A few yards away stands a little brown building with a sign on the door that reads: MAUDINE’S. Through the front window, a thin woman with white hair pulled into a neat, round bun and a thick, silver band hugging her neck arranges items on a table. When she sees us, she waves, then goes back to her task.
She doesn’t look very friendly, I say.
That’s common here. I assure you, though, she’s one of the best. She’s gentle and makes it as painless as possible.
There’s pain?
Zee giggles, but it fades to sadness. Yes, dear . . . She takes my hand and leads me to the door. There is always pain.
We ascend the two steps, and Maudine opens the door, barefoot. She bows, pointing off to the side, to a discarded pair of shoes. Zee removes hers, and I follow in kind, dropping the scratchy, sparkling things down with the rest.
“Welcome.” Maudine crosses the room to a corner table, where a fancy teapot sits among a dozen dainty cups. “Let me serve you some tea.”
I take in the small space—a vase of flowers, a few framed pictures, white candles scattered around a handful of benches and tables. At the back of the room, a sheer, brown curtain ripples over a window. Maudine heads toward us with a tray of teacups, which Zee and I each help ourselves to, and thank her. We sit on a bench closest to us, and something tickles my foot. I jump at the strange creature with a long, striped tail and yellow eyes, that hops into my lap, then onto my shoulder. It perches there and squeaks, its whiskers tickling my ear.
“That’s our new friend,” says Maudine. “She appeared a few days ago. First one we’ve seen here in ages.”
“What is it?”
“She is a prototype, a half-breed from the labs of Central Bygonne. Part primate, part feline. It’s how the scientists learned how to make—” She sips her tea. “Never mind. I’m sure our lord is waiting for you. We must hurry.”
I lift the furry creature from my shoulders, and she makes clicking noises at me. She seems familiar. Have I seen this animal before? I ask Zee.
There is a possibility she may have followed your group here. She arrived on her own soon after they brought you all.
I inspect the strange animal one more time, then hand her over to Zee. She waves, and I follow Maudine back through the brown curtain.
I’m right here if you need anything, Zee says.
Okay.
Maudine twists a knob beneath a glass lamp, and the cozy space lights up. A long, black table stands in the center, with one end that curves up, and the other down. “Undress, please.” She slides her small hands into a pair of sleek, white gloves.
I tense at her words, which echo in the flowers-and-citrus-scented empty room, meeting the trickling sounds of a rock waterfall in the corner. “Uh . . . okay.”
“Here, let me help you.” And she quickly unclasps the back of my dress.
Already, that’s too much exposure for me. “What will you be doing to me?” I shiver while my face burns from embarrassment.
“Complete body hair removal, except for eyebrows and scalp hair; bathing in holy oils that soften and purify the skin; manicure, pedicure, and massage to reduce tension and promote overall feelings of well-being.” Maudine turns to gather items from a shelf. “I promise it will be as pleasant as possible.”
“Z—Aby said you would.” Oh my God, Zee, that was close.
What happened?
I almost called you Zee to Maudine.
You do not want to make that mistake.
I’m sure I don’t. I’ll be more careful.
Maudine smears warm goop all over me, section by section, then strips away my body hair, which is more like ripping my skin off. After at least an hour of excruciating pain, she moves on to my feet, picking, clipping, and trimming. She then massages scented oil into my tingling skin and wraps me in an ultra-soft covering. She moves on to my hands, filing my thin and brittle nails, which she coats with a clear gloss and blows them dry. During the process, not one word is exchanged between us, though it’s not at all awkward. She’s good at what she does; she has a special way of soothing the pain afterward.
“Bath time.” Maudine strides to the corner of the room and pours liquid from a small jar into a large, white tub. “To soften, relax, and purify. A few minutes, and it will be warm.” With the flip of a switch, a fire erupts beneath it. When she pivots toward me again, I notice black numerals peeking above the silver band around her neck.
“What do those tattoos mean?” I ask, then panic, because I’m probably supposed to know that already.
