“Got it.” I cross my arms, trying not to shiver in the cold. “Who are we talking to?”
“I’mtalking to Marianne Keller. Killed and ate four men between 1959 and 1967, and five more after her death. She murdered her husband, boiled his head and muscle tissue, and fed it to their children.”
“She boiled it?” I ask, nose curling. “Like a corned beef?”
“She possessed a number of women a few years ago,” Nico says. “She’s lucid during interviews. Not what I’d call pleasant, but easy to talk to. She’ll try to get in your head if you give her an opening.”
“I can do this,” I say, trying not to think of those poor women used not just as a tool for murder, but for cannibalism, too. Did Marianne make them eat their own husbands?
“I know you can,” he says. “Or else we wouldn’t be doing it.”
I pull up a chair from the corner and settle into position, closing my eyes and building my stage. The theater materializes around me. I focus on the solid wood under my feet, and on the rows of empty chairs stretching into the shadows. The curtains seal themselves. All the doors disappear.
I open my eyes as Nico presses the red button.
The smoke that trickles into the chamber isn’t like the others. It’s darker. Almost charcoal gray. It slithers through the air, coiling around itself as it rises, taking its time before forming the shape of a woman.
She looks to be around fifty or sixty years old, with shoulder-length hair pulled back in a low knot. A simple dress and apron hang over her gaunt frame, and a dark mole sits just above her lip.
I close my eyes before hers can pierce them.
“Marianne,” Nico says, and I hear him come stand next to me like always.
A tinny laugh echoes through my stage speakers.
“Oh, hello, loathsome boy.”Her voice drips with so much venom I can practically taste it.“What do you need from me today?”
Pressure builds on the other side of my stage walls, like someone testing a door to see if it’s locked. I focus on the feel of the solid stage under my feet, on the safety of the sealed wings around me.
Nico sighs. “We left off last time talking about Thomas.”
“Who’s this with you?”
Cold slithers down my spine. I survey the empty theater chairs, and when I turn my head, I jump.
Marianne is sitting in one of the audience seats about three rows from the stage, spine straight, her curious eyes locked on me. I can see the back of the chair through her translucent chest.
“Uh, Nico?” I whisper. “Is it normal that she’s in here?”
“She’s projecting.” There’s no alarm in his voice at all. “It’s fine. She’s not actually breaching your walls. Keep your eyes closed and maintain your walls.”
“Could have warned me,” I mutter under my breath.
I concentrate so hard my temples start to ache. Marianne tilts her head, her fingers drumming against the armrest.
“Marianne, this is Eden,” Nico says, his voice taking on that commanding tone he uses with the team. “She’ll be observing today.”
“Does Eden know how much danger she’s in?”The words come out soft but intentional, like she’s sliding a knife between ribs.
“I have some questions about your husband,” Nico says.
“I have no interest in talking to you,”Marianne snaps.“I want to talk toher.”
I say nothing. Just focus on the warmth of the spotlight on my face.
Marianne leans forward.“Men are such terrible liars, don’t you think?”
I let the words wash over me, forcing my face to give her nothing, even though my heart is hammering.
