by Nikki Rae
He moved his hand slowly down the horse’s back. “I come every chance I get,” he said, “but I haven’t seen him for a while.”
A perfect chance. “Were you away all this time, sir?” I made sure I looked at him until I was done speaking then fixed my eyes on the velvet of the animal’s coat.
“Away?” he asked, purposefully drawing things out.
“Yes,” I said, grateful that the animal had moved its head in his direction, blocking me from view. “I thought you had left, sir. Not seeing you for so long.”
Master Lyon stepped around the horse so we were facing each other again. “No, Doe,” he said. “I wasn’t away. Just…preoccupied.”
Whatever that meant, I didn’t think I wanted to know.
“Oh,” was all I could say in response.
A sly smirk crossed his face as he looked at me through his lashes. “Je t’ai manqué?” Did you miss me?
I tried to match his playful demeanor. “Non.”
I wasn’t sure it was a lie, if only for the fact that I had wasted two weeks reading.
His smile widened. “Come now, not even a little?”
I decided to go along with it. He liked it when I did. I rolled my eyes and smiled as well, unashamed of over exaggerating. “Maybe I missed talking to you.” Again, I didn’t know whether it was a lie and that was unsettling. I tried my best to keep it from showing on my face. “I also ran out of stuff to read,” I added. “So that probably had a lot to do with it.”
He stared past me at the darkening forest. “We should probably get back,” he said, holding out an arm for me to take.
I was taken off guard at his abruptness, his ability to ignore the conversation at hand the minute it was steered in a direction he wasn’t guiding it.
Giving Onyx one last stroke, I stepped away and looped my arm through his.
With his free hand, Master Lyon pulled my hood over my head, the fine soft fur tickling my cheeks. “It becomes freezing the moment the sun sets,” he explained.
I glanced back at his horse, how lonely he must be in that tiny space all by himself. Then again, maybe he was used to it, conditioned to feel comfortable in the environment it was given.
“Don’t worry,” he said when he saw me staring. “Marius or I come to see him and ride him at least once a day.”
I turned my attention back to him as he moved towards the exit. “Ride?”
He let go of me for only a second so he could lock up the stable. “Of course,” he answered. “Maybe I can teach you sometime.”
My eyes lit up. He probably knew the real reason, but I didn’t care. He’d offered, so that meant that at least on some level, he trusted me—with a means of escaping.
When we re-locked arms, he grinned. “You’d like that.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, not even trying to hide how happy the thought made me.
He put his hood up too. I’d been so distracted that I barely noticed the bite in the air. I didn’t mind the chill on my nose as the sky became darker and the area around us became a deeper shade of blue. We were back on the dirt path with trees, our boots crunching on leaves, twigs, and frost.
“I’ll make sure you’re provided with more books,” he said after a while. “You know, to ease the pain of missing me so much.” He was being sarcastic and if he was anyone else, I would have let myself fully enjoy it.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. Then, trying to be humble, I added, “But you don’t need to buy more books just for me.”
“It’s not an issue,” he waved off. “And I have many others in my private study as well.”
So there was another place he liked to be alone, in the house where he was alone almost all the time before he brought me here.
“I’d love to see it sometime, sir.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
It was almost imperceptible, but I felt his bicep stiffen just the slightest bit. “Perhaps one day, Doe,” was all he said.
Interesting. He didn’t like the idea; could he be hiding something he didn’t want me to see in there? This in addition to how he spoke of the Vultures as well as how he had shown me all the scars on his torso earlier made up a peculiar puzzle I wanted to solve, but there were still too many pieces missing.
“May I ask a question, sir?” It left my mouth without my permission.
The main house was in sight now, and he took a few more silent steps before he spoke. “A question, ma petite?”
I had to clear my throat. “Yes, sir,” I said. “If I may, of course.”
One corner of his lip twitched with a smile that wouldn’t quite make it to the surface. “Ask.”
I wasn’t expecting him to allow it; there were many things I wanted to know about my new mysterious Owner, but now, so unprepared, my mind went utterly blank.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Forget already?”
I gave him an uncomfortable smile that was originally meant to be playful and friendly. “No, sir. I just…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence that would buy me more time to think.
“Just…?” He was toying with me, enjoying watching me squirm. “Come now. You wanted to ask me something and I’ve granted you permission to do so. You won’t get into trouble.”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind, but it was definitely good to know. At least I had that bit of reassurance. I still hadn’t decided what to ask first, but I realized that the longer I went without talking, the more impatient he would grow and possibly even revoke the offer altogether.
I did the next best thing: asked whatever came to mind first. “Who…gave you all of those scars, sir?”
As soon as it left my mouth, I regretted each word. My heart pounded an erratic rhythm and my mouth became dry. What the hell was I thinking? What a waste.
We were only feet from the house now and he came to a sharp stop, jerking me to a halt as well. He stared at me and I tried as hard as I could to stare right back.
“Is that really what you want to know?” he finally asked. He didn’t believe my choice as much as I didn’t believe it.
