The Writing Retreat(89)
“Roza.” I shook my head in disbelief. “This calling you’re talking about… it’s basically just being an editor. Do you realize that?”
“It’s not, dear. Remember, I have an editor. This is more like tapping into a great force. It tells me what to do. There is some special alchemy that requires me to be the face of the books, some mythology that continues to grow around me. Thankfully, more and more have been offering up their works voluntarily.”
“Right. Yana and Taylor. Why couldn’t you have just gotten more books from them?”
“Well.” Roza sighed, sitting back. “They’ve certainly tried. But it’s as I suspected: most people only have one true masterpiece within them.”
How had Roza found these women to surround herself with, women who would hand over their innermost creative cores? And remain attached, even after Roza found every new work of theirs untenable?
It sounded torturous. Perhaps Taylor hadn’t always been a sociopath; maybe Roza had wrecked her mentally over time. Maybe Yana had once been vibrant and smiling.
“Did Chitra try to write something for you?” I asked.
“Of course not. She’s simply my chef.”
“Oh.” That was even more depressing. “So she’s just involved in all this for the money.”
“Her daughter is terribly sick, dear. I cover her medical expenses.”
I scoffed. “So it’s worth it. Murder.”
“Zoe’s death was not planned,” Roza said softly. “And, remember, she was never supposed to be here.”
I stared at her. She was the very picture of health: glowing skin, sparkling emerald eyes. Had she become more attractive since we’d been imprisoned?
“You’re enjoying this,” I said.
“No.” Roza closed her eyes. “I find violence rather crass. I would much rather discuss your manuscript, but we must have new pages in order to do that.”
“Right.”
Roza folded her hands on her lap. “So here’s my proposal, dear. You continue writing. You convince Wren to keep writing. And if all three of you finish your novels, I will let you go. And I will let you take your books with you.”
I laughed weakly. “Sure.”
A knowing smile alighted her face. “I’ve been planning an escape for a while, you know. When you tap into something greater than you, the force I mentioned—well, you learn to follow it, like a scent in the wind. That’s why I took the chance with you all. I knew my role as a facilitator of masterpieces was coming to an end. That this was the last book I would need. I’m realizing now that perhaps my last book has already been published: Maiden Pink.”
Taylor’s book.
“So it’s over?” I asked. “You’re stopping, just like that?”
“Truthfully, I’m getting rather tired of the fame.” She frowned. “I can’t even walk down the street without people stopping me, wanting to take selfies with me. It’s exhausting. Not to mention undignified.”
“But…” This new information didn’t compute. “If you’re going to let us go anyway, why do we need to finish our books here? Why not release us right now?”
“Because”—her eyes glittered—“you won’t finish them. You’ll leave here and never want to think of them again. And even if you did return to them later, they wouldn’t be what they are right now, with you writing from the very edge of a knife. They won’t be truly great.”
I opened my mouth and closed it.
In a strange way, I knew what she was saying.
“So.” Her lips curled, as if she could read my thoughts. “You will stay, and you will finish. And you will live. All right?”
“But… wait. You said this part of your life is coming to an end. What do you mean by that?” I struggled to work it out. “What could the next part possibly be?”
“Don’t worry yourself about that.” She smiled softly. “I’ll be just fine. Now, do we have a deal?”
After a few seconds, in which my mind settled on the truth, I nodded.
“Good.” She grinned, and I could almost hear the unsaid, tacked on word: Good girl.
But it meant nothing to me. This conversation had made it clear.
I knew Roza believed what she’d told me: that a great unseen Force told her what to do. But even if she had a grand plan to disappear, I couldn’t envision her unlocking our cell door and letting us go off with our novels. That was too generous, too kind. It seemed… un-Roza-like.
And there was one thing I did know about Roza, based on the works she’d chosen to nurture and launch into the world.
Roza abhorred a happy ending.
Excerpt from The Great Commission
Daphne stared with a mixture of shock and horror as Abigail—her sweet, supportive, innocent young friend—stepped through the doorway to the basement. Her face was as serene as an angel’s. She carried a tray.
Still, Daphne held out hope as she flew to the bars. “Help me! The key…”
Abigail bent down, leaving the cold food within Daphne’s reach. She then sat lightly on the stool that Dina had brought down to have a restful place from which to torture her.
“I’m afraid this is where you should be.” Abigail watched Daphne with open curiosity, like a spectator at a freak show.