“It’s interesting to me,” Benno said as they passed through a sitting room—cramped with dusty, antique, furniture, its walls lined with dark portraits of austere men and women, a fire burning in the mantle—and into a hallway that branched into additional rooms, with a staircase leading upward. “That these people who Sul gave all this power to, that they choose to use it to control other people. I wonder which came first. The power, or the need to control.”

Onus peered through a doorway, then looked up the stairs. “After a second of consideration, I will say that Sul’s Wardens had an interest in power and control long before they crossed paths with Sul itself. Though I can say it has only grown worse.”

The stairs creaked as they ascended. There were additional paintings lining the wall of the staircase: A snowy clearing carved with animal footprints; A frozen pond, with a hole caved near its middle; A buck standing amidst a thuck of briar, his antlers molting; A rocky crag draped in ice; A ball of snakes.

At the second floor landing was another hallway, and more doors, all closed. The doors’ white paint was cracked, and the knobs were bruised and calcified. There was a hall-length carpet, stained with dark splotches, the smell of mold rising from it. Beneath the carpet: a sooty concrete floor.

“Maybe we should return to the kitchen,” Onus said.

Benno shot him a look.

“I’m joking, of course.” Onus offered a placating smile. “Of course I’m joking…”

It was impossible to mute their footfalls on the hallway’s old floors. It didn’t matter anyway, Benno figured. Still, the house’s—or whatever it was—refusal to allow them undetected passage made him uneasy. He may not be in any physical danger, but Onus was. And Holes was. And as he well knew, it wasn’t just a body that could be injured.

They slowed to a stop outside the first door.

“What is it we should be looking for?” Benno asked, pressing his ear against the door’s flindering paint, where he was met only with silence.

“We’ll know it when we see it,” Onus said, then turned his ear toward the far extremity of the hallway. “That sound…” Benno listened. Wind chimes. Or damp bells. Like change jangling in a pocket.

Onus shook his head as if to disperse a spell of dizziness. “Shall we?” He gestured for Benno to proceed through the door.

#

They were met with warmth and the enchanting aroma of something baking.

A quaint country mudroom. Robins egg wallpaper and light-wood wainscoting. A handmade wooden bench against one wall and a coatrack standing beside it. A circular, pinkish rug in the middle of the floor, frayed from decades of use, with two sets of icy, muddy footprints across it—one Benno’s size, one much larger—leading off through the only doorway. An old BB gun—like the kind Benno remembered from his youth—leaning against the wall. Old brass light fixtures with incandescent bulbs cast soft orange light. A general sense of nostalgia.

Onus and Benno shared a grave look.

“Looks familiar,” said Benno.

“Trust nothing,” Onus said.

From somewhere nearby, a woman wept softly.

Benno turned around and looked back out the door they’d just come through. Instead of the hallway at the top of the stairs, he was dismayed to find he was looking into a mudroom, with robins egg wallpaper. The same room in which they stood.

Stuck.

“We might’ve fucked up, here,” he said.

“That’s why we put a timer on.” Onus patted his pants pocket where, presumably, his Gemstoke was stored.

Benno nodded, uneasy, and shut the door. Then he led them into the kitchen.

Mara stood at the chambers stove, her yellow oven mitt-clad hands dangling at her sides, her face downturned, her shoulders heaving with sobs. For a long time she didn’t notice Benno and Onus. Then she looked up to wipe her eyes with her forearm, and when she did she gasped.

“Oh!” She blinked at the two men, then smiled. “You came back. I’m so happy.” She smoothed her dress and sniffled. “The cake is almost ready. Why don’t you two have a seat.” She indicated the table.

Benno looked at Onus.

Onus shrugged. “We may have to play this out,” he said.

Benno ran his hand down the length of his beard. Onus had prepared him for strangeness—this Warden had earned the moniker The Trickster, after all—but he’d underestimated just how frustrating it might be. Frustrating in numerous ways. If Benno could just get his hands on Kerr, they could move on. But of course Kerr knew this. He wanted to hide. He wanted to play games.

The two men sat at the table across from one another, Onus with his back to Mara.

When Mara stretched to retrieve plates from the top shelf, Benno took the opportunity to pull the curtains aside and peer out the window, where he was met only with darkness.

“I think this might be the best cake I’ve ever made,” Mara said as the timer screeched and she bent over to retrieve the cake from the oven. “So fluffy.”

