Page 34

Rosabelle

Chapter 34

The knock at my door comes in the night.

My eyes open, but my body is calm. It’s been ten days since I arrived at the facility, and I’m still no closer to a lead on the vial. In the end, Leon proved to be nothing more than a distraction; I haven’t seen him since the incident. I considered launching a covert sweep of his room just to be certain, but he’s locked himself inside since the day I killed him, citing me as the reason he refuses to emerge, not even for meals. I’m not sure how they’re feeding him.

Agatha and Ian officially hate me.

I’ve kept my focus on James, instead, watching him for signs, grasping for meaning in small details. Ultimately I’m at the mercy of another agent, waiting to be contacted by someone who has to find a way to reach me; if they fail, I will fail. There are only four days left. Lately I spend my nights staring up at the ceiling, holding on to the sides of my bed as my head spins.

James has poisoned me.

He’s in my veins. I’m sick with weight of him, sick at the sight of him. His voice haunts me; his presence disarms me. His face surfaces every time I close my eyes, so I try not to close them. I try not to think about his hands or his laugh or the way he quietly sighs, sometimes, when he looks at me. I try not to linger over a startling, terrifying desire to touch him. To be touched by him. Mostly I think about the guillotine that is my place of rest.

When the knock comes again, the interruption is almost a relief. I reach under my pillow for the butterknife I snuck into my room, holding it loosely as I pad, barefoot, to the door.

I wait, listening. Not breathing.

The knock comes a third time, and with it, a voice: “Rosybelle? Rosy-rose, are you awake?”

I flip the butterknife in my hand and unlatch the door, swinging it open. Leon is standing in the dim light.

“Can I help you?” I say to him.

“I got your note,” he says, looking unsteady.

I analyze his dilated eyes more closely, wondering at James’s assessment of his lucidity. I assumed Leon was terrified to be near me, so this burst of enthusiasm is a confusing surprise.

“What note?” I ask.

“I forgive you, Rosy,” he says, stage-whispering. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Leon,” I say firmly. “What note? What are you talking about?”

He unfolds a piece of paper, skimming it. “You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.” He looks up at me when he’s done, eyes dopey and unfocused.

I tighten my hand around the weapon. There’s definitely something wrong with him.

“Can I have that note, please?”

“No,” he says, crushing it to his chest. “I’m going to keep it forever, Rosy. I just wanted you to know”—he shakes his head, hard—“I had to tell you to your face, so you could see it in my eyes: I don’t like you at all.”

This actually stuns me.

“I have a wife,” he whispers, his eyes going wide. “And you are very beautiful, Rosabelle No-last-name, but my wife is much more beautiful than you, and I know in my heart that we aren’t meant to be together because I don’t like you at all. I love someone else, and I’ll love her forever, and she is so much better than you in every way”—he lowers his voice—“and I know that this is very sad for you.”

“Leon.”

“Yes, Rosy?”

“Where is your wife?”

He shakes his head again, this time so hard his hair flops around. “I don’t know,” he says, leaning into me. “Do you know? Did he tell you where they took her?”

“Who? Who took her from you?”

“You do know,” he says. “You do know who took her, because it’s happened to you, too.” And then he starts crying, his face crumpling. “Oh, Rosy, can you feel it happening again?”

I take a breath. At first I thought maybe Leon had simply lost his mind, but now I’m starting to worry. “Feel what happening?”

He looks around, shoulders tight, the tears stopping as suddenly as they started. “I can feel it happening again, Rosybelle. You can feel it, too.”

“Leon.”

“Yes?”

“Please give me that note.”

“No,” he says loudly. Angrily. “It’s mine. You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.”

“Leon—” I try again, reaching for the paper.

“No!” He whips away wildly, breathing fast. “You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.”

Pay attention.

Intuition tells me to take a cautious step back.

Leon straightens, his forehead smoothing, his shoulders drawing back. He seems to slot into his body, growing back into himself, the sharp lines of his face catching shadows. His eyes gleam like flat coins and I clench the butterknife a little tighter.

“You’re not the only one here,” he says, smiling. “You’re not the only one.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re not special,” he snaps at me. “And if you don’t do it, someone else will.”

Pay attention.

If you’re smart enough, you’ll see it coming.

“Do what?” I say, hoping to guide him with my voice to remain calm. “I need you to give me more information—”

His eyes die out without warning, shoulders hunching, tears streaming down his face again. He looks around, blinking fast. “Can you feel it, Rosybelle? Can you feel it happening again?”

My instincts are at war: Kill him or keep him talking?

I decide he might still prove useful.

“Leon,” I say. “How long has your wife been missing?”

“I don’t know!” he says, and grabs my arms. “Where did they take her?”

I command myself not to react to this physical contact, forcing myself to look into his wild eyes. He’s clearly incapable of coherence.

“Leon,” I say again. “Please give me that note.”

“No!” he cries, backing away from me. “It’s mine. You said you’ve been looking for somewhere to rest your head, for a home that will last forever. You said you would die for me. You described the depths you would go to for me. You said that if I want something, I just have to ask for it.”

“I’m asking for it right now,” I say, fighting my anger. “Give it to me—”

“You can’t take it!” he says. “You can’t take anything else away from me!”

“I didn’t take anything from you. I wasn’t the one who went through your things.” I glance up and down the quiet hall, my instincts now screaming. “Leon,” I say, trying to meet his eyes. “Listen to me. I wasn’t the one who ransacked your room, and I didn’t write that note. I think someone is trying to frame me—”

“Don’t worry, Rosy,” he says softly, turning the crumpled paper around to show me. “I know you didn’t do it.”

The page is blank.

Leon laughs, then goes limp, his arms hanging heavily by his sides. “Why would you go through my things? You don’t even know where I hid it.” He leans toward me, and I watch, horrified, as a slinky black skin appears and disappears across his eyes. Then, whispering: “I didn’t want to find it, Rosabelle. He made me find it.”

Now, a spike of true fear impales me.

I’m trying to stay calm. Trying to keep my breathing even. But a terrifying thought is gathering steam in my head, disparate strokes of color coming together to form a disturbing picture.

“Who made you find it?” I ask.

“Nosy Rosy!” Leon shouts, his head lolling sideways. “My beautiful rose, I’ll give you a little earth, Rosabelle, let me look inside you, Rosabelle, Rosabelle, Rosabelle—”

Finally I snap.

I grab a fistful of his shirt violently, pressing the butterknife to his throat. “Start answering my questions,” I say. “Or this time when I kill you, I’ll make sure no one will be here to save you.”

His eyes widen. He looks suddenly panicked. “But I brought you a drink of earth,” he says. “I’m a big boy, Rosy, I made it all by myself.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a glass vial, the glinting receptacle filled with darkness. “Klaus made me find it,” he says, and then he’s crying again, his shoulders collapsing. “Klaus wanted you to have it. He made me leave my room. He made me do it, Rosy, I didn’t want to—”

My right hand trembles and I let go of him, shaking the tremors loose from my fist before taking the proffered vial. My heart is racing dangerously fast. The glass is warm against my skin.

“Goodbye, my beautiful rose. Goodbye. Goodbye. They took your father the way they took my wife, remember? Can you feel it happening again, Rosy?”

Shock rattles through me. “What? What are you talking about?” I shake him slightly. “Leon? Leon, where’s Klaus?”

“Klaus?” He breathes the word, his voice changing, his back straightening. The black skin crawls over his eyes again. “Klaus is here.”

I stifle a shudder, containing my horror. “Where?”

Leon grabs me by the throat and lifts me off my feet.