We stepped inside the house. A biting cold rushed at me and burrowed its way under my skin. I shivered and rubbed my bare arms against the worst of it. My teeth clattered. I should have put on my jacket. But the day had warmed a little, and I didn’t think I’d need it indoors. Why would they keep the house so cold?
My gaze went to the spiral staircase in the center of the parlor. The design reminded me of a cyclone, climbing up into the unknown. Light arrowed down the middle, holding a storm of dust in its beam. Varying shades of turquoise and brown covered the walls. An enormous, ancient grandfather clock sat against the wall leading up the stairs. Embedded in the cherry wood were peacock feathers and striations of gold.
Collette started for the stairs, and I followed. The polished hardwood creaked beneath my feet. A subtle stench of decay and rot filled the air in front of me, and I stopped. I pulled in a deep breath, trying to piece together where the smell could be coming from, but it was gone. Only furniture polish, the strange scent of ozone, and burnt cinnamon filled the air.
Collette glanced over her shoulder, foot suspended between one step and the next. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Just admiring the details.” I paused, curiosity brimming inside of me, ready to burst. “Why the two different names?”
She furrowed her brow in confusion.
“Pagonis Manor and House Eternal?”
She smiled. “You read Greek?”
“I had to look it up,” I admitted.
“Yes, of course.” She turned around fully, letting her hand rest on the banister. “Pagonis is also Greek. It is the name of our organization.” She looked around and smiled. “House Eternal is the place we will all one day reside.” She stared down at me. “Think of it as a prayer.”
“I don’t follow,” I said, my own brow furrowing. Were they a cult?
She shook her head and continued up the stairs. “Please hurry, I’d like you to get settled as soon as possible. We do have a schedule to keep.”
I wanted to protest, ask for more clarification. But my job didn’t require me to know. We continued our trek up the stairs. As we climbed, the temperature dropped even more. Like we were walking into an artic zone. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“It helps preserve the house,” she said, as if I should already have known that. Halfway to the top, my legs were screaming. How could a three-story house have so many stairs?
A man trudged down, meeting us as we rounded another bend. Tall, with curly dark hair that rested at his collar. He wore loose-fitting white linen pants and a turquoise shirt. A peacock pendant hung from a piece of braided rope around his neck. He smiled and dipped his chin in my direction. “Miss,” he said in that same thick accent.
“Hello,” I said, then glanced at Collette.
“Minos, this is Imani Nez Deschene. She will be with us for a few short months helping Molly and Troy assim—adjust to their new environment.” She straightened her shirt and gave me a brief glance, then continued, “I believe she has her belongings with her. Please retrieve them from her car and bring them to her room.”
It was so dang hard not to pounce on her obvious stumble with the word “assimilate”. If I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, I could. Yet, a part of me also believed she knew exactly what she was saying.
This left me with a conundrum. I could leave. Refuse to participate in whatever they were up to. But what about the kids? Who would advocate for them? I could report it. But with what evidence? A misspoken word?
“Is everything alright, Ms. Deschene?” Minos asked, hand extended. I looked at both of them and realized my inner thoughts had made me miss something.
“Yes, of course. I apologize. What did you say?”
“May I have your keys?” He paused, dark eyes studying me. “For your car. So I can get your things.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my keys, only to stop before handing them over. “I can help.”
He took my keys. “No. It’s my job.”
Before I could protest further, he made his way down the stairs. Humming what sounded like a nursey rhyme along the way. A stray string of words carried up to me: “. . . to power the clock.” Maybe it wasn’t so much a cult as people who were obsessed with time.
When we finally reached the top floor, I bent over and looked back the way we came. It didn’t look like a long way up, but my thighs were screaming at me, and my breaths had grown shallow and labored. As I leaned against the banister, catching my breath, my gaze snagged on the spot directly in the middle of the floor. A faint image of that strange clock had been embedded in the wood. Those ruby, evil eyes of the peacock held me in its gaze.
Cold, tiny hands pushed at my back. I stumbled, catching myself at the last second. I whipped around, eyes narrowing as I stared at Collette. There was no way she could have touched me and moved away so quickly. Had I imagined the sensation?
“You should be careful so close to the edge,” Collette said. “Many have fallen to their death standing right where you are.”
I eased back, eyes glued to hers. Was she threatening me? Or warning me? Her gaze said it could be either. But her tone said it was the former.
She smiled. “I would never let you fall, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, face blank.
She jerked her head toward the hallway. “Come. We really do need to keep on schedule.”
After a brief hesitation, I followed, still trying to puzzle out what just happened.
* * *
From the outside, the top floor looked like a bell tower. Instead of a round structure, our climb led us into a short hallway with four rooms. Along the right side sat a single door, slightly ajar. Collette led me into the room.
“This will be your room for the next two months.”
Pale turquoise walls infused with gold filigree adornments greeted me. A single bed with plush pillows and more turquoise rested against the wall near the door. Directly across from it was a small desk with a window above it. Hardwood floors covered the entire space.
