Masten has planted himself on the edge of my bed, watching me as I carefully apply a subtle amount of shadows and colors at my vanity. In the reflection of my mirror, I see his face over my shoulder. His hair is the same glossy-black shade of Aurick’s, but longer with gentle curls at the ends and tousled in gelled strands for a messy middle part. He wears his long black topcoat and holds that cane with the wolf’s-head handle.
What is he doing in my bedroom?
I don’t dare make another move.
“I brought you a spot of morning tea,” he offers as if it is a white flag. “I was hoping for a quick chat with you.”
I stare at his hand, holding the white cup of tea, and shake my head. I watch him set it down casually. I’ve learned to never accept tea from those who threaten me.Ever.
“Is this quick chat similar to the last one we had?” I ask carefully.Where is Aurick?
He chuckles, raising his eyebrows like we’re sharing an inside joke.
“I hope not. But I was wondering if you’d be so kind to take off work today? Perhaps spend time with me. I do feel as though we have started off on the wrong foot.”
I turn around at this. What is his motive now?
“And why do you think that is?” I ask, squishing my tongue between my teeth to keep from grinding them.
He holds his hands up as if I’m about to strike him. “I know, I know. I was hardly a gentleman. But I’d appreciate the chance to make that up to you.” His sapphire-blue eyes sparkle in the orange morning sun, flaring through the curtains of the window.
His tone is tranquil now, sober, and without hard edges. His pleading gaze makes me want to give in, accept his non-apology and start over. But like the thunder of Dessin’s cautious voice, I have a strong, persistent hand pulling me away from the notion. A thud in my gut begging me to not fall for the chivalrous ocean eyes.
“I’d like to but…”
He’s standing now, a hand like a feather landing on my shoulder. “I think we owe it to Aurick. I am his oldest friend, and you are his newest friend. Don’t you think it wise to be on the same side?”
“Skylenna!” Aurick hollers from his study. “Emerald Lake called for you. They need you in immediately.”
I release a long, shuddering breath.Thank God.Relief loosens the knots building between my shoulder blades.
Masten’s eyes droop, a theatrical frown animating his mouth.
“Another time, then?”
I smile politely but am hesitant to answer. I’d rather not be pressured by him again. I need to remember to keep my door locked at all times.
Once he takes the hint and starts to exit my bedroom, he stops in the doorway, and without looking back at me, he says. “You look nothing like her. In case you were wondering.”
~
Judas waits for me onthe front steps of Emerald Lake, watching my buggy pull in across the gravel driveway.
He hurries me inside, doing his best to explain that Dessin had an outburst, something—they’re not sure what—sent him into a ferocious rage. Suseas took the liberty of arranging a treatment she finds to be highly effective on him. Judas warns me that they have only seen him like this on two separate occasions. When he was first admitted four years ago—he burst through the front doors covered in blood, terrorizing the staff until they locked him in a room—completely isolated—for seven days. The second time was only a few months ago; he destroyed his room and ripped out the plumbing in his washroom.
“You have never seen him like this,” Judas says quietly, opening the doors to the intricate section. “I want you to be prepared.”
Like stepping into a war zone, the grunts of a grown man ripple down the hallway, ricocheting off the walls like a blast wave from a bomb. His howls are muffled, enclosed in the thirteenth room. I throw both heels off and sprint to him. Panic ripping into my chest when I recognize the groans to be Dessin’s voice, roaring deep in his chest, like a lion. I see orderlies hovering around his door, I wave them aside, and they thank me with looks of relief. The door clicks, and I shove it open with all my weight.
I choke on a gasp, taking in an image that twists my gut.
Suseas stands to the side of a long table, controlling a machine connected to Dessin’s ears with small black earmuffs. A cream-colored tin box with black knobs that Suseas’s hands shift up and down. Dessin’s ankles, legs, stomach, arms, wrists, and head are strapped down. With a wooden stick between his teeth, he howls again, flexing his entire body under the restraints, causing his muscles to swell around the straps like a large body of water being held back by a dam.
I launch myself forward, climbing on top of Dessin’s writhing body, straddling his hips as I rip off the black ear muffs that seem to be the source of his pain.
“Stop! What are you doing?!” Suseas shrieks at me.
A force like a speeding train bulldozes me off of the table, throwing me to the floor like a train blasting through a spiderweb. An orderly falls on top of me, his meaty weight pumping the air from my lungs, leaving me breathless and in shock. My eyes shoot open, leaking tears of panic as I struggle to gasp in the oxygen I need to move again. But the orderly holds me down, clamping his sweaty hands down over my forearms. And just over his shoulder, Dessin stares at me, eyes wide, suddenly awake and alert. Much like a grenade before it detonates, there’s a beat of silence, and the dark steam behind his lethal expression sparks into a flame that lights the fuse. Voices murmur in the background as Dessin’s right arm tears through the restraints and he untangles himself to freedom. Two guards barrel into him, holding him against the wall, but his eyes fall back to me, and I bear witness to the emotions shaking from his insides, pressurizing before they burst out of him.A volcano.
