Sam has no idea how much a vial of top-quality sand like this must cost. Tens of thousands of dollars. Her stomach flutters. She can’t tell if she likes the gift or Diamond’s attention more.
Sam opens the vial and removes a single pill, admiring how it shimmers in the light. Then she puts it in her mouth. Before she can attempt to swallow it, it dissolves on her tongue.
They reach the bottom of the hill. She can see more details now of the building there, three stories of white stone and terra-cotta roofs, the grounds surrounded by lines of olive trees. Will called it the Hotel on her first day at the estate, where guests are invited to stay. Sometimes she has seen people come and go down this pathway, from suited syndicate members coming in for meetings, to women with short skirts and young men with beautiful faces. A cool breeze streams by them as they walk down its corridors. Sam lets out a breath as she feels the effects of the sand starting to flow throughher veins, sharpening the world around her, sharpening her senses, sharpening her excitement. Everything suddenly feels possible.
“Has someone come to visit us?” she asks him.
“In a manner of speaking,” he answers.
Instead of taking her up to the higher stories, he leads her down a flight of stairs that spiral below the ground and lead to a basement level. Here, the air is cool and the stone tiles lining the floors are so cold that they seem damp. The ceiling is high and edged with intricate crown molding. Doors line either side of the hall.
They stop at the end. There are two guards standing outside one of the doors. At the sight of Will, they snap to attention. Will waves them off with a casual gesture, and they step aside with respectful bows. Sam waits for them to notice her, but they act as if she isn’t here at all.
“Are you ready?” Will asks her.
Sam’s heart pounds. She isn’t sure, but she isn’t about to say this to him. So she nods.
Will opens the door.
They step inside an empty room. Large marble tiles line the floors, and stone columns decorate the walls, but otherwise, there is nothing else in here. No windows, no plants, no furniture.
Nothing but a shivering man lying in the middle of the floor, stripped naked, gagged and blindfolded, his hands and feet bound by duct tape.
“The lowest floor of the Hotel,” Will says, “houses what we call our Confession Rooms.”
Sam freezes. She stares at the man, uncomprehending.
“Listen carefully, Miss Lang,” Will tells her. “This isn’t your classroom, nor is it your skirmish in the courtyard. When you perform a transmutation on the job, you’ll need to do it with a clear head and stay nimble on your feet. You’ll need to adapt to the situation. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t answer. She’s still staring at the naked man. Her mind has gone blank.
“Who is he?” she whispers.
Will nods at him. “Grand Central employs thousands of workers. This occasionally emboldens some of them to act behind our backs, thinking we won’t notice. Mr. Clarkson is a manager working in the east division of the Winged Towers, for our finance department. Lately, our numbers haven’t quite been adding up. So we’ve been watching him a little more closely.”
Sam swallows hard. Her head is starting to spin. She can feel the tingling of her senses, can sense the cold marble beneath her boots. The cold air stings her nose. “What,” she says, stops, and starts again. “What arewedoing in here?”
Will’s eyes are so green that they look poisonous. “Giving you a controlled environment,” he says.
As Sam looks numbly on, Will bends down to the shivering man, loosens his mouth gag, and says, “It’s afternoon, Mr. Clarkson.”
The man startles, trembling. His cracked lips part. “Can I go now?” he asks in a shaky whisper.
“I don’t think so. You still haven’t told us why your car wasn’t at your home last night.”
The man’s teeth are chattering now. “But I did,” he says fiercely. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t sleep, so you went to see a friend?”
“I just went out and came back.”
Will glances up at Sam, then gestures for her to stoop down beside him.
Sam snaps out of her reverie and does as Will asks. Her skin tingles. She desperately needs a window in here.
“Mr. Clarkson,” he says, “let me introduce you to Samantha Lang, one of our apprentices. She’s with me today to help you remember what really happened last night, when you should have been sleeping.”
The man starts shaking his head rapidly. “But I’ve already told you,” he whispers hoarsely, tears creeping into his voice. “I’ve alreadytold you.”