Maudine stares at me for a moment before answering. “It is my serial number. Come.” She holds out a hand. “I will give you privacy.” She guides me over to the tub, then tugs a cord attached to a curtain that slides out along a track in the ceiling. “Try to clear your mind and purify your thoughts. You have ten minutes.” And she slides the curtain the rest of the way closed. I drop the covering to the floor and step up into the warm bathtub, the scented oils tickling my nose with a pleasant fragrance. This, I could get used to. But the rest, I could do without.
Sinking farther into the water, I close my eyelids, try to unwind. But the second I do, the sound of a crying baby snaps them open again. I sit up with a startled splash, reach out, and peel the curtain back. Nothing. Emptiness. I’m alone in the room.
Zee, what was that?
A few seconds of silence, and I panic, until she answers. What? Sorry, I was talking to Maudine.
It was a . . . a baby.
No, Joy, there aren’t any babies here. Must be your mind playing tricks on you. Perhaps fighting the implant. Is there anything else? A face, maybe? There might have been a baby who came with your group . . . ?
I search my mind but come up empty. No, nothing. It was so real, Zee, like it came from this room. The dread from before returns, though much heavier, because I know that cry, though I can’t place who it belongs to. And also, because of where I’m about to go. I can only imagine what sick things that monster has in store for me.
Do I have to go through with this, Zee?
It’s the only way. To free yourself and to save the rest, you must fool Lord Daumier into believing his implant has worked.
I’m terrified.
I know. And there’s something else I need to tell you.
Okay . . . ?
The transmitter I implanted into you—the telespeak is not its only purpose. My friends designed it to have multiple functions, one of which is to manipulate the brain’s dopamine receptors. This is how I will help you tonight.
I don’t understand. Dopamine receptors?
An area of the brain that allows you to process and experience pleasure.
Okay, so . . . what does that mean?
No matter what Lord Daumier does to you, instead of pain, fear, or sadness, you will . . . enjoy your time with him. The rest you will forget. At least for now.
I don’t like the sound of that at all. Awkwardly underdressed, I exit the back room with Maudine, and glimpse my reflection in a wall mirror. Short, blonde hair frames my face like the sheer, white silk on my body. It’s all wrong. An image flashes in my mind. “Brown,” I say.
At this, Maudine raises an eyebrow, while behind her, Zee shakes her head.
I back away. “The walls are such a lovely shade of brown. They match the back curtain perfectly.”
Maudine inspects me, curiously.
You remembered something, didn’t you? Zee asks.
Yes. My eyes and hair should be brown, I think.
It’s coming back to you. You’re right—chestnut hair and eyes the color of wet sand. Beautiful.
“Remember,” says Maudine, “when you relinquish control of your body, mind, and soul for his lord, you are giving the Ultimate Sacrifice.”
“Um . . . okay.” I tug at my silk, a failed attempt to cover more skin
. “Thanks.”
“Now you must hurry.” She opens the door, motioning for us to go. “His lord awaits.”
Zee gives a slight bow to Maudine, and I do the same. She bows in return, and we slip into the night. Two white-helmeted Clergy guards traipse close enough behind to protect, but far enough away to allow us some privacy. It’s a gradual uphill climb along a curvy path toward the looming, pristine Monastery at the top of the hill. My stomach swims with nausea when we pass the Towne Square where the guillotines taunt in silent hunger for blood and vengeance.
“I can’t do this.” I grip Zee’s arm.
“Shh . . .” You cannot speak those things aloud. I told you, I’m going to help you—
You said you’d make me enjoy it! I don’t want to enjoy it! That man’s creepy and evil! And disgusting! Who knows what he’s about to do to me!
She ignores me. You’ll need to be frightened; he likes that. So no matter how much pleasure you feel, please, remember: you must act scared. If he sees you’re enjoying it, it’ll be ten—if not a hundred—times worse. And if I manipulate your dopamine receptors too much, you could seize, pass out, or die. The increase I give you will be just enough to mask the fear and the pain, but leave you aware enough to stage a good bluff.