“Where’s Zev?” Onus asked, his eyes fixed on Benno.

Mara sniffled some more as she removed her oven mitts and tossed them on the stove. “I don’t know,” she said. “He went off somewhere. I think I upset him.”

“How’d you do that?” Onus asked, his voice barely masking his unease.

Mara took a slow breath and pushed her hair back from her face. “I told him I wanted to get pregnant,” she said. “That I wanted to start a family. He wasn’t happy. I think he hates children.” She turned back to the stove and started cutting the cake. “How about you two?” she asked over her shoulder. “Do you like children?”

Onus looked at Benno.

“I do,” said Benno.

“Do you have any?” Mara placed a piece of steaming cake on a plate.

Benno’s fingers drummed on the table. “Yes,” he said.

“I’ll bet you’re a great dad.” Mara carried two plates to the table and set them down in front of Benno and Onus. “And what about you?” she asked the Lonely Son.

“Yes,” Onus said. “I have daughters.”

“That’s sweet. How many?”

“Hundreds.”

Mara whistled. “You’ve been busy.” She looked from Onus to Benno, her eyes bloodshot, then slapped her forehead. “Forks!” She scurried to a drawer, her dress jouncing. “I’m so distracted right now, with everything going on.” She returned to the table and placed down two forks, then sat abruptly on Benno’s lap.

Benno tensed.

“Oh my.” Mara’s lips toyed with a smile. “Is that your father’s revolver in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Benno fought the urge to throw her off of him.

“Careful,” Mara said. “Or you’ll shoot your eye out.” She winked.

Benno frowned, and a thought started to form, or a feeling that he was missing something. But then Holes peeked out from his collar, and Mara gasped.

“And who is this?” she asked.

Benno guided the flower back into concealment. “So how long have you been here, Mara?” he asked.

Mara’s smile vanished, and her eyes filled with tears. “That’s not something you ask,” she said. “It’s very rude.”

“I’m sorry.” Benno cleared his throat.

A moment passed, Mara’s wet, red eyes boring into Benno’s. Then her smile returned, and she shifted her weight on his lap. “So are you gonna taste it?” she asked, scooting the plate closer to Benno.

“I don’t eat,” Benno said.

“That’s so sad.” She traced the edge of the pyramid protruding from Benno’s forehead. “Well at least you have your trophy.” She looked at Onus. “What about you? Do you eat?”

Onus picked up his fork. “Sure,” he said. “I eat.” He cut a piece of cake, but then left it sitting on his plate and glanced at Benno.

Benno shook his head.

“Eat it,” Mara said, extending her leg under the table so her bare foot prodded Onus’ crotch.

Onus fumbled with the fork and jammed the piece of cake into his mouth.

Mara watched him chew.

“It’s good,” Onus said, nodding.

Mara stood up from Benno’s lap and strolled toward Onus, gliding her fingertips on the edge of the table. “It’s my mother’s recipe.” She stopped and leaned forward, planting her hands on the tabletop. “I have a thought,” she said. “It might be crazy, but hear me out…” She leaned forward further, her dress’s fabric drooping. “Maybe one of you could do it.”

Onus glanced at Benno. “Do what?” he asked.

Tears overfilled Mara’s eyelids and dropped from her cheeks, leaving damp splotches on the tablecloth. “Maybe one of you could…” Her mouth split into a horrible grimace as more tears issued forth. “Maybe one of you…” She stood back and turned around. “Forget it. You would never agree.” She walked in a tight circle, shaking her head. “There’s something wrong with him. He doesn’t think right. How could you hate children? The whole point of being alive is to have children. We’re wired to want children.” She stopped and turned back to the table, putting her hands on her hips. “Or is it me?” she asked. “Is there something wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough?”

Onus shoved another piece of cake into his mouth.

“You’re pretty,” Benno said.

“Then what is it? Does he think I won’t be a good mother? Am I lacking some maternal qualities that he’s looking for in a mate?”

Benno shrugged. “I don’t know you that well,” he said, then added: “But I think you’d make a fine mother.”

