Page 12 of Incarnate

An orange hue overcomes the fruit, my stomach bottoming out. Oh, oh no… I lift my gaze, whimpering slightly, to see the eyes are glowing orange.

My lips part as I nearly hyperventilate.

The stony head tilts, the sound deep and rumbling. “Mandarin…” he says, the sound reverberating throughout, the voice deep and enchanting, yet cold as the stone of his statue.

“Yes,” I say. Oh, fuck.

I’m dead, aren’t I? I just died! How is this my luck? It hasn’t even been a full day in this Underworld, and now I’m stuck in this pickle!

There are no pupils in his eyes, just glowing warmth, and I can’t fully tell if he’s staring at me or around me. The fingers of his hand jerk. “Come here,” he drawls out, like he hasn’t spoken through this statue in decades. “Come to me, tempest.”

P E N E L O P E

What shocks me the most isn’t the fear. It’s that my instinct is to listen to him as he utters those words.

That can’t be good? Or is it how his powers work? Can he hypnotize me?

“I, um, I need to go,” I say, rising to my feet. There’s a pull to his carved figure, and I don’t want to wait to find out why. I just need another human to devote to him, so he can forget all about me. When there’s not an immediate reply, I turn around and help myself to the exit.

Once back in the dark cavern, I focus entirely on the platform, moving quickly enough that my hair flows behind me. I nearly leap onto the metal contraption, which immediately starts to rise to my great relief.

My brows furrow as I feel like I betrayed something just now. Oh no, what if I did? What if I’m supposed to obey his hypnosis?

Fucking Margaret didn’t tell me anything!

Many small creatures scurry out, ones that look like wolves but are hairless and have short snouts. They also use their hands, grabbing at me, but I continue to ascend as they hiss and bark. Heavy footsteps echo from the room, my breath hitching as the statue steps through the archway, the thing moving as if it’s too heavy to do so swiftly, his head craning up at me. When he spots me, he stays like that before the eyes stop glowing.

I lose sight of him once I’m high enough, getting off the platform like it’s covered in cockroaches as others watch me. All the other cages have humans standing them, as if waiting for it to work.

I go to my docent, who is intensely studying me, some of the anesthesia returning as the concrete fear starts to transform into sand, like I just took a… oh, it doesn’t matter what pills I took. “He told me to come to him,” I pant, trying to take advantage of the sedative effect. “The statue tried following me, too, but I—well, you didn’t tell me what to do if he followed me!”

“Penelope,” Margaret quietly says. “He is not supposed to move.”

My knees weaken, my resolve dissolving as my docent seems almost afraid of me. “I shouldn’t have walked away, should I? I’m in trouble. I know it. What’s wrong with my soul? Who cursed me?”

Some of the creatures climb out, and I scream when I see them. “Seize that one,” a creature says, its voice guttural.

Margaret does so immediately, her hands warm against my arms. “I knew something was wrong with you.”

“No, please,” I plead. The shift in Margaret is frightening as she drags me away, her grip so strong that I’m not sure if it’s to protect or punish me, her effect on me dulling the majority of the fear.

Then, the old crone steps out from the fruit stands. “House her in my shop! I knew something was off with her! I’ll get a Reaper carriage ready.”

Margaret forces me forward, a few of those demonic creatures following us, bickering in another language I don’t understand. “What are they saying?” I ask.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Margaret coldly replies.

“I thought all language was understandable,” I plead. Is this all a lie? Is this where the dream changes?

“Earthen ones, yes.” Her tone is clipped enough that I remain silent as I’m guided into the shop. Bonhilda mutters something to the creatures, and they all begin shuttering the windows, fruit spilling from where they climb.

Margaret pushes me forward, releases me, and shuts the door behind her.

Bonhilda stands in front of me, digging into her cloak’s pocket to pull out something spherical and dark purple. She spreads her skin around her empty eye socket, popping it in, blinking a few times as a white iris slowly rolls into place. She looks me over with more scrutiny. “What does Kallúm want with her?”

Margaret paces around us. “I don’t know. Although now I worry. I don’t want this to somehow be my fault for not catching something.”

“Margaret, go speak to Kallúm’s statue. She is your novus, therefore your responsibility. If it’s a true anomaly, you will not be at fault. But you will be guilty of hiding from him.”