“Take me with you.”
A smile formed, slow and sharp. “Are you sure that’s wise? Throwing yourself unsolicited into the viper’s den? The House is exacting in what it takes from its guests. If you enter, there’s a chance you may never leave.”
“I don’t care,” said Thomas. “I made a promise.”
Christian Price regarded him carefully. He looked startlingly like his son this way, with the hard lines of his face pooled in shadow. But there were hints of Vivienne, too. The first shoots of early-morning light carved little wedges of amber in his eyes.
“On second thought,” he said, “I may have use for you. Bind him.”
He was shoved to his knees, his arms wrenched behind his back. The slow-blooming dawn went suddenly dark as a bag was pulled over his head. Forced back onto his feet, he was shoved—barefoot and stumbling—into the back of the van. The door slammed shut. The engine turned over. With a bump, it backed out into the cracked asphalt of his street. Gears shifted. The van lurched forward, taking a hard left.
He hadn’t expected the sudden assault to his senses. He hadn’t been thinking at all. In the suffocating dark, the walls began to shut up around him. His heart pounded like a hammer against an anvil, the sound pulsing through him in great, heavy clangs. He swallowed big bellyfuls of air and tasted his own breath, sour with sleep. He was eight years old, his father driving with a road-rage speed that left him tumbling into the trunk’s carpeted corners. Scraping at the hatch like a corpse in a coffin. He shut his eyes, clawing at a calm he couldn’t find.
Vivienne, he thought, clinging to her name like a lifeline.Where is Vivienne?
As if in reply, he heard the frantic sound of rustling somewhere nearby. There was a beat of terrible stillness. And then a foot collided hard into his jaw. Pain drove out panic with searing immediacy.
“Christ!” He rolled onto his side, stars popping behind his eyes. “Vivienne, it’s me. It’s Tommy.”
Her heel struck out again, this time without fury. Feeling him out, it landed against his chest and stayed there, small and arched. He wondered if she could feel his heart thudding against the heel of her foot.
“Fuck, that hurt.” He flexed his jaw, feeling it crack. “Are you okay?”
It was a stupid question. He swallowed a serrated breath. Another. Another. Gulping them down in a desperate attempt to convince himself he could breathe. In the dark, he could sense Vivienne listening to him and knew she heard him struggling for air.
“Thanks for not kicking me again,” he said, striving for humor he didn’t feel. His delivery was all off. His voice came out garroted. “Any harder, I’d be drinking through a straw.”
Her only response was to kick him again, though it was softer this time. Angry instead of afraid.
“Hey!”
She didn’t stop, leveling another kick directly to his abdomen. The next, he anticipated, rolling sideways just far enough for her to miss him. He felt the furiouswooshof her heel as it went sailing past his head. The van took a sharp turn and they were jostled one into the other. He shifted his weight, somehow managing to catch her on his chest.
“I get it,” he said. “You’ve made your point.”
He tucked his chin over her head, wishing his wrists were unbound so he could reach for her. They lay like that for a while, listening to the rumble of the engine. Eventually, the warmth of her settled his racing heart. His breathing steadied.
“Did you really think I’d let you do this alone?” he finally asked, his voice muffled by the bag. “You know better.”
•••
They drove for hours. Two, maybe three. It was difficult to tell in the dark, the air stale and sour beneath his covering. By the time the van drew to a stop, the feeling had gone out of his wrists. Vivienne was asleep on his chest, dozing fitfully.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Baby, wake up. I think we’re here.”
She stirred against him, slow at first, and then all at once, lurching awake like a rabbit.
“I’m going to get us out of this,” he promised just as the door rattled open.
The bright yellow of the sun poked through the grains in his hood. Before he could protest, bargain, cajole, Vivienne was hefted unceremoniously away from him. He was dragged out of the car just a few seconds later and shoved onto his feet. Numb and reeling, he swayed where he stood, pins and needles running down his legs. Somewhere nearby, he heard the discernible sounds of a struggle.
“Where are you taking her?” he demanded, exploding forward in a blind charge. A set of hands dragged him back, restraining him with ironclad grips. “Where are you— Vivienne!Vivienne!”
“Shut him up,” ordered Christian Price, his voice cool and dark.
Starlight exploded behind his eyes. His knees hit gravel, skin splitting open. His head gave a single violent pulse. And then there was only dark.
The first thing Vivienne saw when the bag was lifted from her head was a mirror. Wide and seamless, it spanned from wall to wall, from floor to ceiling, so that the room all around her was reflected in infinity.
