Page 18 of The Puppet Master
“Are we safe now?” I ask with a tremor in my voice that surprises me. Unfolding my arms, I look back at the forest, though the real danger is at my side. I’m sure of it.
Sawyer peers at me, the smile slipping. “Almost.” He takes my hand—no invitation this time—and starts down the hill, his hold firm but not so tight I couldn’t slip away. It’s a test, I think; one I pass with a limp, conceding grasp.
Or I’m overthinking the hell out of this. Out ofhim. Out of everything.
In any case, I let him lead me to the building, the mottled flesh on his palm becoming more familiar with each step. As soon as we walk inside, we’re slapped in the face with color. Literally, glitter falls onto our heads from a tray above the door at the same time a cheery bell chimes at our entrance. Everywhere I look is color. Every piece of lobby furniture lookslike a rainbow exploded and left no survivors. The purple countertop, the orange chairs, the blue walls. Even the floor is made up of multi-colored tiles that resemble a pastel rubik’s cube.
“Hey, Sawyer.” A blonde in a pink mini-skirt waves as she passes to go outside, perfume wafting. Her lips are pulled into a flirtatious smile, and I don’t miss that she doesn’t look at me, even when I openly stare.
“Zephyr.” He nods as she passes then looks back at me. “Try to blend in.”
Blend in.
There hasn’t been a second of my life that I’ve blended in.
I duck my head and don’t make eye contact with anyone as Sawyer leads me up three slippery flights of stairs, the air thick with orange-scented floor cleaner. The stairwell is far from empty—various rainbow-colored people scattered about, a card game taking place on one step, toenails painted on another. But still, it’s stark silent as we pass, eyes—some concerned, some fearful—watching us carefully.
Afraid of Sawyer… or of me.
Afraidforme… or for Sawyer.
“Where are we?” I try again as we break from the stairwell onto a floor with rooms lining a long hallway. Bean bag chairs, coffee mugs, and a frisbee strewn about as if this is a college dormitory instead of a place self-respecting adults live. Strings of beads take the place of doors to each room, and as a pair of young men blocking one notice us, they begin to clean up the mess around them, smiles slipping off their faces.
Sawyer leads me through one of the beaded entrances into a room that immediately strikes me as out of place. The color is missing. The furniture is regular stained wood, and the walls are white. The comforter is a simple, navy blue, the same shade as his shirt.
He plops onto the bed and rubs his forehead. “Shit, that was intense.” He laughs and looks up at me with a smile like we’ve just shared something between us. Like I should laugh along.
I don’t.
“Where thefuckare we?”
I steel my spine while staring at him, his smile slowly falling. Now that we’re out of the woods, anger seems more appropriate than fear.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Right… Sorry, it feels like it’s been so long since I met an outsider. I forgot how terrifying it can be.” He clears his throat and rises from the bed. When he wanders to me, my eyes find that patch of red, webbed skin on his arm. He ignores my stare.
“You’re in the Shadow Sanctum. Those guys who were after you are called Keepers. They?—”
“TheShadow Sanctum?” I back up until beads curve around my skull.
“It isn’t quite as ominous as it sounds.”
“What are you talking about? Why…” I shake my head, showing my palms. “Take me home. If you get me out of here right the fuck now, I won’t call the cops. Otherwise, I swear to God, I’ll?—”
“There is no getting out of here.”
His words, spoken with such an even tone, make my hands fall, my feet itching to retreat. I don’t. Not yet.
Sawyer rubs at his jaw, a chuckle escaping that has no humor to it. Only defeat. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”
For a moment, anaivemoment, my heart pauses. I almost gasp to reawaken it.
He tried?
Then I remember his face while he looked out at the people doing yoga, the fake smile that looked devastatingly real.
He’s lying again. Duh.
To discourage me?