Did you even hear me? I almost ask out loud.
Zee shoots me a sad glance, then wraps me up in her arms, and squeezes tight. “I love you, and I’ll be right there with you.” She smoothes down my hair, and a tiny buzz shocks the back of my neck.
“Ouch! What—?” But before I can get the question out, a hot wave spreads through me, spilling its way into my brain, swirling around my skull. It dives down my body and limbs—sweet love and life and everything holy, pure, and good. I sway, my eyelids fluttering over the glittering scenery and Zee’s face. The night’s a soft blanket, and we’re snuggled beneath it.
Better? Zee’s voice dances in my head, an ethereal melody.
I nod.
“Come on,” Zee says, “we need to hurry. Our lord abhors tardiness, and we have less than ten minutes.” She links my arm with hers and pulls me along beside her. My feet are moving . . . I think. I might be floating . . .
Thirty seconds—or hours later; I can’t tell which—we arrive at the steps of the twinkling castle on the hill. It glistens, grand and beautiful, something that could only exist in your wildest imaginings. Am I dreaming?
No, you aren’t dreaming. Stay with me, Joy.
We stand beneath the enormous, rippling curtain with the circle, and I giggle at it. Who’d hang that there? What’s so special about a silly circle? But a small voice somewhere in my head tells me I should keep those things to myself. I inspect the matching symbol on my wrist, and my mind expands to the outer regions of the galaxy while it tries to solve a thousand mysteries. I take in a deep breath, and my eyelids flutter closed, warmth circulates through me. How did I get so lucky? Out of all the women in Alzanei, Lord Daumier chose me.
We climb the palace stairs to the top, and a man in white bows to us before a giant, wooden door. Zee returns it, followed by me, when I remember that’s what I’m supposed to do . . . I think. Why don’t I know?
Zee plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “Don’t have too much fun.” And she winks.
“You’re not coming?”
“No. This night’s for you, and for you, alone.” But I’ll be in your head if you need to talk.
Okay. I wiggle my fingers in the air at her. “All right, see you tomorrow, then, sister.”
Zee smiles, waves, and hops back down the steps.
“His lord awaits.” The man motions toward the opened door.
At his words, I pour into the palace, water over glass that not a drop of fear nor splash of sadness could shatter. I felt those things recently, didn’t I? I’m sure it’s been days, though, or years. And I know I’ll never experience them again. How could I?
The building’s interior is a soft, glowing cream speckled with gold, purple, and red flowers, decorations, and curtains. I spin to take it all in, a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and beauty.
“Come.” A voice beckons from above. My fluttering gaze ascends the steps to a man dressed in white, surrounded by shadows cast from the dark hall behind him. I hitch up my silk in one hand so I don’t trip up the stairs, while my other hand slides along the slick railing. And I ascend to “His Lord.” What a funny name.
At the top step, I smile at him and sway. Children chained along the walls cower to the floor.
“You’re late.” He slaps me. My head snaps to the side, a hot flash of energy that jolts through me, vibrating my brain.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry.” My voice is far away, someone else’s. “It won’t happen again.”
“It won’t.” He yanks me by my wrist beside him while he rolls down a dark hallway. “That would be . . . rather foolish.”
Children’s faces are alight in the dancing torches along the walls near them, their bodies hidden by shadows. Door after door flies by, and I almost ask him why he’s in such a hurry. We could slow down, enjoy the moment . . .
Being quiet is the best thing. Zee’s voice in my mind, closer than my own.
Why am I here? I can’t remember.
Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. Take it a breath at a time. I’ll help when I can, and it will all be over soon.
At the end of the hallway, we stop at a red door with a gold-painted circle on it. A white-helmeted man wielding a whip clicks the fancy handle, and His Lord drags me into the room.
