The Writing Retreat(97)

“I’m sure you’ll need some time, and that’s fine.” She shrugged. “Maybe you’ll want to grieve while touring Greece. Or rest for a year in Bali. Or process in one of those lovely treatment centers out west. I can arrange for any of those. As long as you don’t tell anyone about our deal. Because if you do, I’ll call you insane. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll leak the tape.”

I tried to wrap my mind around the words. “But wouldn’t that implicate you too?”

“It will be your word against mine, darling. I’ll tell everyone I found out what you did and tried to help rehabilitate you. They might not like it, but they’ll believe me.”

“What about your plan to disappear?” My interest was faint. I didn’t believe Roza’s words, not really. Letting me rest in Bali? It was ludicrous.

“That’s the thing about disappearing.” She smiled. “You can do it at any time. I’ve been ready for the past three years. I have the new accounts, the new documents. If you have enough money, it’s really not that difficult.” She took a sip. “But maybe it’s not quite time for me to make my exit. Not if you’d like to work together.”

“Wow.” I turned away, gazing out the window. “That’s such an honor, Roza. Really.”

“You’ll need to decide by tomorrow. By the time you both finish your books.”

“Gotcha.” I bobbed my head. “Maybe I’ll make a comparison chart. Pros versus cons.”

She gave me a sympathetic glance. “I know this is a lot to take in, dear. And I will completely understand if you say no. I’ll even promise that the end won’t be unnecessarily painful for you. But…” She straightened and I did too. We were tied together now, via some deep synapse in the brain stem. “… I do hope you consider it. Especially given the alternative.”



* * *



I lay on the mattress, staring up at a crack on the cement ceiling. Roza’s words rattled around my brain. There was no possible way I could kill Wren. It was absurd.

Then again, when the needle was pressed against my own neck, would the survival instinct take over? Would my life necessitate the destruction of hers?

I rolled over on my side. It was almost nine at night and Wren was still writing, hunched over her laptop. We hadn’t really spoken since our brief escape. Chitra was feeding us nearly nothing. We were already starting to die.

Had Roza given the same offer to Wren? Had she told her how special she was, how she wanted Wren to be her protégée? And if so, how had Wren replied?

The offerings on the table: money, power, prestige. All the things that I’d wanted so badly for so long. Things that I’d tasted with Wren and her fabulous lifestyle but had never fully swallowed.

And neither had she, really. No book deal. No fiancé. She’d needed Roza and the retreat just as much as I had.

Tomorrow would be the end. Tomorrow, all would be revealed.

And as we headed into the last day of the retreat, I reminded myself that I still had two secrets from Roza.

One was the tiny vial of wolfsbane in my bra, waiting under my right breast.

And the other was the end of the story.

The ending was really my only leverage, even if I didn’t yet know how to use it. I lay on the futon, considering it, hovering between wakefulness and sleep. The ending glowed inside me, hidden like a small pearl. Sure, Roza could try to finish the novel herself. And she would, if it came to that. But it wouldn’t be the ending. The one that already existed, buried underneath the surface, regardless of whether it was uncovered.

Only I had access to that.





Excerpt from The Great Commission

Daphne crouched behind a rocking chair, trembling like a newborn lamb. Her matted hair stuck to her sweaty face and she pushed it impatiently to the side.

The attic was huge, stuffed with furniture, boxes, and piles. It would take a while for Abigail—rather, Lamia—to find her. But she would. Daphne clutched a glass pitcher in her left hand; it was the only heavy object she’d been able to find. Abigail had turned on the lights, but they were a few bare bulbs, few and far between.

“Come out, come out,” Abigail sang. “Daphne, why are you so afraid of me? Aren’t we friends?” She cackled, a horrifying sound.

Focus. Grace’s voice was fading in and out, and had been out for some time, but she suddenly came in sharp: You need to kill her.

And how do I do that, dear sister? Daphne gritted her teeth.

I don’t know, but you don’t have much time.

Daphne wanted to weep. How had she ended up in this nightmare?

Think of her weakness. Grace’s voice waned again. Where is she weak?

Lamia wasn’t weak. That was the problem. She was strong, too strong. She’d overpowered Daphne in her bed and it had terrified and pleasured her in equal measure.

Abigail was getting closer, her slow footsteps creaking against the wooden floor. Daphne cursed under her breath.

“He was the sacrifice.” Abigail’s voice was suddenly a low growl. “You are the Great Commission. Your body will be the doorway. Your blood will be the key. You will die but be reborn. My right hand. My lover. My daughter. I will teach you the new ways. You will die a mouse, but you will be reborn a god.”