Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,35

goal between us now, is it not?

You have free rein of my home. You may explore the house and the gardens as you wish, with some exceptions. The lower floors are entirely off-limits. Should I catch you wandering where you are not supposed to be, well, then I would not be very happy at all. I’ll take the opportunity to remind you that you will not like the consequences of making me unhappy.

I have been patient with you, but do not think to test that.

My guards will send for you when I require your attentions. Until then, be happy, my sweet girl.

Your faithful servant,

Baron

Three times I read the letter, the same points standing out to me each time.

You have free rein of my home.

So… I am not a prisoner then. Well, I guess I am. But I am not to stay locked inside this room, at least.

That’s good.

It means I can study the place and learn if there are any weak spots or means to escape.

I still haven’t exactly worked out where I am escaping to, but I will. Hopefully. If Baron answers some of my questions. I will need to be careful in how I word things, but I’ve been careful my whole life. I know I can do it.

The second thing, though.

When I require your attentions.

Something about the wording is strange, and I can’t really put my finger on why. Then again, most things that come out of his mouth are strange. He doesn’t speak the way most people do. He is clearly intelligent, and the fact he can read and write, like me, means he’s had schooling. From what I understand, that is quite a rarity.

Yes, he is definitely different. But how? Why?

My mind is struggling to fit all the pieces together, and my stomach is growling. I can’t remember the last time I had something to eat. I fold the letter up and put it away inside the writing desk, still not sure if I’ll reply. He hinted that I should, but I don’t really have anything to write to him.

I cast a glance toward the pile of books he left for me. His personal favorites. It is hard to imagine a man like Baron reads books, let alone has favorites. I’m not that well-read. The things I learned of the world came mostly from old magazines and newspapers, not books. Books, like women and artwork, are a rarity—the ones that still survive holed up and locked away in private collections.

There are two books in the pile, one black and one an aged red color. It is the red one that draws my eye. I lift the black one off first, East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and uncover Cupid and Psyche.

I’ll read them later.

With that sorted, I wash myself in the cold shower and put on some clothes, then I slip out of the room into the dark corridor and try to remember which way is downstairs.

Baron was not exaggerating when he told me his house was difficult to navigate. The building seems to go on forever, with corridors that lead to dead ends and stairwells that have been bricked up.

It doesn’t help that the lighting is so temperamental. One minute it is on, and then the only warning before being plunged into darkness is a few flickers before you’re scrambling to find the nearest wall.

I don’t like this place.

The carnival is a maze too, of course. But it’s a maze I ran a thousand times as a child. I knew the layout like the back of my hand. Here, every time I think I’ve begun to get my bearings, I turn a corner and see the opposite of what I was expecting to see.

People avert their eyes when they see me coming. I ask for directions, and they pretend I don’t exist.

I wander for hours in search of the kitchen to find some food, and by the time I find it, I’m weak with hunger and feel nauseous.

A man gestures for me to sit down, without saying a word or even glancing at me. Some time later, he returns with two salted boiled eggs and an apple. I don’t think I have ever eaten so quickly in my life.

Feeling slightly better, I continue on with my plan of trying to find my bearings.

If I can just get back to the main entrance, then there is a door that will lead me outside.

I check doors on the way, many of which are