Page 39 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

I weighed what little I knew of him against what I didn’t want to do. If this was going to work, it was all or nothing, and nothing wasn’t an option.

Rounding the table, I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. “Thank you for seeing me, Beloved Father. The Lord sent me here to be of assistance. I am nothing but a servant in his divine plan.”

Silence. He chewed my words over while I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, the subservient pose making me feel slightly nauseous.

“I understand you have visions.”

“I do.”

“Of what?” He shifted in his chair. “You may look at me.”

So fucking kind. I lifted my gaze obediently. “Visions of your good work. Your fight against corruption. How you spread His word. The battle to stay pure. Your actions please the Lord.”

“But?” I feigned confusion at the question. “If he is pleased, then why send you?”

“To help. To be of counsel. To be a messenger.”

He studied me, expression unreadable. “How about we start with your name?”

I almost chose Tobias Breeze. I’d grown oddly fond of that name. But that was a reason not to use it. It was better to start afresh. “Grayson Henry. People call me Gray.”

“What people? Do you have a family, Gray? Wife? Parents? Dog?”

“I have no one.”

Something about that amused him. “So you come seeking a family?”

“I do.”

He leaned forward in his chair, his expression intense. “Do you know how we test purity here, Gray?”

So, it was a test now, was it? Last week, a punishment, this week, a test. It was hard to keep up in this place. “You send people out into the rain. If they survive, they’re worthy. If not, they become dark servants.”

“And would you accept such a test?”

I did a quick calculation in my head. It was another choice that straddled the line between success and failure. “I would. But it would be a pointless endeavor.”

“Oh?” The slight frown said he wasn’t following.

“I’ve been in the rain many times. I’ve also been bitten. The infection doesn’t take.”

Excitement lit up his face. “You are blessed?”

“If blessed means immune, then yes. I am not familiar with all the phraseology of the Seekers. My visions show me a lot, but I don’t imagine they show me everything.”

“We have no one like you here. Once, back in Canada, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head, as if realizing he’d said too much. “The past doesn’t matter.” His eyes narrowed. “Why you?”

“The Lord chose me. I think he wanted to ensure I couldn’t be swayed from my mission and would never join the ranks of the dark servants.”

“That would make sense,” William mused. “Why now, though? You’re what—late twenties? Why wait until now?”

“The Lord only recently granted me the third eye. It took time to interpret the visions, to work out what they were telling me. Once I had, I made my way here.” I bowed my head again. “Will you accept my service, Beloved Father?”

A clammy hand settled on the back of my neck. I forced myself not to shudder and recoil from the feel of his fingers. And definitely not to think about where they might have been when Stephanie had been on his lap. “Will you have a vision for me now, my child?”

Sure. Press a button. Out pops a vision. Was this guy for real? “I’m afraid they don’t work like that.”

“How do they work?”

“They come when I least expect them. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes first thing in the morning. I can’t summon them. I wish I could.”

“Hmm.” The single word was rife with displeasure, the fingers on the back of my neck tightening before William realized and relaxed them. “Then I suppose I have little choice but to wait. How long do you think it will be?”

“Soon,” I said, lifting my head to free myself from his touch. It didn’t stop the imprint of his fingers from lingering.

He turned to the door. “Bruce. Find our newest recruit a robe, then food. Once his stomach is full, find him a bed.”

I climbed to my feet, glad to be off my knees. The only time I’d ever kneeled for someone before today was to give them a blow job. “You are generous to a fault, Beloved Father. The Lord told me so, but it is more impressive to witness firsthand.” Taking my cue, I followed Bruce out.

After a bowl of watery soup so inferior to Oz’s that I almost felt guilty for not appreciating his culinary efforts more, and some water, Bruce led me to a small room at the top of the castle and locked me in.

No surprise there. In fact, a lack of caution would have disappointed me.

The Seekers had prevailed for several years, and that wouldn’t have been the case if they had been prone to inviting strangers into their midst and letting them wander around at will.

It didn’t make any difference. I already knew this was a long game, and that Anderson required careful handling.

There was little of anything in the room except for a thin mattress and an even thinner blanket.

I’d slept in worse places. I eyed the robe I’d been given, lip curling.

At least it went over clothes. Bruce had pulled his up a few inches to demonstrate, explaining the fabric could be itchy against bare skin.

I drifted to the narrow window slit, the moonlight spilling in stopping the room from being pitch black.

I missed my candle. And my bike. And my leather jacket.

Most of all, I missed Keaton, which I still struggled to wrap my head around.

Even after I’d taken him home, introduced him to my grandma, let him sleep in my bed, killed his sister so he didn’t have to, and come here for no other reason than him.

Although I had to admit that now I’d met William Anderson, he bothered me.

I pondered my reasons while I stared out into the dark night, the sky cloudless enough for stars to be seen.

What did it matter that he liked to take multiple wives?

Many men would in his position. They wouldn’t require an audition process that included exposure to the red rain, though.

There were far more women than men here; I’d seen that as we’d traveled the castle, the Seekers recruitment drive obviously centered on women.

Young, vulnerable women like Keaton’s sister, looking for their place in the world, who needed to believe they were important to someone.

Even if that someone was a sleazy Canadian, who played them off against each other, and used religion to shape them into the perfect subservient wife.

Maybe that was reason enough to rid the world of him.

But for me, it always came back to Keaton.

Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped being a hindrance and become an equal.

Maybe it was saving each other. Maybe facing adversity together.

Or maybe just recognizing a kindred spirit. I might never know for sure.

What I did know was this: the only way back to Keaton—and to whatever we might become—was through succeeding here. One step at a time.

I stretched out on the mattress, pulling the blanket over me. William Anderson had just become the fly to my spider. And he had no idea how sticky my web could be.