In the center are three round, floor-to-ceiling glass tanks. Inside each crouches a little girl, shivering and nearly bare, with a single piece of cloth wrapped around her. They bolt up and bang on the glass, screaming, though it’s silent through the thick walls.
“Once you are my wife,” His Lord says, “I will let you name them.”
Sadness drifts behind my euphoria. I step toward the first tank, where the girl sobs, pounding her fists . . . and I leave her, numb. Shouldn’t I be sad for her? But there’s not a dash of sorrow anywhere.
In the second tank, another blonde, smaller than the others, pleads on her knees, smearing wetness from her face and hands onto the glass.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” A hand slides around my waist.
“They’re scared.”
“Yes, fear is . . . the purest emotion.” His hand travels my body, groping and squeezing wherever he pleases. “I have something special planned for us tonight.” And he brushes my hair away from my neck, slides his slimy tongue across my shoulder. Then pain cuts through the shroud of pleasure with a bite to tender flesh.
I flinch, cringe, and he hauls me over to a huge, white bed, throws me down on it. He seizes my right wrist, fumbling with something jingly, until a cool sensation clamps shut around it. A shackle. He secures the other arm, too, then moves on to my ankles.
His Lord stands at the foot of the bed and sneers. “Well, now . . . isn’t this a sight? Such a powerful young girl . . . completely . . . powerless.”
Joy? Zee’s voice is fluttering butterflies in my mind. What’s in there? Tell me everything.
Lord Daumier tilts his head and laughs, clapping his hands before he glares at me. “I’ve got a treat for us, my dear.” He spins around, white robe flapping, and hurries to the far side of the room.
Haven’t you been in here before? I ask Zee.
No. Only prisoners, possessions—like you—or pets are allowed in his quarters. This “privilege” is one way he creates loyalty and servitude with those he claims to own, despite the immense fear he elicits. It also provokes resentment from those who are “free,” making them covetous of the abuse and captivity. Now, tell me what you see.
I peer into the room, though it’s hard to focus. There’s a long table near the bed, lined with various items. A few candles in fancy containers, a lantern, a bowl of
. . . little white squares, a bottle, a box with a blinking light—
A camera. What else?
My gaze travels to the far end. A book. I strain to read the title. Master Mozebee’s Complete Course in Modern Magic.
Oh my God.
His Lord opens a door to the ominous clanking of metal. “I know how fond of you he is.” He drags a chained boy from a dark doorway, battered, bloody, and filthy. I’ve met him somewhere before. “So”—His Lord smacks the boy’s face—“he’ll be a perfect audience for us tonight. And the pets, of course.” He gestures to the crying girls in their glass cages, then hooks the boy’s chain to a notch in the wall and clamps a lock shut.
The boy squirms, jerks against the chains.
His Lord cackles like a tickled corpse. “If he’s lucky, he might get to join in on the fun.”
Zee, I don’t want this . . . I . . . can’t move . . . he’s chained me up, and—
Joy, I’m so sorry, but you don’t have a choice. Tears in her thoughts, a sadness that pervades my body. What else do you see? Hurry and tell me. Anything similar to the scar on your wrist?
I glance at it peeking out from under the shackle to remind myself what I’m searching for. His Lord removes his robe and transforms. His pupils glow red, and long, silver slivers extend from his fingertips, while spines sprout from his neck, arms, and shoulders. Something swivels around him—a tail, long and covered with spikes.
“What are you . . . what are you going to do?”
He snarls. “Fear is the purest emotion, my darling. I’m simply testing your purity . . . and your devotion.” He circles the bed, and I turn my head away, and focus on Zee’s request. Nearby sits a bench edged with hand-carved etchings. Something hangs on the wall above it. A cloth, I tell her, hanging from the ceiling. In front of the window. That symbol’s on it.
“You are very fortunate.” He’s now close enough for me to make out faint, jagged scars around his eye sockets. “No one has ever had the . . . privilege . . . of this experience.”
The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Page 17