Chapter 5 No.5

The limousine crunched over the gravel driveway and came to a halt in front of the main entrance. A line of staff stood waiting. They weren't smiling.

Higgins opened the door. Out.

Serena stumbled out, her heels sinking into the gravel. The air here was colder, damper.

At the top of the stone steps stood a woman. She was impeccable. Her white suit was tailored to within an inch of its life. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a chignon so tight it pulled her face into a permanent expression of disdain.

Victoria Sterling. The stepmother. The Queen.

She didn't come down to greet Serena. She had to walk up to her.

Serena stopped two steps below her, forcing herself to look up. Hi, she said. I'm Serena.

Victoria didn't answer. She reached out with a gloved hand and grabbed Serena's chin. Her grip was iron. She turned Serena's face left, then right.

The skin is decent, she said to Higgins, as if Serena were a horse she was considering buying. But the hair is atrocious. Burn it off and start over.

Yes, Madame, Higgins said.

Victoria released her. She wiped her glove on her thigh. Take her to the West Wing. Do not bring her into the main house. I have guests coming for the gala on Saturday, and I don't want them to see... this.

But... aren't we having a wedding? Serena asked stupidly.

Victoria laughed. It was a cold, dry sound. She snapped her fingers, and a man in a grey suit stepped forward from the shadows of the foyer. He held a leather binder.

"This is Judge Miller," Victoria said, her voice dripping with boredom. "He has already processed the license in your absence. You are legally bound to this family as of twenty minutes ago. The state requires a witness, and Higgins has sufficed."

She looked at Serena with eyes that promised suffering. "There is no cake. There is no party. There is just you, and your duty."

She turned on her heel and walked into the house. The heavy oak doors slammed shut.

Higgins gestured to the left. This way.

They walked along the side of the house, down a path that was overgrown with ivy. The West Wing was separated from the main house by a long, glass-enclosed corridor. The windows were barred.

As they walked, the air changed. It smelled of antiseptic and mold. The silence was heavy.

Higgins stopped at a steel door. There was a keypad and a retinal scanner. He leaned in, his eye washed in red light.

Access Granted.

The door hissed open.

Inside, it looked less like a home and more like a high-security psychiatric ward. The walls were white padding. The floors were linoleum. Cameras were mounted in every corner, their red LEDs blinking.

Higgins turned to her. Listen carefully, Ms. Vance. Beyond this point, you are on your own. The West Wing is automated. Food comes through the secure slot. Medications are dispensed remotely. The panic button is on the wall by the door. If you press it, security will come, but it will take them three minutes.

Three minutes? she squeaked.

A lot can happen in three minutes, Higgins said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card. This opens his room. Do not go in unless he is restrained. Do not turn your back on him. Do not give him anything sharp.

Serena took the card. Her hand was shaking. Is he... is he in there now?

Higgins nodded toward the end of the hall.

Good luck, Ms. Vance. Try not to provoke him. The last one lost an ear.

Higgins turned and walked out. The steel door slammed shut behind him. The lock engaged with a heavy thud that echoed in her bones.

She was alone.

She stood in the hallway, listening.

At first, there was nothing. Then, from the room at the very end of the hall, she heard a sound.

It was the sound of chains dragging across the floor. And then, a low, guttural growl that didn't sound human at all.