“Your memory’s failing,” he continued. “You need a new one. As a token of good faith, allow us to provide one.”
“Who?” I asked, but the tall man was already moving. I tried to step in front of Jacob, but he was too strong, and he pushed me out of the way like a doll and snapped Jacob’s neck with his hands. “No!” I shouted, finding my voice at last, but it was too late.
“I’ll need the skin when you’re done,” said the tall man, rubbing his scarred face, and his skin moved unnaturally across the bones beneath it, like a mask. I sank down at Jacob’s side, feeling again for his pulse and breathing, but he was gone. I tried to remember how well I knew him, but I couldn’t bring the thoughts to mind. Was he a stranger, or my best friend?
I felt the paranoia creeping in, triggered by the murder but rooted so much deeper. Every shadow was an enemy; every corner an ambush. When you can’t remember what lurks beyond your peripheral vision, the world becomes a twisted, threatening madhouse.
I closed my eyes, rage fighting with despair. “You’ve lost now,” I said, shaking my head at their callousness. “Jacob was my only friend, and you said if I joined you he could live. Now you have nothing to offer me.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Gidri, and the sharp-faced man slipped silently into the hall. Gidri smiled, showing his teeth, and my heart sagged, for there were only two other people they could hold me with. “You were gone an awfully long time,” said Gidri.
“Please, no.”
And then there she was.
The sharp-faced man dragged Rosie into the office, bound and gagged to keep her silent in whatever back room they’d hidden her. She was half awake and stumbling, her coat torn, her clothes disheveled, her scalp bleeding in ragged patches where someone had yanked or dragged her by the hair. I stepped toward her, but the tall man held me back, his hands strong as iron.
“Rosie,” I said. She looked at me in foggy horror, still confused from being knocked unconscious.
“You see we still have plenty of leverage,” said Gidri. He stood up and walked toward her. “Who is she, Meshara? Someone from a life you stole? Does she know what you are—or who you think you are?” He reached for her and she shied back, turning to run, but the sharp-faced man slammed his fist into the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. I surged forward, trying to protect her, screaming at Gidri to leave her alone, but Ihsan grabbed me from behind, wrapping me in a parody of a hug, restraining me with unholy strength. Rosie reached out her fingers, trying to crawl across the floor, and the sharp-faced man stomped on her fingers with a heavy black boot.
“Leave her alone,” I said, as furious at myself as I was at him. It was my fault she was here, my contact with her, my stupid, selfish, reckless attempt to be close to her. They’d been watching me, and they knew I cared about something, and now they were using it against me. “I’ll join your army,” I said, “I’ll do anything you ask, just let her go and don’t ever touch her again.”
“That started like begging,” said Gidri, “but by the time you got to the end, it sounded suspiciously like threatening.” He moved his finger, a tiny, almost imperceptible signal, and the sharp-faced man kicked Rosie in the ribs.
“Stop!” I cried, struggling like a madman. “What do you want me to say?”
Gidri put out his hand, and the sharp-faced man stopped, stepping back against the wall. Gidri crouched down and pulled the gag from Rosie’s mouth, shushing her sobs and stroking her hair in small, soothing motions. “Shh. That’s right. Just calm down. Tell us your name.”
“Let me go,” she said, curling up protectively.
“Just tell us your name,” he said softly.
“Leave her alone,” I said again, but he ignored me. She cringed back from the touch of his fingers on her face, but he touched her cheek again.
“Just your name,” said Gidri.
“Rose,” she said finally. Her voice was thick with fear.
“Have you lost someone close to you, Rose?”
“This is sick,” I said. “Just let her go.”
“You asked me what I wanted you to say,” said Gidri, keeping his eyes on Rosie. “I want you to tell this Rose who you are.” He looked up at me suddenly. “Who you are to her.”
“I’m nothing.” I tried to squirm out of Ihsan’s grasp, but he held me too tightly.
“You are the opposite of nothing,” said Gidri.
“I’m a god, then,” I said desperately. “Is that what you want me to say? To take my place in your pantheon of monsters? I’m a god of death and fear,” I said, each word splintering my heart into a thousand brittle shards, watching Rosie’s face shift and wince in terror. “I am Meshara, the god of dreams and nightmares and memory.”
“Who did you lose, Rose?” asked Gidri.
“Please, no,” I said. I could never tell her that. Let her be scared of me and terrified of them and traumatized and damaged, but don’t destroy her memory of Billy. Leave her that much at least.