The Lie Spinners (The Deception Dance) (15 page)

The
asuras grab Jones and me by our arms and drag us to our feet.

I
look at Jones as he resists the grip of a (I think) male asura, whose
three faces are chattering with the asura that’s holding me in
another language. Jones determinedly keeps his body near and in front
of mine.

However
humiliating the experience was for me, I only made out with a
gorgeous guy who
hates
me through the worst headache of my life. Jones made out with the
person who he holds responsible for his brother’s death. Not
that I could feel much more awful (and pathetic, and debased) about
what happened on the couch (… and then the floor); but I
know
that what Jones feels must be a hundred times worse.

As
the asuras drag us down the hall, I whisper, “What happened
was… it wasn’t really real. I’m sorry that it
happened…though.” to Jones’ back.

Not
surprisingly he ignores me. Well, at least he’s consistent.

As
the asura disinterestedly drags me forward, I, for the first time,
realize that besides a twinge in my arm (…perhaps a little
bruising on my lips) I feel relatively uninjured. Thank
whoever
for small injuries (though according to Madeline if they were larger
they’d heal or something).

What
I want, no, what I need, is a piece of paper and a quiet place to
write down exactly what Räum told me. He said so much, and so
little. The problem with memory is it records so little, and I know
that after this day comes to whatever close it will, all I will
recall is what Räum wanted me to think; the holes to his every
sentence, the spaces between the misleading truths, these are what I
need to remember. But as Albert always drills into me: my mind is
limited, and without writing down conversations immediately, it will
only record what was said and forget the possibilities of what was
omitted.

The
asuras pause at the outlet of the hallway. Even though I know Jones
won’t respond, I need to talk out my thoughts, so I lean in and
whisper. “Räum said he had been summoned by the magician
called ‘The Spider.’ Räum likely stole this
magician, ‘The Spider’s body, then assumed his identity
to lure us here. So, Stephen travels to Thailand to find this
‘Spider’ guy but instead he finds Räum and his nest
of creatures. Räum told me he let Stephen go. Stephen isn’t
heard from again. Nicholas comes to save Stephen thinking he’s
with Räum, and is captured. Madeline gets a series of cryptic
notes which she interprets as: The Spider magician has Stephen and if
she doesn’t kidnap and send me in, they’ll kill him. She
sends us in and we’re taken here. Räum works up mojo
between Nicholas and me, fails. Then he takes me into the other room
to try to…” I pause my monologue, “where he tries
again to work up mojo between us.”

I
stop to clear my throat. “Räum made his goal very clear:
to get me to break my deal with Andras. But he can’t really
force me to, not really. Besides by killing me and he all but
admitted that he doesn’t want to do that, or can’t. Why
did Räum spend all this time manipulating me if he can so easily
complete his goal by enticing someone else to kill me? There has to
be more to this… More importantly, assuming Räum took
this ‘Spider’ magician’s body, then who, or what,
has Stephen?”

Jones
surprises me by whispering back, “Stephen Tapper’s
location is the important information for this mission,” He
makes eye contact with me. “The only line of questioning you
need to focus on is to find out where Stephen Tapper is and how we
get you out of here and to him.”

“
Or
I’ll die?”

“
Yes,”
Jones replies. “That
witch
called
in your life debt. If you don’t complete her demand, what she
did to save you last summer will reverse.”

“
You
mean…” I taste the acidic sweetness of bile crawling up
my throat and swallow it down. “You mean: I’ll rot to
death?”

“
Yes.”

I
focus on breathing until I can rein in the thoughts and emotions that
rage around me, threatening to explode out and light me up like a
roman candle.

Then
I remember, three days of three after midsummer-that’s the
time-limit Madeline gave me to bring Stephen to her. So… I
have a little time. I have no idea when midsummer is.

A
little tension, not much but a little, slides off. And… I
realize I’ve just been still, staring into Jones’ eyes
(which is
so
awkward).

I
say, “Wow. Um, Jones, I know what just happened in the dressing
room was seriously…
uncomfortable
.
But…” I inhale, “…I have a feeling we’re
going to need each other’s help so that we can get everyone out
of here and find Stephen so I don’t
zombify
,”
I can’t suppress a shiver.

Jones
says, “You’re going to follow my directions, immediately
and without question.”

I
pause, then say, “I think you missed the point I was trying to
make.”

“
This
is not
prom
committee
,
Raven, this is a mission with specific objectives: to get you to
safety, take you to retrieve Stephen Tapper, then, isolate you to
reverse any unrequited feelings for me that you might have been
damaged with by being under the demon’s thrall.”

Mother
fuggler!
I
say, “Trust me; I don’t have any
unrequited
feelings
for you.”

“
We
can’t be sure of that. You need to be quiet, now.” Jones
doesn’t even have the decency to look cocky or smug, just
matter-of-fact.

I
have a momentary, vivid, (beautiful) fantasy of breaking the asuras’
hold and punching Jones in his too-symmetrical face. But a voice
sounding over the speakers cuts off my punching fantasy about Jones.

