Cosmo releases me and I step forward, then flip my wine glass and ram the base under Cosmo’s chin as he faces me.
His neck crunches from the angle while he tries to hold eye contact. I loosen my hold on the sponge at my side, but don’t drop it completely.
“I am not a pet for you,” I say, my voice low, entire body warm with shame and anger. I force the base of the glass higher, watching as the circle digs into the underside of his chin. I know it doesn’t hurt and I think briefly of breaking the base of the cup just to cut him with it, but it seems I have his attention without bloodshed. Besides, I want to drink more from this glass when I’m done here. “I am not a toy. I don’t know why you’re really here and I don’t care to know tonight, but in the morning, you are going to tell us everything, and if you don’t, you will never see me again, do you understand?”
I expect him to say something cruel. Maybe,is that such a threat?Or perhaps he’ll only laugh and say he was sent by Writhe to kill me anyway and now he’s just toying with us.
But surprising me, maybe even shocking himself, he only says my name like a plea.
“What?”I snarl, in a very different way.
He swallows hard, the glass bobbing under his throat as he looks at me. “I’m sorry.” His nostrils flare, as if he is trying to stop himself from crying, but I remember what he said, about performing. And I know what he is.An artist.Is anything real to him? “Seeing what you’d do for him…” He trails off, and I know Sullen is watching.
But I know, too, Cosmo is pretending.
“He’s gotten more from you than I ever have.”Or maybe not.“And it hurts, you know?” He tries to sound more conversational, and I’m second-guessing his intentions again, but I don’t care. Whatever he really wants, it doesn’t change what I want. It doesn’t erase what he did to Sullen, only an hour ago.
So I smile at him and lower my glass by my side.
I take another step toward him, my breasts skimming his core.
At this, Sullen says,“Karia,”like a warning. Like my name is something he owns.
But I’m not done with Cosmo.
Slowly, I lift my other hand, the one with the sponge, and I bring it over Cosmo’s head. Then I squeeze it tightly, wringing out water and urine and liquid cleaner all over his shaved head. The concoction runs in rivulets over his brow, down the slope of his nose, dripping along his cheekbone.
He doesn’t even close his eyes.
He doesn’t look away from me.
And I empty everything out of the sponge before I drop it to the floor.
“Don’t follow us. Don’t look for us.” I step back, edging around him, my heart thumping so fast in my chest, it’s hard to get the words out, nevermind sound calm and in control, but somehow, I manage it. “When I’m ready, I’ll find you.”
I finally edge by him, hoping he doesn’t swivel around and grab me, but I’m free to saunter toward the dresser, where I pluck off the bottle of wine with one hand, my glass still in the other.
Then I incline my head toward Sullen, his brows raised as he stares at me with the ghost of a smile on his lips.
Chapter 27
Karia
“There is a part of this house I like.”
“And does it have rabbits in jars?”
“Why do I feel as if I am never going to live that down?”
“Take me there.”
Isee precisely why he likes it, when we arrive after what feels like hours traversing the dark corridors of the house, little words exchanged between us.
Everything was unnaturally quiet, every creak of hardwood or scuff of his boots along marble rang loud in my ears. But after we descended three flights of stairs, his hand on my elbow, guiding me along in a way I would despise from Cosmo but loved from him, we step through a gauzy purple curtain and into a wide space that is half-library and half-fever dream.
Both of us stop just past the threshold, but I feel him looking at me as I look at everything else.
Towering fresco ceilings etched with shades of lavender and gray and white, illustrations of round angels and heavenly skies drenched in storms, lightning bolts of deep purple dividing up the room just above our heads. Silver enamel crowns the walls,themselves painted in deep violet, mirrors cluttered haphazardly here and there in spaces not filled with rows and rows of towering black bookshelves, tightly packed with a variation of volumes. Small tables are clustered by leather chairs, others flanking velvet green couches. There are blankets piled high on the latter, oozing shades of black and lilac, green and pink. The hardwood floors are littered with rugs in all shades, but none bright. There are no windows, the only light from a few lit lamps on the circular tables, glowing in low, lavender tones. I wonder if they are always on here, permanently casting shadows on the reverie of the room. There are no other entrances or exits—none visible, anyway—and although there is only the purple curtain behind us and high ceilings towering above us, it feels as if this expansive room is a shelter of some sort.