I tugged on the bottom of my coat. “Should I ask something else, sir?” I tried to keep the image of him grabbing me by the hair and dragging me the rest of the way to the house from entering my mind.
His eyes traveled my body, searching for any ulterior motive. I honestly didn’t have one other than curiosity. If the information he provided turned out to be useful to my escape, I would store it away for when I needed it. As of right now, I just wanted to know for the sake of knowing.
Master Lyon started towards the house again, taking me along with him. I was beginning to think he wouldn’t answer; when we got to the back door, any hope was deflated.
It wasn’t until he had turned the knob, opened the door halfway, and was partly turned towards me that I reconsidered his silence. He wasn’t ignoring my question; he had been biding his time, thinking of the best way to word things. What to keep to himself, keep in the shadows behind those dark eyes so I wouldn’t see. It only made me want to know more, and he probably knew that. After all, I really didn’t like to lose.
“A Vulture got his claws into me.” He said it so fast, yet in a voice so such I knew he wouldn’t be disappointed if I hadn’t heard him.
No one called them Vultures except for a select few. I never knew the term when referring to the people at the head of the Order pyramid until I’d escaped the first time and met others like me—ones who had left, changed their names and identities so no Member no matter how skilled or determined would find them. It was a much more fitting name for those who benefitted most from our suffering. They circled and waited until just the right moment, then gathered to disembowel, pick the bones clean until nothing was left. The girls and boys that belonged to them were nothing but husks of human beings, leftovers from a bigger, more dangerous animal.
I was stunned. Could it be that he knew of this term from someone within his circle? It wasn’t likely. No one knew this word for t
he older men in charge except for a small group who, when I’d been free, had only just begun to form. No one within ever talked to anyone without about the Order, so how was it that he knew what was only reserved for those who had managed to leave and stay hidden?
My lips parted even though I had no idea what I would say. However, he was already opening the door, taking a step inside and making sure I followed.
“We should get washed up for dinner.” There was finality, flatness to his tone that told me this particular discussion was over. No more questions. No more answers.
We stepped completely into the kitchen and he closed the door behind us. There were two domed trays sitting on top of the island, everything else clean and tidy.
“You can find your way to your room and back, yes?” It was formed as a question, yet it felt more like a command.
“Y—yes, sir,” I said, but he was already turned away, walking out of the room. Only the sound of his fading footsteps remained, echoing in the growing space he put between us.
THIRTEEN
After the day he’d taken me to see his horse, Master Lyon’s visits were sparse. This time I knew it was my fault. He had let something slip through that wasn’t supposed to—something he didn’t want me to know. Now he was distancing himself so it wouldn’t happen again.
But I wasn’t going to just forget. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I no longer obsessed over the night in front of the fireplace—that memory only popped into my conscious mind every once in a while now. What I was more concerned about was the last time I saw him and the tiny shards of himself he had stuck in me.
Was he a spy of some kind? Had he somehow infiltrated the escapees? He said he hadn’t been away, but of course, he could have been lying. He could have been trying to gain my trust so I would help him; tell him everything I knew from my time of being free.
The possibilities were an endless stream that kept me awake at night, whispered in my ear as I ate meals, distracted me from reading, or tea times. No matter what, I had to keep believing he was the enemy. Men like him were masters of manipulation. All his kindness and humor was meant to put me at ease so I would let my guard fall. In his mind, it was only a matter of time before I opened up to him like one of his many flowers.
But the second day that I was left on my own (again), Mr. B delivered more books to my room. At least I assumed he had; I had been in the shower at the time. When I came out, dressed in brand new jeans that hugged my hips and a cream sweater that fit as if it had been specifically made for me, the bed was made and a fresh stack of reading material awaited me atop the clean sheets. However, the more I studied the scene before me and thought about it, the more tiny discrepancies I found. The blanket wasn’t as smooth as usual; the pillows were just the slightest but askew. And then there was the books. When Mr. B brought me new ones from the mysterious second study, they were always on subjects he assumed I’d enjoy. Classic romances that made me want to gag but mostly I laughed at their implausibility, some mysteries that I always figured out before the end, and then, once in a while, some popular fiction.
These books were completely different. Not one woman on the cover, none of the names I’d seen before. Books on plant identification, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Nabokov’s Lolita—which I took as some kind of sarcastic joke—names of others I’d heard of but was never allowed to read like Walden Pond and Tom Sawyer and volumes of poetry that thankfully were not about love, but sad and melancholy. These fit my tastes much better. At the very bottom of the stack, I found a book on horses; how to tell apart the different breeds, how to care for them, what they ate, and how to ride. There was even a copy of The Origin of Species.
A grin larger than I’d felt in days spread across my face as I devoured each one as if I’d been starved. He’d given me exactly the tools I needed to win him over while he thought he was doing the same to me.
But there was something else that made me smile. Something other than the manipulation I had in mind. Some of the books I was genuinely interested in reading, and I wondered if he’d somehow studied me and guessed which I’d prefer. I even read Lolita, loving that the gross old man was miserable as I rooted for the girl. It shouldn’t have made me happy that he had been here while I was naked in the next room showering. It shouldn’t have excited me that these books were personalized and handpicked for me. I shouldn’t have been eager to read these books or think of my new Owner fondly while interpreting their words.
