Whiteface frowns, pulls out a gun, and shoots his henchman in the head. The body hits the ground with a muffled thud. “God, I hate people like that. Don’t you, Orion? Of course you do. Everyone hates know-it-alls like that.” He turns to another henchman. “Get the body out of here. Even dead, it’s ruining my concentration.”

  With a deep, irritated sigh, Whiteface turns back to me. “Now, where were we? Let’s see…” He taps a finger to the side of his face. “Oh, yes. The lesson.” He circles around the table to stand at my feet. “Now then, the next lesson on our curriculum is this: everyone wears a mask. Not a single person goes around barefaced in this world. Seditio knows this, which is why none of us try to hide the fact. We wear masks all the time. The House of David pretends to be upfront about who they are, but I promise you, there’s no way you can possibly know any of them. You never see a person’s true colors until they experience suffering and fear beyond measure.

  “It was a lesson I learned early on. When I was a child, I believed my mother was weak because my father beat her every night, and she did nothing to stop him. She just… sat there and took it. She’d go to bed crying while the rest of us felt like shit for letting it happen to her. Then, one day, jolly old Papa grew tired of beating his wife. He decided it would be far more fun to beat his son. He pummeled me one time. One. And when my mother saw what he’d done, she calmly went to her dresser, pulled out a gun, and shot him through the eye. God, his brains made a glorious mess on the wall behind him. I swear I met my mother for the first time that night. She was never really weak. She’d simply made a choice. And when my father changed his behavior, she made a different choice.”

  I groan from my place on the table. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “It’s a personal anecdote.” He rolls his eyes. “Kids these days have no appreciation for the art of the lecture. The anecdote makes it easier to remember the lesson. And you’re going to need all the help you can get because the following test is a doozy.” He spins me around, and I realize what I’m tied to is an embalming table on castors.

  Now my line of sight allows me to see what’s on the floor. What looks, at first, like more clothes piled against the wall is actually a person. He’s balled up, making himself small. When he lifts his head to see me, I can’t help screaming his name. It’s Jacob, bloody and swollen. A spiked dog collar around his neck is chained to the wall behind him. He’s been beaten and humiliated worse than I have.

  Whiteface leans over me and whispers, “We’ll test your friend first. Let’s find out what his true character is.” He approaches Jacob and addresses his henchmen. “John Wayne Gacy, is it? For fuck’s sake. Okay, fine. Was he the one who ate his victims, or am I thinking of a fictional character?”

  All the people in masks stiffen against the walls. None of them wants to answer, I’m sure, but a woman at the end of the row finally does. “He was the clown who buried his victims under his floorboards, sir.”

  “How did he kill them again?” Whiteface asks.

  The woman clears her throat. “He… Well, he used a ligature, I believe… sir.”

  “Good.” Whiteface nods his approval. “Go get me something suitable, will you?” While he waits, he goes about unlocking Jacob’s shackle and pulling him away from the wall. “You’re not going anywhere any time soon, are you, Jakey? We had good fun with your kneecaps earlier.” He sighs happily. “Making memories.”

  Jacob slumps forward. His eyes are blank, and his face glistens with sweat. It’s as though someone has reached down into his throat and ripped out his soul. He doesn’t even react when the masked assistant returns with a ligature, or when Whiteface straddles him and drops the rope around his neck.

  The ligature is an uncomplicated device, just a narrow piece of wood with a loop of rope. Whiteface turns the wood at the back of Jacob’s head like he’s winding up a child’s toy. As soon as Jacob starts to struggle, Whiteface stops. “Here’s the game, Jakey,” he says loud enough for me to hear. “I can give you another turn, or I can play with your friend on the table. It’s really up to you. What’ll it be?”

  Tears drip from Jacob’s eyes onto the concrete as he grapples with the rope at his throat.

  “Silence?” Whiteface frowns. “Silence is the wrong answer.” He turns the wood two more times. Fruitlessly, Jacob gasps for air. “Let’s try again. Should I continue to play with you or move on to your friend on the table? If you refuse to make a choice, you’ll pay a steep price. Maybe a limb. You don’t really need two feet, do you?”

