"Henry?" Her voice echoed lightly through the darkness.
He scuttled back into the crack. Maybe if he didn't look, she wouldn't see him. Maybe if he didn't look at the light, he wouldn't be compelled to seek it. But the light called to him. He hungered for it even as she called his name again.
"Henry, don't be a bad boy. Why are you hiding from me? Henry?" Her voice was light and teasing.
He could almost taste the sweetness of her touch. He could almost taste the water she brought him, clean and tasting of fresh air and growing things and sunlight. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes with his hands. He had to resist. He had to fight the compulsion.
"Henry? You must come out now."
She was coming closer. The light pressed on him, urging him out of hiding. He shuddered. The urge built inside him. He had to feel her touch. He had to have the drugs she used on him. It would cost him his clarity, hard won over the last while. She left it almost too long. He almost remembered who he was.
"Henry, come out now or I will be displeased." Her voice was harder.
He shoved his hands against his eyes. He couldn't look. If he caught even a glimpse of the light he would lose whatever gains he had made. He would lose his mind again. He was so close.
"You are a naughty boy, Henry," she said, just outside his hole in the rocks.
He heard her feet as she walked lightly over the stones. She bent down, her dress rustling around her. He had to look, he couldn't resist. His hands slipped down.
White light, shimmering pure light, washed over and through him. She was there, his angel, his demon, bending down to peer into his hiding place, spilling her light over him. He whimpered. He had lost again. Her light filled him, pulling him out of his hole. He crawled to her, like an animal, to crouch at her feet.
"I should punish you, Henry." She stroked his head.
He shivered at her touch. He craved it. He needed her to touch him, to bring the oblivion only she could offer. He didn't want to remember who he was. He didn't want to know what he had done. He didn't know what betrayal he had committed and he never wanted to remember. He whimpered and pressed his face to her leg, begging for her touch.
"You are no longer useful to me. You do know that, don't you? I should let you die. But I find I have grown fond of you. Perhaps I shall let you live a while longer. Or is there more you have not told me? Perhaps there is some small scrap of knowledge you have overlooked?"
Her fingernails traced patterns across his skin. He shuddered. The drugs under her nails worked quickly. He found his memory coming clear. He backed away from her as he remembered.
"What have you done to me?" he whispered, shocked at the depth she had pushed him to.
"You know, Henry. You remember everything you have ever told me. Think very hard. Tell me anything you have overlooked and I will reward you with pleasure such as you have not felt before." She leaned towards him, smiling seductively. She held out her hand, her fingernails glittering silver in the light that leaked from her gown, filling the air around her with a soft mistiness.
Scholar swallowed. He wanted the drug she offered. He was addicted. He hated himself for that weakness. He had given her almost everything. He closed his eyes, shutting her out.
"You would rather die? One drug cancels out the other. The one that lets you remember will kill you. The other one allows you to live, but it robs you of your memory. Tell me something useful and I will allow you to live. Fight me, run from me, and I will let the drug kill you. It is excruciatingly painful." She smiled, sweet and innocent and light. "Your choice, Henry."
"I've told you everything," he said hoarsely. It was true, he realized. She had wrung every ounce of knowledge out of him. Except for one name. He had never told her who he protected.
"Not everything. Tell me who sent you searching for me."
"I told you, I work for Lowell." He wanted the drug. He tried to fight the craving.
"That isn't what I asked." She stepped closer, her skirt whispered over the stone. She placed one dainty foot on the rock where he crouched. He stared at it. "Who is the one you are trying to protect? Who is it I am not supposed to know about?"
He smelled her perfume, a hint of ice and open sky. She leaned over him. She spread her hand in front of his face.
"Life or death, Scholar, your choice." Her voice was a whisper over his skin, her breath touched him and he shivered.
"There is no one, only Lowell. And I've told you about him."
"You lie to me. Who is she? Tell me the truth, not the lies everyone else tells about her."
He shook his head, backing away from her. "She has nothing to do with this."
"So you admit there is a woman involved. Tell me who she is, love." Her finger traced a light spiral on his cheek.
He shivered and leaned into her touch. She moved her hand back, laughing teasingly.
"Not so easy, my sweet Henry. Tell me her name."
He looked into her face. She was so beautiful. She was so deadly. He couldn't fight her any longer. He had no idea how much time had passed. Long enough that his clothes were worn to rags and his body was nothing but bones. He needed her drug. He closed his eyes in defeat.
"Dace," he whispered.
"Dace," she echoed him. "Why do you still protect her? She left you here. She abandoned you to die here."
He shook his head in mute denial.
"Tell me why she should matter to you."
"I promised to protect her." He felt the shivers inside, warning of pain and convulsions. "Please, you promised me the drug. Make me forget, Lady, please."
"I should make you live with your pain. Betrayal is bitter, isn't it?"
She moved away from him, turning her back on him. He fought the impulse to throw himself after her, clutch at her skirt, beg for the drug.
"You wouldn't know, being shut down here," she said, almost to herself. She turned back to him, her skirt whirling around her. "The woman, Dace, is long gone. She left you here to die. She has returned to her friends. Or so she believed."
"What happened?" Scholar demanded. "What have you done to her?"
Her smile was cruel, mocking his pain. "I have done nothing. Others have found revenge on her. Your pathetic attempt to shield her amuses me. You may live. For a while longer."
He backed away. He wanted to die. Was everything he had done and believed in worthless? Had Lowell lost? Did he dare believe her mocking words? He shook his head, mute denial of everything she tried to make him into.
"You want my touch," she crooned. "Come, beg me for it."
He shook his head, crawling further into the darkness. Her eyes flashed with anger. She crossed the rocks and struck him across the face. Her nails clawed his skin.
"You will never defy me," she said. "You live and die at my whim. Never forget that."
He curled up on the rock. Sobs racked him. He could feel the drug working in him. His mind was going fuzzy. He was forgetting. All except the hate he had for himself and for the witch who kept him imprisoned in the dark stone world.
"Poor Henry," she whispered. She bent over him, her hand smoothing his cheek. "Poor sweet love. Sleep now. Dream of me."
She kissed his cheek, a brush of lip over his skin. He wanted to strike her, knock her away like the poisonous snake she was. The drug denied him that. He did as she bid. He closed his eyes, feeling his mind slipping away.
She was leaving, the light fading around her. He crouched in the dark and cried, for the loss of her touch, for the loss of himself, and for his own betrayal.