Page 44 of The Witch's Heart
"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 atLe 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.
“Of course not.”
“Nor am I in need of some kind of cure.”
“Naturally.”
Something about his easy answers unsettle me.
“Did I really kill someone? Or was that part of the charade to make me think I deserved all this?”
He doesn’t look surprised by my question. I’m beginning to wonder if anything ruffles this guy.
Reaching into a drawer in the end table beside him, he produces a file and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
When he doesn’t say anything, I open it and frown at the photo on top. A multi-level flat engulfed in angry, orange-red flames takes up the entire picture. I flip to the next photo and see it’s the same flat; now nothing but burnt framework and the littered remains of people’s charred belongings. The third photo is taken from a distance, offering a clear look at the surrounding apartments and the street below.
I gasp.