But I was. What was worse, I allowed myself to feel these things. I didn’t slam the door on them like I should have; I didn’t ignore them. They made me happy and I decided to take a cue from Mast Lyon and let myself experience their pleasure whenever I could.
On the fourth day, I was bored again. I knew deep down that I wasn’t being punished; in his mind, maybe he thought he was doing something nice for me. He could have thought that leaving me alone was what I wanted. A week ago, I would have agreed. The first time he disappeared, I would have agreed. Now…what now? Did I actually miss him? Had I become so accustomed to his kindness—real or imaginary—that I wanted to be put in the position to experience more?
Eventually, I rationalized it. A strange place with a strange man. Of course my brain would make it so I was more comfortable. Would I let myself believe this as well? Where would it end? Would I simply keep telling myself whatever made the situation more bearable until I was comfortable?
It was thoughts like this that kept me awake most nights, despite the distraction of reading and re-reading my new books. I was also…lonely. For the first time in years, I was craving conversation, human interaction. Since the day Master Lyon found Mr. B and I in the small library, I hadn’t really spoken to him much. He would feed me and so on, but whenever I tried to start a conversation, he was curt, giving me one or two word answers and never going further than that before I was left alone again. I knew loneliness; I knew it more intimately than anyone or anything else. I had come to be content with my own silence, with my own thoughts echoing back at me. But now my thoughts had claws and sharp teeth.
By the end of the week, I couldn’t stand any more torture. I lay awake all night, thoughts sticking themselves in me like thorns. I was out of bed before I knew what I was doing, sheets a mass on the floor. I didn’t have a plan—another first. I just wanted to get out of my room. I had to.
I wore nothing but a large nightshirt, grey with pink flowers, and although the heat was now working, a chill passed over any exposed skin. I wrapped my arms around myself both to warm the goose bumps and somehow grow the nerve to walk towards the door.
I wasn’t trying to escape. That was the first thought that kept my feet planted to the floor.
Why was I leaving my room only to…what, go in search of the man who owned me so we could talk about books? No, I was quick to tell myself. It was this room. I had to get out of this room and away from every thought clawing at me. I wasn’t trying to find anyone. I just wanted to go somewhere else, even if it was still inside this elaborate cell.
My hand was turning the knob and I cracked open the door as quietly as I could. I was shocked no alarms sounded; that the door wasn’t locked. The notion that he wanted me to get caught fluttered into my head, but I stuffed it down, the mere sight of the hall enough to spur me on. A tiny part of me scolded that even if I did get caught leaving my room unchaperoned, I didn’t care about the consequences. A beating was at least some form of interaction.
That was pushed down as well as I focused solely on making my way down the dark staircase, hand on the banister, feet careful on the steps so I wouldn’t plummet all the way to the bottom.
My bare feet were quiet on the marble floor and even more so on the sections of area rugs they touched. I poked my head cautiously into the lounge to find nothing but dying embers in the fireplace. In the dining room, there was only the clean table, the light from the moon coming in through the windows and reflecting off of its surface. The kitchen was also dark and
deserted. I made my way back to the foyer, turning in a direction I had never gone.
It was dark but there were dim nightlights every so often down the long hall. There were doors—almost as many as there were upstairs—and I tiptoed as silently as possible just in case someone was sleeping behind one of them. All the doors were oak, impenetrable and pristine, yet ancient at the same time. However, the door on the right, just a few short of the end of the hall, had a stained glass window. The design was intricate and colorful, depicting flowers and vines with the tiniest of branches, leaves, and petals. It wasn’t completely transparent, but when I pressed my face against the glass, I could see a pink-tinged image of the room that lay just beyond it. Inside was a large oak desk and a chair behind it. Then there was a leather sofa. These things were nothing compared to the endless rows of books lining the wall behind the desk, where there was another large stained glass window that overlooked the outside world.
I wanted to stare forever, see if I could read some of the titles on the spines, but I ultimately decided against it. I’d seen enough books for the past few days to last a lifetime. If he really did have a secret study, this room had to be it. It was no shock that the door was locked and secure. Whatever he was hiding in there, he was making sure he kept it safe.
Still, it was hard not to realize that while there seemed to be nothing but old books in this room, he kept something more valuable in mine: me. Why would he lock this door and not mine? Was he that confident I wouldn’t run—or if I did, that I wouldn’t escape?
Moving on, I went back into the foyer, pausing by the fireplace before I went back into the kitchen. I froze when I saw a shadow sitting at the counter.
Master Lyon sat on a stool, eating something in jeans and no shirt, his dirty boots caked with mud. He hadn’t been there the first time I ventured into the kitchen—I was sure of it. Glancing at the sliver of light coming from the greenhouse door told me that must have been where he’d come from. I was confident he hadn’t seen me, that I could slink back out of sight and into my room, but I was wrong.
