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I eyed Delphine. “Why can’t I drink it?”
“Because what I gave her is going to pass through it, and you don’t want to delve into that madness.”
My hand clutched at my stomach, and my face contorted in discomfort. “That cannot be.”
Pavel turned to me. “Why not?”
“I drank her breast milk that night and went to sleep. Nothing happened. Then, I drank again.”
“But, your mouse did not go to sleep the first night.”
I considered that and remembered she stayed up all night painting.
This is the first time since we left Delphine’s that she has gone to sleep.
“It is the breast milk, Kazimir.” Pavel’s voice was a mix of certainty and disbelief. “The witch told you not to drank it, and instead of listening, you gulped. Twice.”
I trembled.
“And whatever magic Emily ingested, whatever power was meant to lock her in her own psyche. . . You ingested it too. Through her.”
“No, that cannot be,” I protested, even as the reality of his words sank in like claws into my flesh.
“Think about it, Kazimir. How else could you explain this? You are here, feeling, experiencing things that are impossible in the waking world. This is not some dream conjured by your subconscious. You are in her mind now, and even more, you dragged me into this.”
The room seemed to spin, the basement walls closing in as the weight of Pavel’s words pressed down on me.
I remembered the taste, the warmth, the bond I felt each time I drank from my mouse. And the milk had been sweeter and sweeter with each swallow.
Addicting.
More than just nourishment.
And each time I placed my mouth upon her nipples, it had felt like a ritual.
A sacred connection between us.
“No.” I shook my head at Pavel. “I do not want the reason to be the milk—”
“Why not?”
“Because I still will not stop drinking it.”
“Dear God! Are you insane?!” Then, Pavel turned to the little girl. “Why am I asking him? Of course he is insane. I have known this fact, since we were kids.”
I scanned the space, looking at the basement with new eyes. “I am in my mouse’s mind.”
The concept was overwhelming, unfathomable. Yet, as I looked at Emily’s peaceful form on the basement floor, the truth of it resonated within me like a struck chord.
I lifted my view to the little girl. “Why is my mouse on the floor?”
“It’s always that way. When she comes to sleep, it is here.”
“But why not on a bed?”
“She was born here on the floor, right in the blood.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Whose blood?”
