
And the bed—a sumptuous expanse of opulent silk was draped from its four posts.
“No.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, but that one word seemed fitting. “I don’t know why you’ve brought me here, but I’m leaving.”
He marched by, ignoring my threat.
I hurried to the door and tugged on the handle. Nothing. Locked.
“You wished to know what goes on beyond that which you see, so here it is,” he said.
“Your bedroom?” I snorted. “Are you so self-centered that you think this would impress me? Unlock this door.”
He tilted his head and raked his glare down my body, spilling pleasant shivers through me. Damn my treacherous body. Why did I respond to such things? “I don’t know what this is, but I’m not a toy you can throw around and do with as you please.”
He laughed. “That is exactly what you are, dear Valentine. A toy. Mine, in fact. And you can stand there and pretend to be perturbed by my rough handling, but I see how your body responds. Your mind just needs a little time to catch up.” He tugged the cravat from his neck. “Time is something we have plenty of.”
“No.” I was not going through this again. I turned and tugged on the door.
“Run from me, and I’ll tell the world about your sordid bathroom affair with a male prostitute. You’ll be ruined.”
I thumped the door. “Hey, anyone! Open this door!”
“There are photographs, of course.”
I thumped the door again, but nobody was out there. Nobody was coming. Just a sliver of light between the door and its frame, like so long ago, locked beneath the stairs. I braced an arm against the door and bowed my head. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can,” he said, his voice slithering into my ear.
I spun. He caught my wrist, slammed it against the door, and was on me, all over me, his firm body pressed against mine, pinning me still.
I bared my teeth. “I’ve killed you once already. I’ll do it again.”
“Oh, you think that was you?” He laughed. “The broken boy from under the stairs? You poor thing. This isn’t even about you. But it feels good, all the same.”
I hadn’t killed him—but more importantly, he remembered too? “You remember it. You died, and you remember!”
“Hush now, Valentine. It will all be over soon.”
I brought my knee up with all the force I could muster and slammed it into his crotch. He recoiled, gasping. I yanked on the door handle, and this time the lock gave, and it swung open. I ran from the club, from the so-called gentlemen, out onto the street. I didn’t feel the snow on my face, just the cold burning my lungs. I ran and didn’t look back— couldn’t look back. The nightmares were behind me, chasing me down.
The toy store glowed like a beacon in the night. Still there!
I flew through the door, heard the bell tinkle, saw the fire. I was safe. Safe from the monsters.
“Devere!” He was here. He was always here. The door had been unlocked—hehadto be here. His workshop! “Devere! It’s Rochefort, isn’t it? It’s him.” I hurried behind the shop counter and down the short corridor, toward the workshop. “There’s something wrong with him. I don’t think he’s…” As I opened the door, I spotted Devere at his workbench. He stood awkwardly hunched, with his right arm laid on the bench, while he used a little tool to pokeinsideit.
“He’s not a man…” I heard myself say, then saw the rhythmic churning of miniature cogs and wheelsinsideDevere’s arm.
“Valentine,” he growled and yanked down his sleeve. “I told you not to come back here.”
“I…”
The tick-tocking of his wall clocks suddenly grew loud, as though each motion had found its way inside my head, like he had a watch-like movement inside of him. Countless little cogs all stacked upon each other, each one ticking and buzzing, like Hush’s wings.
This wasn’t real.
