'Are you an Archon?'
'The first. Iadabaoth,' he said, unsurprised, more interested in continuing his examination of her body.
'I understand there are twelve of you. Where are the other eleven?'
'Here and there.'
The man folded his arms across his chest and placed a hand underneath his chin, his nails clicking across his wooden cheek.
'We need to discuss ovulation.'
'Sure,' she said. 'Tell me when you get your period and I might be able to help you out.'
Darby started laughing. Laughed so hard that tears spilled from her eyes.
'I can make you unspeakably ugly,' the man said.
'Like Charlie?'
'Yes.'
'Now I know why you wear the mask. You must be one ugly fuck.'
He cupped a hand over her heart. Left it there for a moment with the side of his head pressed against her stomach.
The nails dug into her skin and the mask tilted up at her.
'You are a true knight warrior. I could rip your heart out right now and eat it in front of you and yet you show no fear. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. I can't remember the last time I encountered one of your type. Well, well, this does present a rather unique opportunity.'
'Better get to it quick, then. We know who you are.'
'I'm sure you think you do.'
'We know about the tattoo.'
The Archon didn't answer.
'The one on the upper lip,' Darby said. 'We found them on Mark Rizzo and John Smith.'
'Ah. The mark of the trusted servant.'
'To you?'
'To all of us. John Smith belonged to another. Thomas Howland was mine. The one you knew as Mark Rizzo. He helped bring me the children. Lots and lots of them to play and experiment with.'
Charlie's voice echoed inside her head: Tell her, Daddy. Tell her what you did.
'What's with the mask?'
'I prefer it.'
'Why? What are you afraid of?'
'Afraid?' A tremor in his voice. 'What makes you think I'm afraid of you?'
'The masks and the costumes,' Darby said. 'This whole Dungeons and Dragons thing you've got going on down here.'
The gloves came off. Darby saw long, soft fingers. He worked at the edge of the mask and lifted it off his head.
A woman. Shaved head and pale egg-white skin threaded with veins and a pair of cold ice-blue eyes that looked liquid in the candlelight. But definitely a woman. You could see it in the cheekbones and lips. No eyebrows and the voice was wrong. The voice belonged to a man.
The Archon smiled and Darby saw shark's teeth, tips sharpened into daggers.
'Satisfied?'
Darby didn't answer.
'You haven't asked about Mr Casey and his daughter.'
'They're here?'
'Yes. Most of them, anyway.' The woman clasped her hands together. 'Which one do you want to live? Do you have a favourite?'
'Both.'
'You're going to have to kill one.'
'I don't think so.'
'The one you pick shall decide your fate. You can contemplate this while we affix the obedience device to your back.' The Archon held up the device Darby had seen on the spine of the toothless, tongueless thing in New Hampshire — a black plastic box with a series of spiked metal ends. 'You will do what you are asked or you will suffer incredible pain.'
The mask came back down. The Archon left the room.
The door shut. Darby heard a creaking sound coming from somewhere outside and then the chains loosened and she collapsed on the floor, the whip marks throbbing and a pins-and-needles sensation sweeping across her limbs.
'You will,' a strange voice whispered in the darkness. 'Believe me, you will.'
81
Time passed. Had to be at least two days, Darby thought. The welts on her thighs and shins had started to scab over.
She lay in the dark, thinking.
Planning.
Dreaming. The next time the door opened, one of them came in holding a candle and a bucket. Darby saw a bar of soap and a washcloth floating on the full pail of water.
'Wash,' he said. He wore a robe and a hood covered his face. He was barefoot.
'Which Archon are you? Tinky Winky or Dipsy?'
'Wash.'
She picked up the bucket and started to wash herself, not an easy thing to do with the chains, and the Archon or whoever he was standing there, watching.
After scrubbing her hair, she dumped the rest of the water over her head and then threw the bucket at him. He wasn't prepared. It bounced off his face before he could catch it and he staggered, catching himself on the wall to keep from falling.
He stood up, slowly. His hood had fallen slightly and she still couldn't see his face. It was hidden behind some sort of fencing mask made of black mesh. She saw the part where the bucket had dented it.
He took the bucket and the candle and left her there in the dark, cold and wet and dripping. Only one came through the door. Holding a candle and something else. She didn't see it; he tossed it to the floor.
Clothing.
'I hope you're taking me out someplace nice,' she said.
He unchained her. 'Dress.'
She picked up the clothing. Black cloth trousers and a black tunic. No shoes. The fabric felt greasy. Used.
He didn't watch her this time. He placed the candle on a ledge high on the wall, well beyond her reach, and shut the door him.
It seemed to open a moment later, just as she had slipped into the tunic.
A small robed figure with a hood came in holding a tray of food. Nuts, an apple, water in a big plastic cup.
The door shut and Sarah Casey placed the tray on the floor.
Darby thought about moving the hood away from the girl's face, then decided against it. Sarah Casey had no idea who she was.
'Sarah,' Darby whispered, her gaze on the door. 'Is that you?'
Sarah Casey removed her hood to get a closer look at Darby. Her eyes were glazed over, either from shock or