“
Sa-wat-dee-kraup!”
Räum’s voice calls out again, and again in that forced
high pitched voice. He continues to speak in (what I presume is)
Thai. The crowds of creatures around us shuffle around, their growing
excitement palpable. I don’t know if these colorful horrors
emit some sort of energy or if I’m just having my first ever
panic attack but a tension coils around me, squeezing my chest. At
some cue, that I assume Räum gave, the crowd parts, creating a
clear path, and view, to the fighting ring in the center of the room.

Räum
stands in the middle, holding a microphone that hangs by a long wire
to the middle of the room. His dress, his overall presence, fills up
the ring. His crimson painted lips almost look as if they’re
kissing the microphone. But he’s not alone in the ring. At one
end hovers…

I
jump back hitting the asura-wall behind me. I immediately bend
forward, while hearing Jones possibly coughing, possibly dry-heaving
beside me.

I
look back to the creature, or should I say pieces of a creature. All
she truly looks like is a large disembodied head with wet, internal
matter hanging from her neck. Her giant black eyes are fixed on me
and even from this distance I can see her sharpened canines
descending from her parted lips. Her face looks as if it has too
little skin to spread around, though it has nothing to the
vomit-worthiness of the coils of viscera that hang from her neck.
What looks like her entire digestive tract just sort of trails behind
her. A snake-long tongue snaps between her fangs, in my direction.

Though
I’m probably a hundred yards away, I flinch back. “What
is that
thing
?”
I whisper.

As
if Räum hears my question he says in his affected voice,
“Introducing first, in the crimson corner, weighing in at ten
kilograms is the flesh hungry, blood-thirsty, ravager of the
countryside, the fearsome Kra-Sue!”

The
head-monster smiles, gaze still locked on mine.

“
And
in our blue corner, weighing in at a collective one hundred and
thirty seven kilograms, we have the aesthetically attractive,
audacious duo, Nicholas Tapper and Cassidy Dixon!”

Day
Three (continued)

A
jab in my shoulder, a push toward the ring and my feet stumble from
where they had fastened to the floor.

No.

No.
no. no. no. no. no. no. no…

It’s happening
again! I just keep pulling everyone into Hell with me. I faintly
notice Jones fingers clasping my arm as I’m prodded toward the
center of the gymnasium. All I can register is the abundance of
additional arms and heads sprouting out in all directions.

Some
synthesized instrumental song erupts out of the speakers high above
the center of the fighting ring, and a woman’s voice starts
singing what sounds like a love song in Thai. The figures around me
gyrate in such an organic way, it’s as if Jones and I are being
swallowed down the multicolored esophagus of some giant beast,
stumbling toward the inevitability of being digested.

When
I emerge from the crowd to stagger up the steps that lead to the
center ring I can finally see them; Cassidy Dixon’s broken arm
has darkened to an indigo color, her other arm supports Nicholas.
Nicholas sort-of leans toward Cassidy and the upper rope perimeter of
the ring; though he’s obviously doing his best to hide it, the
angle at which Nicholas’ legs bend can only mean one thing: he
can’t stand on his own.

I
turn to meet the gaze of the fanged, gut trailing, floating head
directly across the enclosure. I swallow down the immediate sizzle of
bile as I meet her too large black pupils. She licks her lips.

A
sudden tug on my shoulder stops my assent up the stairs. Beside me
Jones similarly, though more gracefully, halts.

Räum
lets the Thai song blaring through the speaker continue through a few
high pitched stanzas then the song ceases and he raises the
microphone back to his lips. The high-pitched words that come from
Räum and blare out of the speakers above are likely in Thai.
While speaking he gestures to me then to Jones and then raises his
manicured hands toward the cement ceiling.

The
crowd of colorful freakishly conceived creatures erupts into cheers.
Whatever Räum smiles about, whatever the freaks cheer about, can
only mean one thing for Jones and I: things are about to get worse.
As if Jones shared my thought, his fingers tighten around my forearm.

Räum
stops his Thai speech and settles his gaze on me, expectantly. He
must have given a cue or asked me something, because all the
multicolored eyes of the crowd, of every shape and size, are fixed on
me. Not knowing what I’m supposed to say I let the silence
drag. I rub the sudden gooseflesh out of my arm and clear my throat.
I ask, “What’s going on?” my voice is quieter than
I intend.

Räum’s
hand covers the microphone and the look he levels on me could almost
be sympathetic, if glowing burgundy eyes can look sympathetic. He
says, “I told you, my dear, I appease this horde in blood. The
only power I have over my allies is their passion for the show.”

Nicholas
sort of slides down the ropes of the ring and though Cassidy clutches
him, for the first time the floating vampire-head that Räum had
called the Kra-Sue takes her attention off me to stare hungrily at
Nicholas.

I
want to lunge for Nicholas, but three hands are on me, two from the
asura, and Jones’. “Not much of a show,” I say.
“Nicholas can’t even support his own body weight.”

Räum’s
smile says so much: that he has me precisely where he wants me; that
his plans weren’t at any point derailed, I’ve flown
directly into his Venus fly trap and
snap
.
Snap.
Snap
.
I’m his.

“
Perhaps
we can make a deal,” the words drop from his lips and echo over
the loud speakers. Those words, the words that echo in my mind,
surfacing up from the past, screaming back from the future; those
words, those six little words, are a life sentence.

Jones’
grip goes from a restraint to a tourniquet on my arm.