Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. She caught my sarcastic slip but magnanimously chose to ignore it. “That’s my girl.” She smiled, patting my cheek as if I were a prize pony, before turning and disappearing for the evening.
Letting out a deep sigh of relief that the interrogation was over, I stood and groaned, massaging my lower back. I felt like an old lady. Even worse, like an old lady who had been run over by a car. Little prickles of pain erupted all over my back, sending goose bumps of aches up and down my body, which made me feel like a porcupine being kicked around by a tiger—bristly, dizzy, and slightly gnawed-on.
Deciding to skip dinner and retire early so as to stave off whatever bug had invaded my system, I climbed into my four-poster bed and settled in, hoping for a long, rejuvenating sleep. Instead, I dreamed of strange things. Large, colorful beetles crawled up my arms and kept coming no matter how many times I brushed them off. I sank into a murky river full of snapping crocodiles. And then, when I thought I could stand the nightmares no more, I was wrenched into a dark place where an unseen evil tried to pry away something that was precious and perfect.
I woke abruptly at dawn as air shifted over the bed, and I sensed movement by the French doors. The sheer curtains billowed in the breeze, and I could hear the comforting sounds of beeping trucks many stories below. I must’ve opened the door to the terrace last night, I thought.
Rubbing my arms, I stepped into a pair of soft slippers and padded toward the door. Dew coated the wrought-iron patio furniture. Stepping onto the veranda, I caught the scent of the planted flowers in their hanging boxes and inhaled deeply as I looked out over the park.
I rubbed the head of the large stone falcon that the hotel had placed there long before we moved in. I believed, though I’d never admit it, that the gesture brought me luck. There was one bird guarding each side of the hotel—north, south, east, and west. My personal falcon seemed to be watching over Central Park, protecting it like a gargoyle, and sometimes I liked to imagine that he was watching over me, too.
Pink rays of sun hit my skin, and though my body still ached and my head throbbed painfully, I swore that just standing in the sun siphoned off some of the pain. I heard the flutter of wings behind me and would have immediately shooed away the pigeons if standing in the sun hadn’t felt so perfect.
Gripping the balustrade, I closed my eyes, basking in the feeling and momentarily forgetting my surroundings until I heard an all-too-familiar voice. “The sun makes us feel strong, Young Lily. As I am bound to it, you are bound to me.”
Whirling around, I whispered in an incredulous voice, “Amon? What are you doing up here? Wait. No. More important, how did you get up here?” I kept my voice low as I glanced nervously at the open door to my room. It was unlikely my parents or Marcella would be checking on me so early, but then again, they enjoyed changing up the routine every once in a while to keep me off guard.
“I need you, Lily,” he said simply.
“What you really need is to go home,” I replied. “Look, why don’t I just call the police and see if they can locate someone who knows you?” I turned toward the veranda door.
“No.” His quiet command stopped me, and I felt a familiar warm glow filter through my mind, just like when I hadn’t been able to leave him in the street. When I made the mental decision not to call the police, I regained control of my limbs.
My eyes lifted to his questioningly and I felt his emotions rise within me. “You don’t have a home anymore, do you?”
“My home has long since turned to dust.”
Tilting my head, I asked, “Are you controlling me with hypnosis?”
“What does that mean?”
“You know, like taking over my mind, making me your Renfield?”