She scanned the room for the handmaiden and nearly choked on terror when she found the human impaled on her four-poster bed. Her green eyes were still open and she wore a pale, shocked expression glued by death.
A trickle of blood tickled Xia’s lip as it ran from her nose. She looked Phobetor in the eyes, his acrid smile spreading from ear to ear.
“Mistress?” A meek voice pulled Xia’s stare from the monster, and her heart stopped as green eyes looked back to her.
Xia turned her gaze back to the bed, but the body of the handmaiden was no longer ornamental to the bedpost. Instead, she stood by her side, eyes questioning.
“Come again?” Xia asked, her voice shaky in a panicked effort to delay her knees buckling.
“Do you need help dressing before I depart?”
The handmaiden was none-the-wiser of the vision Phobeter had impressed into Xia’s reality.
“She will be fine without your services, human. Leave us,” Phobetor spat.
With a gulp and a single nod, the handmaiden backed out of the room, the small click of the door resonating like the lock of a prison cell.
Xia stood on shaky legs as water dripped from her wet hair. She couldn’t remember how many nights she stood in that very chamber preparing for the onslaught the Lord of Nightmares impressed upon her, but now was not the time to dwell. She took a deep, steadying breath and buried her consciousness in the darkest corner of her mind. If she hid well enough, maybe he couldn’t hurt her this time.
“Are you ready to play, pretty bird?”
He could have asked out loud, but this was part of the torture. The power he held over her knowing that she could never wrestle her mind back from him once he gained entrance.
Xia walked toward the bed, tunneling deeper and deeper within her mind until she was just a body on autopilot. She was aware of her skin settling on the silk duvet, but it felt like more of an afterthought than an intended motion.
Just a little further,she thought.
Xia gritted her teeth, dredging up the last ounce of courage she possessed.
“Do your worst, Demon.”
Lyttahadn’tspokensinceher confession in the bathroom, and it was just as well because Brooks was too horrified to form a solid thought.
They sat on their beds in silence until the nurses bustled in for the morning and checked their wounds. Brooks’ had to be wrapped, but Lytta’s was healed enough to be left alone.
When orderlies came with trays of food for breakfast, they continued their streak of silence. It wasn’t until they were escorted to morning therapy that either had the balls to speak up.
Brooks and Lytta entered the treatment area and dressed down to the undergarments on their respective sides of the room.
Hydrotherapy was one of the milder forms of treatment at St. Dymphna’s. The idea was that if you relaxed the muscles enough, it released the demons. Brooks wasn’t sure how true that theory was, but anything to ease his aching muscles sounded like a positive. It consisted of a row of wooden boxes with a gate latch up front, a slanted top for steam to escape, and a hole for the patient’s head. Once you were in the box, it was locked so that you couldn’t escape.
Even the more peaceful treatments were archaic.
Brooks and Lytta were placed side by side as other patients filed in.
Unfortunately, Rue was one of them.
“How nice of you to join us, Rue. I didn’t think it was your day for Hydrotherapy.” Lytta’s gaze was accusatory, and Brooks got the feeling he was missing something between the two women.
Rue’s eyes narrowed and her gaze filled with hatred. “I couldn’t let the two of you have all the fun, now, could I?”
“It must be lonely being a snitch–” Lytta started.
“You watch your fucking mouth or I’ll shove a rag in it and watch you choke until that pretty little face of yours goes slack.” The gleam in Rue’s eye was unhinged, and Brooks was suddenly thankful they were all locked in a steaming box.
“God almighty, would you both calm down?”
“Brooks, I–” Rue started.
