Page 75 of The Devouring Time

As she swings it open, firm hands grasp my arms and haul me to my feet. “Where are you taking me?” Fear makes my voice shake.

“Down,” Mary replies with a feral grin.

I’m half-carried, half-marched to the trap door, then down the ladder beneath. Two of the cultists remain in front of me, while the other two hover just behind. All carry knives on the rope belts they wear over their robes. There’s nothing I can do if I don’t want to get skewered.

The trap door leads to a small stone chamber with another door opening out of it. Hooks line one wall, with more robes bearing the symbol of the Waking God hanging from them. Mary pulls one on, as does Yurevich, then unlocks the door. Only darkness waits beyond, until Mary speaks a word, and torches along the walls burst into flame.

The room beyond is far too big to fit under the house above. It must intrude on the neighbors’ property. More doors let out of it—is the whole area undermined with hidden rooms? Tunnels?

As for the room we’re in, rows of beds fill most of it. They look surprisingly comfortable, with thick quilts to keep any sleepers warm. At the far end stand a few benches and an altar. A row of eyes have been drawn on the wall behind the altar, the one on the far left closed, the one on the far right open, the rest in stages between.

A heavy, floral smell hangs in the air, seeming to cling to the inside of my nose and lungs as I breathe it in. As the cultists usher me to one of the beds, Mary lights an incense burner on the altar, and the scent immediately grows even stronger.

“Lie down and make yourself comfortable,” Yurevich says, finally deigning to speak to me directly. “Breathe in the smoke—it will help relax your mind.”

There seems no point in resisting. Wishing that Adrian could have been here with me, I climb awkwardly into the bed, the cultists holding up the covers for me, then smoothing them down once I’m in place. Like I’m a child they’re tucking into bed at the end of a long day.

Yurevich drags one of the benches closer to the bedside and settles himself on it. “Are you comfortable?”

The mattress is soft beneath me, and the incense makes my head swim. “Yes.”

“All right, then.” He smiles unexpectedly. “There’s no reason to be afraid. Just understand that once I put you under, these memories will be very vivid. You won’t be able to rouse yourself, any more than you’re able to wake up from everyday life.”

My hands clench, the cuffs clinking softly under the covers. I’d shaken myself out of the hypnosis too easily at Danvers, but this seems like an extreme in the other direction. “I won’t know they’re memories, is that what you mean?”

“It will be as if you’re living them again. But don’t worry—you obviously survived whatever happened to you, so there’s no reason to be concerned.”

I’m less certain about that…but this might be my only chance to recover my memories. The circumstances aren’t as good as they might have been, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.

The doctor is right—I survived my foray into the past. Whatever lurks hidden in my mind can’t be too terrible…can it?

Yurevich places his fingertips on my forehead. “Just a bit of magic to make sure you go under,” he says in a reassuring tone. “Now, count back with me. Three…two…one…”

With every number, I sink deeper into the bed. No, not the bed—the floor, the ground, the earth, the years…

The creature before me makes a complicated wriggle that I think is meant to be a shrug. “But I’m getting ahead of myself,” it says. “What’s your name? I’m Bianca Giuliani.”

49

“Sterling Caine,” I tell her. Mind-to-mind, even though we aren’t speaking the same language, and…

This has to be a dream, or shell shock. I can’t be trapped in the monstrous body I saw in the mirror, the same one I see now if I happen to glance down. I can’t.

“You’re very disoriented now, I’m sure.” The monstrous thing that claims to be a human woman reaches out to me with one of her upper limbs. I flinch away instinctively, and she pulls it back. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

I try to shake my head, but this body doesn’t truly have a neck, only twisting segments. “This is a dream. I’m going to wake up any minute.”

Unless it’s hell. I don’t believe in hell, but maybe I’m wrong.

“It’s no dream.” Her thoughts carry a sense of gentle sorrow. “I’m afraid this is very real. Come—let’s get you settled.”

I follow her farther into the huge room. Some of the other creatures—or humans in the wrong bodies?—stare at me, while others spare only a glance before returning to whatever they were doing.

“You can use this bed.” She stops by one of the moss-topped stone couches. “There’s a pool for swimming at that end of the room, and we drink from the raised font at the other end. What year are you from?”

My insect eyes don’t blink—oh God, I don’t even have eyelids. This is a nightmare.

“Sterling? What year?”