The room was a bit small, but at least the bed looked comfy. I might go a little insane staring at the varying shades of turquoise all over the place. But I only had to work here for two months.
I walked farther into the room and stopped. It was a bit warmer in here. Surprising given the frigid temperature circling the rest of the house. But that wasn’t what had me puzzled. It was the smell, a strange sort of musty, floral scent at war with the stench of ozone after a storm. Yet the window was closed—and nailed shut. Strange.
Footsteps had me turning. Minos walked into the room carrying my suitcase and laptop bag. How the hell had he gotten up here so fast? He set my luggage near the desk and stood there, staring at the window. After a beat, he handed me my keys, then walked out of the room.
“Thanks,” I called out belatedly.
“Yes,” Collette said and eased the door closed. “I must give you a few instructions on their care. Do you wish to write them down?”
I hesitated, then pulled a notepad and pen from my purse. “Okay,” I said, mind still on Minos’s odd behavior. Why was he staring at the window? More importantly, why was it nailed shut?
“At 6:25 p.m. sharp, Molly and Troy will exit their rooms. At no time shall you enter their space, nor shall they enter yours.” She paused, eyes on my notepad as if to be sure I was writing it down. “Since introductions will take some time, we will have to wait until you all arrive in the dining hall. Once they have eaten all of their food, it will be time for their baths.” She opened the door and motioned for me to follow.
I stepped out into the hall, gaze lingering on the two doors opposite mine. Affixed to each door was a number—twelve and thirteen. A single long peacock feather, with the ocelli visible, ran down the length of the dark wood. I suppressed a chill and continued down the hall after Collette.
She motioned for me to enter a large bathroom. I almost let out an audible sigh at the absence of turquoise. Pale gold walls with intricate details painted on them covered the entire space. A large Roman bathtub sat on a dais in the middle of the floor. Clay pots filled with plants surrounded it. The air smelled of cardamon and mint, with just a hint of almond.
A long sink with three washbasins ran along the right wall, and two windows sat directly across from them, gold curtains framing them.
“This is really extravagant,” I said.
Collette grinned. “Before the Romans introduced society to the bathhouses, we Greeks also bathed in luxury. A gift from the goddess Hera to her most loyal subjects.”
What? I’d never heard that before. Hera was the goddess of motherhood, family, and marriage, not bathhouses. Did The Pagonis Society pull from another pagan practice and superimpose it on their own worship of Hera?
“Umm . . . okay,” I said, still puzzling through the answer and wondering if it really mattered anyway. “So, the children and I share this bathroom?”
“Yes, it is imperative they take baths in this tub using the oil from this jar.” She pointed to a clay jar on a small table at the head of the tub. “You will have to supply your own bathing oil.”
“You mean . . . soap?” I asked.
She furrowed her brow. “Yes, yes. Soap.” She smiled. “At 7:30 sharp, they must bathe in warm water and the oil.”
“What kind of oil is it? Bubble bath?”
“Bubble bath?” she asked, then paused. “No. It is oil. For cleansing.”
This was getting a little . . . strange. Why so many odd rules? And what the hell was up with the oil? She signaled for me to follow her out. We went back into my room, and she shut the door again.
She sighed, clasping her hands in front of her. “I must warn you now,” she said after a while. “The children still wish to return to their old lives and will demand to leave. We’ve had to lock the doors at night to prevent them from getting out of the house. They may attempt to run away. It was why we decided to hire a night nanny.” She studied me. “It can be sad seeing them in distress, and you may even want to take them outside. But they cannot leave.”
“Not even to play with the other children? Surely getting some fresh air wouldn’t hurt.”
Her eyes rounded. “Oh, but it will. I have a strict regime for a reason. I’ve been doing this sort of work for what seems like forever. If rules are not implemented and followed, then chaos ensues, and the children . . . they don’t . . . thrive?”
Why would she phrase that as a question?
“Okay. So no going out. Got it.”
“Do you need a stopwatch or timer to keep you on schedule?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I think I can manage.”
“Good. After they bathe, they may spend some time reading downstairs. We have a vast library. But they must be in their rooms at 9:30 sharp. Not a minute later. Once they are inside, they must stay until breakfast. I will take care of the schedule in the morning. You are only to keep watch during the night.”
I finished jotting down notes and looked up at her. “Is there any reason I can’t meet them now?”
Collette shook her head and opened the door. “Spend time, as I said, getting your space in order. If you need anything, just ask Minos. He is here to aid us.” She walked out and shut the door.
I stared at it for a moment, willing the exchange to make sense. When it didn’t, I looked at my notes. Nope. Still didn’t make sense.
What I mostly got hung up on was why I couldn’t meet the kids I was caring for. And why such an odd schedule. Warm bath in the oil at 7:30? What if they bathed in cold water? Or with bubble bath? How would that hurt their ability to thrive? And honestly, I didn’t think that was the word she’d meant to use. No, we both knew what word she’d wanted to say.
Something was off. I could feel it deep in my bones.