“Are you…？” Keira let out a startled bark of laughter. “Victor Frankl, huh? Love the irony.”
Roza smiled softly. “I think I’m going to enjoy watching your process the most, Keira.”
Zoe pulled her laptop onto her lap. The rest of us watched as she opened the screen.
“Good girl,” Roza said approvingly. “Let’s see, the word count is now six thousand per day. We’ll bring down a printer and you’ll print your pages by midnight. If any of you don’t make the count, there will be no food or water the following day.”
“Roza.” My voice faltered. “How are we supposed to write?”
Roza got to her feet and stretched. “I think you’ll find it a great comfort, actually. The mind needs something to work on in this type of solitude. Otherwise it starts to tear itself apart. Any other questions?”
We were mute.
“Good.” Roza fluttered her fingers. “Then get to work, my little chickadees. And remember: we’re watching you. Don’t get any ideas with all these cords.”
My breath hitched in my throat.
“Wait,” Wren called, her voice breaking. But Roza and Taylor were already leaving, closing the basement door firmly behind them.
Excerpt from The Great Commission
Daphne gripped the frigid bars, shivering with cold and disbelief. Her brain struggled to accept her new surroundings. It felt like she’d been dropped into a nightmare. After growing up in close, tepid quarters, she wasn’t afraid of enclosed spaces. But she was frightened of silence. Blackbriar itself was a noiseless place, and she’d survived only by filling it with sound. Inviting Florence and Abigail over. Chatting with Martha in the kitchen. Even humming to her cat, Goldie. Down here there was no sound but her own breathing.
Horace had drugged her food and she’d woken up here. Martha must have helped; after all, she was the one who dropped off the tray in Daphne’s new bedroom, the one she’d moved into to get away from Horace. They hadn’t properly spoken in weeks. After he burned her paintings, she’d gone about the purification process more stealthily. But she’d still been too confident, too blithe. Expecting that his travels and his affair with the young maid Dina would keep him occupied. She’d understood that her refusal to act like a good and proper wife would provoke him. But she’d underestimated Horace: she hadn’t suspected the dark, secret places he kept locked up in his manor and in his mind.
The chilly air pierced the blanket’s thin fabric. She lay on her back and closed her eyes, wondering where Lamia was. Daphne had been communicating with her directly for the past few days. While Florence had left after the first commission, too disturbed to continue, Abigail had continued to help. She was supposed to come on Tuesday for the preparations. Daphne wondered what excuse Horace would give Abigail for her absence.
Save me, Lamia. Please save me.
Lamia’s reply came from the black depths behind Daphne’s closed eyes: Save you from what? She sounded surprisingly mild.
Horace. He’s locked me down here.
So what?
So what? Daphne’s brows furrowed. How can we move forward if I can’t get out?
On the contrary, Lamia answered. Now you will have even less distractions as you prepare.
But how will I save your transmissions? The Great Commission—
Do not worry about that, Lamia interrupted. Prepare yourself as we discussed.
Daphne was silent and sullen.
This is part of the process, Lamia went on gently. Do you trust me?
Daphne replied grudgingly: Of course.
Then return to your practices.
With a sigh, Daphne sat up, crossing her legs. The heated rage towards Horace still coursed through her.
But she did trust Lamia. And she knew Lamia’s power was much greater than her own. Or Horace’s, for that matter. Soon she would channel it again, feeling it running through her veins like lightning.
She needed to be ready for it.
Chapter 31
A few hours later, at some indeterminate time, the basement door flew open and Taylor strolled in. She carried a round, large-faced clock that I recognized from the kitchen.
We’d pulled the futon and the twin mattress against the back wall, using pillows to make them both into daybeds we could sit on to work. Now we paused as Taylor set the clock on the floor against the back wall. It was nearly noon.
“Voilà.” She straightened and brushed her hands together. “Remember, pages due at midnight. We’re going to be turning off the lights from midnight to seven.”
“When’s lunch?” Keira asked, expressionless.
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that’s presumptuous. You haven’t turned in any pages yet.”
“The toilet also needs to be emptied.” Keira gestured with her chin.
“What am I? Your fucking slave?”
Keira’s hands curled in her lap. A grin spread across Taylor’s face, as if she’d suddenly become aware of her choice of words.
“Hey,” I said quickly. I felt annoyed, but we needed to use facetime with Taylor to figure out if we could manipulate her. “Taylor, did you seriously write Maiden Pink?”
“Yeah.” Taylor leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.
“That relationship between the college student and her professor—was that you and Roza?” I leaned forward, widening my eyes with interest. Keira, Zoe, and Wren watched me.
“Not in real life. It was based on a fantasy I had. I wrote it to distract myself from dealing with snot-nosed little rich kids all day.” She scoffed. “And I found an email address of hers and sent it. I never expected her to write back.” The words tumbled out, eager to be heard. “It felt like a dream when she did. She asked if I wanted to meet her in New York. It was…” She sighed. “It made everything worth it, you know?”
“So how’d she brainwash you into letting her publish your book?” Keira asked.
Taylor just shrugged. “I mean, it was an exchange. She said I could stay with her. And we were basically in love by that point.”
“But wasn’t that hard?” Zoe asked, earnest. “Seeing all the reviews and articles?”
“We were in love,” Taylor repeated, overenunciating. “I could see how hard it was for her, not being able to write. It’s not like she didn’t try. So I was happy to give that to her. Plus, how many people would have read it if it was my name on the cover? What were the chances of it getting published in the first place?”
The door opened and Yana stepped through in her pink tracksuit. While Taylor had become more lively, and Chitra had shut down, Yana looked exactly the same.
“Roza wants you upstairs,” Yana told Taylor. She opened the door slot and pushed through plates of plastic-wrapped sandwiches.
“Cool.” Taylor’s chest puffed up slightly. “Later, losers.”
I wondered if Yana had come down to stop Taylor from talking to us. And then I remembered what Zoe had told me when it had been just the two of us in the cell.
Roza had a personal assistant who was in love with her, obsessed with her. Yana.
“Yana,” I said, the realization dawning. “You weren’t just her assistant. You wrote Polar Star, didn’t you?”