  “Stop it!” I scream. “Play with me, okay? I’m choosing for him.”

  “Foul!” Whiteface raises his hand like a referee. At his signal, one of his henchmen marches across the basement and drives an elbow into my stomach. I feel this blow even more than I felt the knife. There’s something about blunt force, a messy boorishness. The lack of effort hurts almost as much as the blow itself.

  Whiteface turns the ligature one more time. Jacob’s eyes roll back, and he starts to pass out, so Whiteface lets up a little. There’s no kindness in the gesture—he just doesn’t want to give his victim the gift of unconsciousness. “Now,” he says to me, “if you say another fucking word, I’ll rip out your tongue and burn it in front of you. I’m talking to your friend, and I won’t tolerate rude interruptions.” He lightly slaps Jacob on the cheek a couple of times. “Now then, friend, time to choose. Who should I play with?”

  Jacob looks up at me, immeasurable shame in his eyes. I know what his answer will be, and I don’t blame him. He never asked to be mixed up in this. Shaking, he reaches out one hand and points a finger at me. Before I look away, he mouths the word sorry.

  “Thank you for making a choice, Jacob. I believe we can begin to make out your true character now.” Whiteface stands and strides toward me. With a chuckle, he tugs my body by the shoulders until my head is hanging off the table. The rope from the ligature scratches my skin as he slips it around my neck.

  There’s no feeling quite like suffocation. It’s pure fear. That’s why it’s almost impossible to suffocate intentionally. I want to sacrifice myself for Jacob, but I thrash and claw at my tormentor’s arms instead. I gasp and gag. My world shrinks, and darkness prevails.

  When I open my eyes again, I’m alone with Jacob. He lies on the concrete floor, holding his head in his hands, and I hear him sob as he mutters, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “You made the right choice,” I say. His head snaps up at the sound of my voice. “It was the most rational decision. I’m the one who’s trained for this.” My tone is unwavering, but some animal buried deep inside me feels unforgivably betrayed. “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know.” He groans and struggles to sit up. “Time’s doing weird things.”

  “I thought you were all on the plane. Phoebe said you’d already left.”

  Jacob scoots back against the wall, dragging his useless legs behind him. “The others went on ahead. I wanted to get a drink at the bar before takeoff. So stupid, right? I should’ve just gotten on the damn plane. I should’ve listened to your brother and taken this more seriously. I… I thought he was exaggerating to get us out of the way.” He sobs again.

  “It’s not your fault,” I say just as Whiteface strides into the basement again.

  “Yes, it is,” Whiteface counters cheerily. “Everything that happens to you is the result of every decision you’ve ever made.” He’s using a metal baseball bat as a walking cane, and the sound of it clinking against the concrete is one I know well.

  “Just let Jacob go,” I say. “I’m the one you want. He has nothing to do with this.”

  For a moment, Whiteface appears to consider it. But he comes to a quick decision and backhands my face hard. “What the hell makes you think you have any authority here, boy? You’ll do as I tell you! Both of you! No matter what I ask, you’ll look me in the eye and say, ‘Yes, Papa.’” He approaches Jacob, and I scream at him to stop, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s somewhere else now, living his own history, taking on the role of his abuser. “For example, when I tell you to take this beating with a fucking smile, you’ll say…”

  Jacob whimpers into his hands.

  “What do you say?” Whiteface shouts.

  “Yes, Papa,” Jacob cries. And Whiteface smashes that bat into Jacob’s legs so many times I doubt there are any unbroken bones left. My own voice screams with his, but I don’t even feel like it’s me anymore.

  Finally, Whiteface stops and gazes down at the blood dripping from his bat. “This is a well-balanced baseball bat, son,” he says to me. “Do you recognize it? Your parents didn’t scrimp when it came to you, did they? Only the best for our Orion.” Sarcasm saturates his words. “Well, they were right to be proud, weren’t they? You’re one hell of a baker. I visited your little shop a few days back and tried a slice of cake. It was absolutely to die for. I assume it’s a family recipe. The cashier was top tier too. Well hired, I’d say. So pretty and sweet.” Blood still drips from the end of the bat with an ever-slowing rhythm.

