past him to the door, the spirits bow their head in silent acceptance and then, as one, they vanish.
I feel a hollowness in my chest as they do, a cold loss as their collective pain washes over me.
My skin itches and my nerves feel raw being so close to Dr. Cutter as I follow him back to my prison. From this angle, I am finally afforded a view of Le Rêve.
On the outside, the structure looks like nothing more than the ruins of a castle sitting atop a mountain surrounded by the ocean. The lower hospital must have been built within the mountain itself, a secret underground holding.
At the entrance, I hesitate, but even if I tried to resist, there’s nowhere to run. Nothing but a cliff’s edge and a fatal drop to a rocky beach. Resigned, I follow Dr. Cutter back inside my prison.
The moment we walk through the door and it locks shut behind us, the air becomes stifling, full of dust, death, and lost dreams.
I glance back longingly at the exit, wishing I could have had a few more minutes with Dr. Livingstone, a few more minutes under the stars with the smell of the ocean filling me.
Instead, I am escorted up yet another flight of drab stairs and down a series of halls I honestly can’t say if I saw five minutes ago or never.
The genius of this place is that every corridor looks exactly the same.
By the time we reach our destination, I’m past fear and well into irritation. This man—whoever he is—interrupted my only moment of freedom in days. Maybe weeks. Or even months.
Time is the real dream in this place of nightmares.
I don’t want to sit in his creepy office with his creepy snake and talk about my feelings. And I’m just about to snap and tell him so when I step through the door he’s opened.
But I stop short.
My eyes are wide as I take in the space.
The room, a library of sorts, is a combination of sterile and stately. Not a speck of dust mars the luxury that has been packed into this small space. Dr. Cutter waves me forward, and I step onto a plush rug laid over hardwood that gleams in the soft light. A fire crackles cheerily from a fireplace cut from stone in the center of the far wall, and the man gestures towards it.
“Please have a seat,” he says, pointing at the set of cushioned chairs positioned before the fireplace.
I sit stiffly, trying not to show how dreamy the warmth feels against my constantly chilled skin. Or the velvety softness of the cushions against my backside.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Corbin Cutter. I am the founder and CEO of Le Rêve, a hospital for the supernaturally unwell.”
I roll my eyes. A hospital my ass.
"Tell me, Celeste, if I may call you that?”
I shrug, not really sure how to answer. I don't want him calling me anything. Is that an option?
"How are you enjoying your stay at Le Rêve?"
The question is so absurd and out of left field I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself. "Are you for real right now?" I ask.
"Quite," he says in all seriousness.
"Definitely a one star Yelp review. Would not recommend."
He chuckles at that. "I can appreciate your hesitation in embracing your role here.
“What do you want, Dr. Cutter?” I ask as he pours two glasses of champagne from a cart along the wall.
Behind him, and stretching around three of the four walls, built-in bookcases are filled to the brim with books and treasures and trinkets—including some pieces that I could swear date back to the paleolithic era.
“Please, just Corbin.”
He approaches, a smile still fixed on his harsh face, and holds a flute of champagne out for me.
I take it if only to refocus him on my question.
“All right. What do you want, Corbin?”
He sits and crosses his legs, eying me.
I wait, refusing to drink or speak or even blink first.
“I thought it was time you and I had a private chat about why you’re really here.”
“You mean you’re going to tell me why you kidnapped me?”
My question is full of snark and meant to bait him, but he doesn’t even blink.
“Do you believe in magic, Miss D’LeLune?”
“I believe I’m not crazy.” Sometimes, at least. Other times? Not so much, but I refuse to show him my doubt.