I refuse to consider it further until I have more proof. My anxiety lowers to a simmer, but I can’t shake the wariness I feel in this unsettling environment.
“I liked the last dream better,” I say, voice like a croak.
Aspen whirls back toward me, relief washing over him. “Where are you?”
I shrug. “I’ve never seen this place. I don’t know why I’m dreaming about it.”
“You need to get out of here,” Aspen growls. “What happened?”
I ponder his question but can’t seem to make sense of anything through the fog in my mind.
Aspen takes me by the shoulders. His touch feels the same as the last time I dreamed of him—warm but with something missing in our touch, like a barrier lies between us. “Evie, tell me what’s going on.”
I open my mouth, but a rumble of voices distracts me. The voices sound both near and far at the same time, but I recognize one of them. It’s Mr. Meeks. I stagger to the other side of the room and through the doorway. To the right stand three shadowed figures at the end of a dingy hall, lit by the faint glow of a single light bulb overhead. There isn’t a window to be seen, and only one other door occupies the hall, just across from where I stand.
Fearing I’ve been spotted, I pull myself back into the room, then slowly peer out again. I see the faces of Mr. Meeks, Mr. Osterman and—I suppress a shudder—Mr. Duveau. None, however, appear to have noticed me.
Aspen tenses at my side as he stares daggers down the hall. He seems far less concerned about being seen and ignores my every attempt to pull him behind the threshold with me. When sudden movement catches my eye, I stop tugging Aspen’s shirt. Instead, I watch Mr. Duveau pass a pouch into Mr. Meeks’ hands, expression hard. “You have some nerve bringing the Fairfield girl here,” Mr. Duveau says. “I can’t have her dying before the trial.”
“I’m not going to kill her, Henry,” Mr. Meeks says. “The girl is dear to me, regardless of bloodline.”
“I can’t have her talking about this...operation...you and Mr. Osterman have here either.”
Mr. Meeks waves a dismissive hand. “Why do you think I brought her in unconscious? She will leave the same way. She agreed to help me with my scientific research. I believe once the shock wears off, she will understand quite well what had to be done. She’s a sensible girl, I promise you.”
“You better be right. If anything goes awry, I’m holding you responsible. If she takes word of this to the Council of Eleven Courts, the fae would consider it a breach of treaty.”
“I assure you,” Mr. Meeks says, “she will know nothing of her whereabouts or what we do here aside from this being a place for scientific study.”
Mr. Duveau gives a curt nod. “I’ll be back for the wood nymph this evening when it’s time to take Maven Fairfield to the Spire.”
Mr. Osterman’s face breaks into a dark grin. “Can I have fun with her first?”
Mr. Duveau fixes the large man with a glare. “The patrons of the Briar House have exotic tastes, but they don’t like their merchandise damaged. Do what you will, but be sure she is whole and of sound mind by the time I return tonight. You have her in iron?”
Mr. Osterman nods.
“Good. Until this evening.” Mr. Duveau turns from the men and ascends a narrow staircase behind them. Daylight flashes overhead for a moment before the hall is plunged back into semi-darkness.
Mr. Meeks faces Mr. Osterman, an exasperated look on his face. “Did you have to mention having fun with the wood nymph in front of Henry?”
Mr. Osterman grunts. “He didn’t seem to mind.”
“Well, I do. I don’t like hearing you speak like that.”
“You know what happens behind my door as well as I do.”
Mr. Meeks brushes his hands on the apron he wears, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Well, do be quiet about it. I won’t have you frightening Miss Fairfield while we are at work.”
“I can do quiet.”
“No screams.”
“I’ll grab rope then.”
“Rope?”
Mr. Osterman’s mouth twists with a disgusting grin. “I like using rope when I don’t get to make them scream.”