  “Keep your fucking hands off Rebecca!” I hate him, but it’s useless. I’m beginning to see how deep into my life he’s dug, how he’s woven his influence into every corner. The fact that he’s been in my family’s bakery feels like a violation.

  He smirks and cracks his neck. “Such a delightful flower. I just couldn’t help myself. I will say, she didn’t hate my attention at first. Although, maybe she regretted it a few seconds before she died.” He laughs a disgusting laugh. “Well, she’s not regretting anything anymore.”

  I yank at my bonds, and the embalming table rattles under my weight. “Liar! You didn’t kill her! You’re only saying it to scare me. I don’t believe you.”

  “Boy, she is long dead.” He twirls the bat in one hand. “It really is a beautiful bat. Did I tell you I used to play ball?”

  All I can do is stare in horror.

  “No? Good, because that would have been a lie.” He laughs. “My father didn’t want me playing games. He wanted me to kill. He wanted me to be a man. ‘Be a fucking man, Caldwell, you fucking pussy! Be a goddamned man and skin it!’ Such fun hobbies my father chose for me. But not Orion. No, Orion had baseball and wrestling and all the girls he could wave his dick at. The only girl I’ve ever had is Mary. Mary. Mary. Get it? And now you waltz in, and she’s instantly obsessed with you. Why?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, desperate to read this unreadable situation. Is this really all about a woman? Surely not. But he’s looking at me with pure murder in his eyes, and I feel like this is the first time he’s let his mask slip.

  “Answer the question, Orion.” He sneers down at me. “Is it your boyish good looks? That cherubic complexion?” He reaches down and pinches my cheek so hard I cry out. “Maybe it’s because you’ve never been broken. Maybe she likes her toys fresh off the shelf, still in the box.”

  I blink back tears. I don’t want this monster to see me weak. No matter what happens, I swear I won’t crack in front of him. “I don’t even know this Mary person. Why would I have anything to do with the leader of Seditio? If she wants me, it’s probably because of my brother, like you said. She just wants revenge for all the men he killed.”

  “Maybe.” He bites his lip and stares up at the ceiling. “No, that can’t be right. I think it’s because you’ve never been played with. Well, that’s an easy fix.” He swings the bat at my chest. I feel the crack of metal against my ribcage. Then Whiteface leans over my naked body like a doctor examining his work. “Do you think I fractured a few ribs, Orion? I hope so.” He moves down to my kneecap. “I’ve always wondered what kind of ballplayer I would have been, had I been allowed to play. Let me know what you think of my swing, okay?”

  He brings the bat down hard on my knee, and all I know is searing, fiery pain. I scream and writhe on the table. My entire world is agony.

  “Well?” Whiteface circles around me and taps the bat against my other knee. Just the suggestion of the pain he’ll inflict makes me turn my head to the side and vomit. “Is that what you think of my swing?” The monster laughs. “It can’t be that bad, can it? Ugh, lucky boy. I have to leave you with one good leg.”

  He circles back around and takes another swing at my already broken leg. The shin this time. I scream again.

  “Whew!” He mimes wiping the sweat from his brow. “That was a tough one. I think I’m getting better, though. Papa always said, ‘Practice makes perfect, you vaginal son of a bitch.’ He said it just like that. Nice, wasn’t he? I will say this for him, though—he tasted delicious. Mama always could make the cheap cuts into something special when she needed to.”

  I think I’m going to throw up again, but there’s nothing left in my stomach. All I can do is try to go somewhere else in my head, find something else to focus on, just until this is done… one way or another. But Whiteface has a way of drawing me back in.

  “I apologize,” he says out of nowhere. “Where were we? I haven’t talked to anyone outside Seditio in so long. I do tend to ramble sometimes. Therapy would probably help, but who can afford it these days?”

  His sick sense of humor is far from funny, but I’m delirious. I cough out a laugh along with a long string of bloody saliva.

