“We’re listening to you,” the first woman’s voice whispered into his ear.
Eric jumped, and the three voices laughed.
“Is this better?” the woman asked, a few feet away this time.
There was a scratching sound, then a sizzle as a match flared to life.
The hand that held it had long, elegant fingers and perfectly groomed nails. It moved the match closer to Eric’s face, until the only things he could see were the yellow flame and the darkness beyond it. He closed his eyes and turned his head, feeling the heat against his skin. More laughter, then the match moved away. After a second, he opened his eyes again.
The darkness that had filled the basement was gone, replaced by light from three camping lanterns spread across the room.
And standing a dozen feet away from him — the Makers.
28
There were nine of them. Five were in a semicircle in front of Eric, while the other four were huddled together behind them, their arms around each other, eyes closed.
They were beautiful. All of them. Painfully beautiful.
Their hair was perfectly cut, not a strand out of place. Their skin was as smooth as water on a still pond. Their eyes were big and dark, their lips full, and their teeth impossibly white. They could have been characters from
Of the five directly in front of him, three were women and two were men. None looked like they were any older than Mr. Trouble, but Eric knew this was an illusion and their true age was nowhere near that.
There were others in the room, too — not Makers, surrogates, a half dozen of them standing against the far wall.
“Don’t say anything more,” Fiona whispered through her gag. At least that’s what he thought she said.
“I’m not going to let them hurt any of you,” he whispered back.
Her eyes widened in frustration and she said something else, but this time he didn’t catch it.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” the blonde female Maker at one end of the arc said.
The man next to her sniffed the air, much like Peter had done before. “He’s perfect. Can you smell it?”
“I can,” a brunette woman in the center said.
“But is he ready?” the other blonde woman asked. “He doesn’t seem ready.”
“Harlan?” the brunette woman said.
One of the men in the group of four in the back sucked in a deep breath then broke from the circle. As he did, Eric felt Maggie’s grip on his arms loosen a bit. It wasn’t enough so that he could break free, but at least he could feel his blood flowing again.
“He doesn’t need to be ready yet,” the man said. Eric assumed he was Harlan. “They have the box and have already released one drawer.”
Gasps and looks of horror from the five in the arc.
“Released?”
“Outrageous!”
“How do you know?”
Harlan looked at Maggie. “We’ve seen it through the girl.”
“We’ll have to start again.”
“Yes, again.”
“It will take time.”
“Yes, it will,” Harlan said. “But it will also give us time to prepare him properly, without the influence of these…others.” He moved back into his group, putting his arms around those next to him. He then bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Maggie’s grip tightened again.
“We need to do something about them.”
“Yes, we do.”
“They need to pay.”
“They have thrown off our timeline.”
“Yes, they definitely need to—”
Something crashed down on the boards above their heads. As one, the Makers in the arc looked up, then smiled.
“
“Yes, he should be the one.”
“Mr. Trouble.”
“Yes, Mr. Trouble.”
Another crash.
“Oh, this is delightful,” the first woman said. “He thinks he can break through like a superhero.”
The others smiled.
Three heavy crashes with only seconds between each. This time, there weren’t just thuds, but the loud sound of wood cracking.
“Marvelous,” one of the men said.
“Move back,” the brunette woman told Eric and the others. “Unless, of course, you want him landing on you.”
Maggie, the gardener, and Vice Principal Rose pulled their hostages back until they were up against the china cabinet in front of the door. Peter and Tommy were now sitting off to the side, their heads bowed like they were asleep.
Everyone else, with the exception of the four Makers huddled together, looked at the ceiling in anticipation. Eric was pretty sure it would take only one more good hit for a hole to be punched through. But as he watched, the seconds of waiting grew to over a minute.
“Maybe he hurt himself,” a Maker said.
“Oh, yes. Maybe.”
“If we could sense him, we’d know.”
“Yes, if one of us could. But I see nothing.”
“I see nothing, too.”
“I see nothing.”
“Not a thing.”
“He’s like those before him.”
“Yes. Like those before. Unreadable.”
“Perhaps he’s left.”
“Perhaps,” the brunette woman said, “but I think we should check.” She turned her head to look at Peter and Tommy.
Instantly, Tommy’s eyes opened and he stood up.
“Check,” the brunette said.
Tommy nodded, then pushed the cabinet back just enough so that he could squeeze out the doorway.
The brunette closed her eyes. A moment later, her head began moving like she was looking around.
Above, they could hear Tommy move off the staircase and onto the main floor, walking toward where the sound had come from.
The brunette continued to move her head back and forth. “He’s not there,” she said. “I can’t see him.”
“He must be there,” another said.
“Who else could it have been?”
The woman’s head turned quickly to the right, then she stiffened and her eyes shot open.
