She’d gone through no less than eleven servants—only half of them surviving to tell about it, though it did Frazier little good, since they all had sworn a vow of silence, on penalty of death.
Frazier steeled himself, wiped his hands on his pants, and knocked on the door.
On the third thunk, the door swung open violently, slamming against the stone wall on the other side.
“Enter, Frazier.”
It was a voice he barely recognized. Raw and scratchy—weak, as if Jane had swallowed a glass of lava, scorching her throat and vocal chords.
“Enter,” she repeated.
Frazier couldn’t see where she was in the room.
He stepped across the threshold, then closed the door. The only light in the room was a fire, burning hotly with several fresh logs, spitting and cracking. With a shudder, he remembered back to Jane’s flying cinder display, and he hoped there’d be no repeat tonight.
“You called for me?” Frazier asked the darkness.
A figure stepped out of the shadows behind a deep wardrobe in the corner between the bed and a large open window, where curtains fluttered in the breeze. Though Frazier could not yet see any details, he knew it was his boss. But she appeared to have something draped over her head.
“It’s good to see you again, Mistress Jane,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.
“My dear Frazier,” she said, her voice the sound of rocks rubbing on sandpaper. “You will never know how very good it is to see you.”
For the first time, Frazier realized there was a slight hollowness to her voice, as if it were muffled by something over her mouth. Subtle, but there all the same.
“That means a lot to me,” he finally said. And he meant it.
“I’ve often been . . . cruel to you,” Jane said, taking a step forward. Though she was still mostly in shadow, Frazier could see that she wore a long, flowing robe, its hood pulled up over her head. Something glinted off her face, a flickering reflection from the fire.
Must be her glasses, Frazier thought.
“You’ve only ever done that which needed to be done,” he said. “I know I’ll have my reward some day, when we make the Realities as they were meant to be.”
“Frazier,” she whispered.
“Yes, Mistress Jane?”
“I want you to know that I love you as if you were my own brother. I promise never to be cruel to you again.”
Frazier felt a strange mixture of elation and sick fear. “The feeling is mutual.” His hands were sweating even worse than before. So was his face.
“That makes me happy, Frazier. Very, very happy.”
Mistress Jane stepped out into the full light of the fire, and a puff of sharp air escaped Frazier’s lips before he could stop it. He took a step backward, cursing himself silently as soon as he did.
The floor-length robe that draped over her head and shoulders and body was a brilliant yellow, glowing like molten gold in the flickering light of the flames. Where her face should have been, a red mask floated, bright as fresh blood. Though it sparkled like shiny metal, its surface moved and flowed, creating subtle facial expressions, alternating between anger, sadness, excitement, confusion, joy, pain. Small holes, as dark as the deepest depths of the ocean, made up her eyes, and somehow Frazier knew she was looking at him through the mask.
“Mistress Jane . . .” was all he could get out.
The flowing, red metal mask solidified into a stark expression of rage, eyebrows slanted up from the nose like a big V.
“He did this to me, Frazier,” she said, her raspy voice bitter and tight. “I tried so hard to make him see—to work with him, to help him. But in the end, he looked at me and threw all of his powers against me. He hurt me, Frazier. I will always be in pain now.”
“Who?” Frazier asked. “Who did this to you? What . . .” He almost asked her what was hidden beneath the yellow robe, but he knew better.
She turned her red mask to look at the fire as she continued speaking. “But perhaps it was for the best. I’ve been reminded of my life’s duty. I’ve been reminded how cold and cruel the Realities can be. I’ve been reminded of the goals I set so many years ago. And I’ve been reminded of what kind of person it takes to accomplish . . . what we need to accomplish.”
“Yes, Mistress Jane,” he answered fervently. “I’ll be by your side. Always.”
“If I ever falter again, Frazier—if I ever doubt myself or doubt the things I need to do and the way in which I need to do them, I want you to do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to say two words to me. Two words. It’ll be all the reminder I ever need.”
“What words, Mistress?” Frazier asked.
Jane looked back in his direction, the darkness of her eyeholes boring into him out of the shiny red mask of liquid metal. And then she told him.
“Atticus Higginbottom.”
~
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