  He knits his brow a moment. “Ah, yes, now I remember. We were making you suffer to see your true character.” The monster drags his bloody hand across his face, removing some of the white paint as he does. For a split second, I see the man in him again. “Pain is the only way we learn,” he murmurs. “And learning is half the battle.”

  9: in life,

  Eden

  Guilt, when you haven’t experienced it since childhood, feels like an illness. I’m nauseated, feverish, too tired to sleep. Reading is beyond impossible. I keep going over the same page, again and again, unable to take any of it in. The only things I can focus on are the questions haunting me. How could I have let this happen? I was right there. I knew he was not okay. I knew he needed someone to be with him, but I left. I got drunk. I passed out, and it compromised my ability to protect him.

  Cain has given us the day to recover before he meets with us to discuss our next course of action. I wish he hadn’t. Inaction is torture. Why does he think it’s acceptable to wait even a second? I want to scream at him. The punching bag stands in for him now, and I whale on it like I could somehow kill it. If anyone could kill an inanimate object, it would be me. I manage to kill almost everything I touch.

  It takes me too long to notice someone is watching. Sarah leans back against the wall with her arms and ankles crossed, waiting patiently for me to finish my tantrum. When I turn to her, she gives me a half-hearted smile. “All better?”

  “Not remotely.” I towel the sweat off my face and chest.

  “Well, it’s time.”

  “Already?”

  She sighs. “Let’s go, Eden.”

  The briefing room is already crowded, and a man I don’t recognize stands at the front beside Cain. I sit next to Sarah, my eyes glued to the stranger. Something about him has my hackles up. Then, Cain introduces him. “Please welcome our guest who has defected from Seditio and graciously offered to assist us. You probably know him as Fall, and that’s how he prefers to be addressed.”

  A few of my companions mutter, “Welcome, Fall,” to the stranger, but I only glare at him. I don’t like him. I don’t care that he defected. I remember the way the bastard talked to me, all holier-than-thou before I finally beat him unconscious.

  Without his wolf mask, he looks almost harmless. He has a beige complexion with beige clothes and beige hair. The only thing interesting about him is his eyes, which are a dark, piercing brown with such thick eyelashes it looks like he’s wearing eyeliner.

  Cain continues to excuse his presence. “Our new friend Fall joined Seditio after the House of David eradicated the cult he was in. We can all understand how he might have felt entitled to revenge after such a loss, can’t we? As we know, a cult takes the place of everything in an individual’s life. As far as Fall was concerned, the House destroyed his home, family, country, and tribe.”

  “Then why the fuck is he here?” Ying Yue says, echoing what I’m sure every one of us is already thinking. “You’ve just given us another reason not to trust him.”

  “I’m sure that’s an explanation Fall himself will be happy to give you,” Cain says. And then he surrenders the floor to the stranger.

  Fall clears his throat and straightens his tie. It’s unreal to see the man who so easily called me “a demon in the field of lost souls” looking like he might have a touch of stage fright. I guess life is simpler when you’re wearing a mask.

  “For the last several years, Seditio has been under the supervision of a new leader,” Fall says. “Her name is Mary Denau. We excused her volatile behavior at first because we knew she’d had a difficult childhood, even though most of us questioned her claim to the position. She’d inherited it, and Seditio, as an organization, favors democracy.”

  Joshua snorts, and Cain silences him with a sharp look. “Our apologies, Fall. Some of our own members have yet to mature.”

  A brief nervous smile crosses Fall’s face before he continues. “Well… our new leader’s methods are worse than unconventional, as I’m sure many of you already know. She’s taken a rabid dog who calls himself Whiteface and elevated him to a position second only to her own. As soon as we heard she’d done so, a number of us began working against her. Two of us approached a Judge to offer our cooperation, but that did not go well.” Here, he pauses and meets my eyes. I try not to shrink in my chair. “My partner is dead,” he says, “but I understand we have not been trustworthy in the past. I also understand why the House of David might be wary of us considering the recent actions of Whiteface.”