“You are standing at the final resting place of Rock’s great-great-aunt Agnes, who died here in 1936 after nearly forty years of internment,” Arla says flatly. “She suffered terrible nightmares and hallucinations. Symptoms that have sadly run in his family for generations, along with other things.”
I purse my lips. “Sorry,” I begrudgingly tell the man who just cut me with a knife for sport. “Taking her with you, I see,” I say, pointing to the sack. I suppose, if she’s his aunt, he has a right to dig her up. But it seems grim.
He scowls down at me.
“Don’t worry,” Arla says, drawing my attention back. “We’ll make good use of her.”
Now it’s my turn to scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A curl of a smile transforms her face. “You see this as some kind of punishment,” she says. “Butwebrought you here as a gift, a sign of great respect. This is a sacred place, a sacred moment we’re sharing with you. Rock has marked you with his favorite blade. Twig has let you feel the sting of her most prized possession. It’s an honor, Jude. We’re letting you in, and I can assure you, it’s an opportunity we never give lightly.”
“You have a funny way of using the wordgift,” I tell her. I glance at the “twins” and mutter sarcastically under my breath, “The candle was a nice touch.”
Arla shrugs a shoulder. “Pain is something the twins excel at. They wanted to show you.”
“Giving it or receiving it?” I ask, still not sold on the whole this-is-a-gift-you’ll-see thing.
“Both,” she says simply.
I bundle my coat across my front and fold my arms. “Yeah, well. I’m not really into BDSM, which, for the record, requiresconsent. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” My eyes dart from Rock to Twig. “Probably not. Anywho, while I’m flattered you see me as shibari submissive material, I’m gonna have to pass. If I’d known that’s all this was, I would have said so sooner. But getting stitches after a night in the cemetery is not really a kink I’m into. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a twenty-four-hour urgent care.”
I turn on my heel to leave and am greeted by a wall of fire five feet wide and taller than I am. Heat prickles my face, and I instinctively turn away.
“Calm yourself. It’s only an illusion. See?” Arla steps beside me, passes her hand through the flames, and pulls it out again, unharmed.
Shock wars with the fear pulsing through me.
“Try it,” she encourages. When I do, finding only air where theflames appear, she nods. “Rock is something of an illusionist,” she says, grinning affectionately at him. “A dream spinner. He has a gift with nightmares, a way of feeding off others’ fears.”
The flames wither and dim, leaving only the night. All the flashbacks I experienced come into glaring focus.No wonder.
“Anyway, we’re not done here,” Arla says coolly.
“I have a flesh wound that says we are,” I retort. When she doesn’t have an immediate comeback, I say, “Look, I don’t know exactly what you’re selling, but whatever it is, I’m not in the market. I just want to go home, put some antibiotic ointment on my arm, and go to fucking bed.”
“And then what?” she asks, watching me. “Go back to your pathetic little job where they didn’t even know you had a pulse before, and now they want to hang you from the rafters with the ropetheymade? Do you have a plan for how to wriggle out of that? Do you have any idea if you even can?”
“How do you know about that?” I hiss. Calvin’s threats to me aren’t public knowledge, not even in the office. “Are you stalking me?”
“I don’t have to,” she replies, her tone even. “Or maybe you want to keep drooling over that man from the bookshop, the one you only found the courage to talk to once I made an appearance in your life? Or perhaps you’ll just go back to your sad memories of Roger? A man who didn’t loveyouso much as the blank canvas he could paint himself on. A man so devoid of depth, he had to buy a personality at Huckberry. Back to your cheap chardonnay and nights lying alone, unable to even masturbate with satisfaction? Is that what you want instead?”
“Instead of what?” I shout. “Instead of traipsing around in the dark while your lackeys mutilate me with your blessing? I don’t want to dothisanymore, whatever this is. This…initiation. I’m tired of this game already. I’m done with all the riddles and the secret destinations, questions with no answers. I’m done with this!”
“I agree,” she says, catching me off guard. Even Twig and Rock look a little spooked.
“Y-you do?”
She blinks at me, lowers herself to the ground, and grasps my candle where it is still happily lit, rising as she pulls it from the earth. She holds it before the candy-red glaze of her lips and blows it out. “I do. Come with me and let me show you what we’re selling. Come and see for yourself, Judeth.”
My jaw goes slack. I was not expecting this, and now I don’t know how to refuse, or if I even want to. “My car…” I say stupidly.
“Give your keys to Rock,” she commands. “The twins will drive it over.”
“Where?” I ask, uncertain. “Where are we going?”
She passes the candle to Twig and the lantern to her other hand, holding the free one out to me. “You have to accept the invitation if you want to find out. No one gets something for nothing. Not even us.”
We pull up in Arla’s black Jaguar before a four-story building of gingerbread brickwork with windows arched like Jean Harlow’s famous eyebrows. It sits on the corner of a historic block of Pioneer Square, the now-treasured belt buckle of Seattle’s cinched waist. A black awning stretches to the sidewalk in front of a pair of enormous wooden doors painted malachite green and set with crusty brass hardware, including two carved gorgon heads at eye level, snakes writhing around their faces. The windows on the ground floor are blacked out, impossible to see through, and the awning bears no lettering to name this place we’ve come to. But I can feel the heavy thump of bass coursing from the building, vibrating through the uneven street and up into my bones.
