Her heart was pounding her ears. “You’re insane.”
He was watching her, lidded eyes dark with lust as his gaze flicked to her lips and lingered there. “Mmhm. We’ve covered that. But don’t worry. It won’t hurt. None of it will. You’ll have many, many years of pain-free existence. You won’t even feel yourself fading away. I’ll drink you slowly, sip you like a fine wine, over the many years to come. You’ll join my family. You’ll be mine. I’ll protect you, care for you, even…play with you, pretty doll.” He titled his head, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her again.
“Holy fuck.” She wanted to cry. “Please, no.”
“It’s the only way to save your friend. And that’s the most important thing, isn’t it? The release from your illness is just a secondary benefit.” He chuckled. “I know you’re afraid. But think about it. No more pain. My children last for a long time—I take very good care of them. Some of them fade away faster or slower than others. You? You burn so bright. I think you could last for centuries. There’s so much of you to eat.” His face split once again in a sadistic smile.
That was it.
I’m sorry, Trent. I can’t do this.
She turned and scrambled up onto the stage, desperate to get away from him. Looking up, she tripped over her own feet at what she saw and wound up sprawled on the wood surface. They weren’t alone. But what she saw didn’t quite qualify as people, either.
Dolls.
Puppets.
Full-size human figurines stood on the stage, arranged in a line, all looking at her. Some men, some women, all with painted faces and empty, lifeless expressions. Some were porcelain, some were wood, some were fabric. Each one was a work of art. She could see the joints of their limbs, and the small linkages that held them together. Some of the figures were faded and old. Some looked almost new. One of them, a woman, was missing an arm.
There were no strings attached to them. They all stood there on their own. But they weren’t living people. They weren’t costumes. They were too thin, too weightless. They all looked as though they were hovering on invisible wires.
There was a figure sitting in a chair in the middle of the stage, covered by a white cloth. But that it was the figure of a woman under the fabric was unmistakable.
“What the—what the—” Cora scrambled back up to her feet.
Hands settled on her shoulders, and she screamed. She tried to run, but he shifted one arm to snap around her waist and yank her back against him. He might as well have been made from steel. She struggled, but it did no good.
“Let me go!”
Simon shushed her, his head close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Look at them. My children. Aren’t they so pretty?” He reached an arm over her shoulder and, with the twist of his fingers, beckoned one of the dolls forward. It was the one of the lady who was missing an arm.
The marionette lurched and stepped forward, the movements jerky and unnatural. “Don’t be afraid.” The voice came from the woman, but the face didn’t move. It was just painted on. It wasn’t a mask. Speakers, maybe? The sound had to be piped in. That was all.
Her mind scrambled for purchase. Magic might have been proven to be real, but these were monsters. And he was going to turn her into one.
“Aren’t I pretty? I wanted to be beautiful forever. And now I am.”
“Each one of them came to me with something I could fix. They were afraid of aging. Of dying. Of disease. That one there had terminal cancer.” He pointed. “He could barely breathe. Now, he’s cured forever. Suzie, here, was such a pretty flower, and now that flower has been preserved. Think about it—no more pain. Wilbur, over there, murdered his family and wanted to escape justice. Sasha was a drug addict, seeking a reprieve. And now, they’re mine…and you will be, too.”
“You’re insane!”
“You keep saying that. It isn’t news.” He chuckled and rested his cheek on her temple. She tried to recoil from him, but he was impossibly strong. “You’ll be my new main attraction, Cora. My masterpiece. Look.” He dragged her toward the figure under the sheet. “It isn’t quite done yet, but I think it will be my finest work yet. I had to rush a little. I hope you don’t mind.” He pulled the sheet away, and Cora felt her knees go weak. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have collapsed.
It was her.
The face was an artistic rendering of her, but she recognized herself in the features. The eyes looked like they were made of painted mirrors. A wig of long, wavy dark hair fell around the shoulders of the life-size doll that was made to her proportions. It was even wearing similar clothing to what she had been wearing a few days ago.
“Oh, God…”
“No. I won’t be your God. I will be your creator, though. Although please don’t call me ‘Father’ like the others like to do. It’ll make my attempts to woo you in your dreams a little too strange, even for me.” He chuckled. “I’m especially proud of the eyes. I painted on mirrors so they might change in tone like your beautiful gray eyes. Sometimes dark, sometimes light…I’m quite pleased with how it turned out. I need to finish the details, but we can work on that together, hm? You can pick your nail color.”
“No, please, please, no—” She was shaking. Tears were already flowing down her cheeks. She wanted to go home. This was worse than death.
“Don’t be afraid, Cora dear. It won’t hurt. I’ll take your life and store it in a piece of art. My masterpiece. You will be safe.” He shushed her, wrapping his other arm around her to hold her, as if he were trying to console her. “It will be all right, I promise.”
“You freak, let me go!” She stomped on his toe. He snarled in pain, and his arm loosened enough that she whirled and kneed him hard in the groin. That doubled him over.
He grabbed himself as he groaned. “Ow.”
She ducked around him and bolted for the exit. She was going to get out of here as fast as she could. She was going to get in her car and drive as far away as humanly possible. I’m so sorry, Trent. I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t. I’ll go to hell for this, but I can’t! Fuck this place, fuck Simon, fuck his freaky monster dolls, she—
Something wrapped around her throat, and she gagged as the sudden stop yanked her back. It felt like fishing line. It burned, and she wondered if it had cut into her skin. She went to grab at it.
Her arms didn’t move. He had her in those terrible, invisible, and impossible strings of his.
She screamed.
“Shut up, will you?” Simon snarled from behind her. “Such a noisy one, you are.”
Suddenly, she was moving. Sliding backward across the packed dirt of the center of the tent. She wailed in fear. She wasn’t moving her legs.
She could see the exit. So close, and yet so far. And getting farther. She struggled, but nothing in her seemed able to obey.
“So much needless fussing.”
The movement stopped, and she was standing still again. But still nothing obeyed her commands. She couldn’t even turn her head. Suddenly, she was bent over backward, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. She should have fallen—that wasn’t a natural position to maintain. But she couldn’t do anything. She hovered like that, bent back at a sharp angle, and winced in pain. She could bend that far—but that didn’t mean it was comfortable.