December 31, 5:13 pm
Iwoke up to the sensation of cold. Not the freezing kind that seeped into your bones and made you shiver, but the cool kiss of exposed skin. And it was everywhere—my arms, legs, toes, chest, and hips. There was no warmth from any fabric at all.
At first, I thought I was dead. That those crazy circus psychos killed me and buried my body in the cold ground. There was noheaven or hell. There wasjust me and the dirt that was my grave. My own purgatory, because I didn’t deserve an afterlife.
Then the smells hit me.
Various scents of cooked meat, spices, sauces, wine, and melted candle wax were all around me. It was overwhelming. The kinds of smells that smacked one in the face when they walked into the house for Thanksgiving dinner. I half expected my sister to claim the last piece of pie.
It made no sense. I wasn’t at home for dinner. I would never be home again. Was it all a dream? Or was I dreaming now?
The drug still lingered in my mind, dulling my senses. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the sensations I did pick up feel cruelly sharp. Maybe this was hell. The scents surrounding me were all things I recognized but wished I could forget.
Barbequed meat from my family’s annual Fourth of July cookout. The sugared fruit my sister and I ate every Christmas. Mom’s Thanksgiving roasted potatoes, and finally, the sweet scent of brandy. The same kind I had that night.
Once upon a time, those scents would make me feel safe and loved. Now they were all tainted with the smell of her small body floating in chlorinated water.
I didn’t want to be here. The memories of smiles and happy family times were making me nauseous.
Wake up, Mazie.
My stomach twisted as I slowly rolled my eyes open.
And when I did, I wished I hadn’t.
Not only was it not a dream, but I was apparently the centerpiece for an extravagant feast. Candles flickered around my body, which lay flat on a long dining table. Every inch of me was on display, covered only by various platters of food as though I were a serving tray.
My arms stretched out above my head, and I could feel a small bowl resting in my left palm with something sticky in the right. Grapejuice bled down my ribs. A roasted chicken—its skin crispy and greasy—sat on my stomach. The candied fruit I used to love as a child was decorating my left breast, and steam curled from a bowl balanced between my thighs.
Despite having all that food on me, I was oddly comfortable. The table almost cradled me, and the deep, red tablecloth under my body was soft and warm, maybe silk or velvet? I couldn’t tell, and when I moved to look, I caused a bowl on my thighs to clatter. A voice stopped me.
“Welcome back, Poppet. I hope you brought your appetite.”
Felix.
I lifted my chin slowly to look at the head of the table where Felix was sitting. Behind him, silent as ever, stood Flynn, and beside them sat Austin. He was bound to the same chair he was when I passed out, and he looked even worse than before. His face was pale, and some of the color had drained from his lips, but his eyes were still alive and furious.
“What’s happening?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I had to ask.
Felix smiled back at me. “Why, we’re having a feast, of course. We must feed before the new year begins.”
That sounded far too ominous to mean something as simple as eating. “I’m not hungry.”
“Ah, but you are, Poppet.” The way his blue eyes sparkled as they traced over my exposed body told me that he wasn’t hungry in the traditional sense. I was the main course he wanted to devour. “You’re just as ravenous as I am.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
Both Flynn and Felix terrified me, but I wasn’t going to play their game. If they wanted to kill me, then they should just killme and get it over with. I’d made peace with my fate a long time ago.
I moved to get up, and Felix tsked, stopping me.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he leaned back in his chair and swirled a goblet of deep, red liquid that I prayed was wine. “Careful now. For every dish you spill onto the table, Austin will have to eat one of his own.”
He lifted a silver-domed lid off a tray, revealing something that caused bile to rise in my throat.
Laid out on a platter in front of Austin was a human leg, severed at mid-thigh. The skin had been stripped in places, showing the roasted meat, glistening with oils and herbs. Around it were various garnishes. Sprigs of rosemary, charred onions, and slices of orange baked into the skin. The scent was unbearable, but not as unbearable as the toenail polish on the foot still attached. I recognized that chipped blush pink.
Gina.