Mara nodded, her tears gathering in the ditch of her lips. “Thank you,” she said. “I know I would. I know I will. And if it won’t be Zev, then…” Again she approached the table, and again she leaned forward, this time drawing her face close to Benno’s. “You do it,” she said, her breath sweet and sour at once. “He’ll never know. And it doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll just… I’ll put something in his cake and he’ll go to sleep forever. Then it will just be us. You are such a good father, Permanent. You can do it all again, correct all your past mistakes. There’s nothing but time.” She turned to Onus. “Or you. It is your obligation, after all, to spawn progeny. You would simply be doing the work that your body was machined to do. Cock of Horus. I’ll even promise you a son.” She looked back and forth between the two men, her red eyes flooded with tears. “I’m ovulating,” she said.

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Onus’ fork clacked on his plate.

Benno stood. “We’re gonna do another take,” he said, grabbing Onus by his sleeve and pulling him to his feet.

Mara stood back as they hurried from the kitchen.

“I think I’m starting to understand,” Benno said, dragging Onus behind him into the sitting room. “It’s a scene, but we’re not the ones—”

They stopped in their tracks.

Zev stood at the mantle, his back to them, his shorts around his knees. His arm pumped vigorously at the front of his waist, his arm flexing.

“Die…” he muttered, his face angled at the crepitating flames. “Die…”

Benno and Onus sidled along the wall toward the hallway.

“Die…” Zev’s arm pumped faster. “Die! Die!” He heaved, and the fire hissed.

Benno and Onus rushed to the stairs. The paintings on the wall were different now: A snowy clearing marred with entrails; A baby bird, dead atop a tangle of roots; A dark shack nestled in briar, a white triangle scrawled on its door; A buck mounting a doe, their faces looking back at Benno, their eyes wet and creased with misery.

“Let’s try a different door,” Benno said, leading Onus down the landing and into the sooty, narrow hallway.

“Can you explain to me your thinking?” Onus asked, trailing.

Benno stopped at the door after the one they’d already entered. “Not really… When I was in August’s Bathhouse, I noticed something. His chattel, as he referred to them—the people there—all had the same, crying eyes.”

Onus looked down, nodding. Knowing.

“I assumed at the time it was simply because they were miserable,” Benno continued. “And I’m sure it was—at least in part. But there was something about it, the way their eyes expressed one thing while the rest of them expressed something else… That’s how the Wardens control people. Not how, but a symptom of it. That’s how you can tell. By their eyes.”

“Like Mara.”

“And Zev.”

“So what does that mean?”

Benno fingered the knob on the second door. “One of my favorite movies—well, me and Holes’ favorite movies, was The Shining.”

“Of course,” said Onus. “I know it well.”

Benno chuckled. “Well there you go, Holes.”

Holes grinned out from Benno’s collar.

“Anyway,” Benno went on. “Back when I was a kid, I used to watch that movie on VHS. At the end of it, if you let all the credits go by, there was some behind-the-scenes footage. Just recordings of Jack Nicholson getting into character and Stanley Kubrick being an abusive asshole to Shelley Duval. But one of the things I noticed—even back then—was that when they were rolling, Kubrick was always right there. Like right off frame. It would have made more sense for him to be by the camera, or at least far enough away that he wasn’t risking getting picked up in the shot. But it seemed almost compulsive for him. He needed a special vantage. He needed to be part of an audience of one. A viewing of his creation that only he could have.”

“What are you saying?”

“Kerr was a filmmaker. He sounds a lot like Kubrick—just a bit more extreme. He’s playing something out here with Mara and Zev. Some kind of scene. But they’re the actors, not us. We’re just the audience. And so is he.”

“I don’t…”

“He’s there. He’s down there right off frame. Viewing his creation from a special vantage.”

“But where?” Onus asked before belching loudly. “Excuse me,” he said, startled.

“Just keep your eyes open.” Benno turned the knob. “And trust nothing.”

#

A quaint country mudroom. Robins egg wallpaper and wainscoting. A handmade wooden bench and a coatrack. A circular, pinkish rug frayed from decades of use, with four sets of icy, muddy footprints across it—two Benno’s size, two much larger—leading off through the only doorway. An old teddy bear—like the kind Benno remembered from his youth—missing an eye, leaning against the wall. Old brass light fixtures with incandescent bulbs cast soft orange light. A general sense of deja vu.

From the kitchen, Mara wept violently.

“What exactly should we be looking for?” Onus asked, peering around the mudroom.

“I don’t know,” said Benno. “Let’s go talk to Mara again.”

Onus’ stomach gargled loudly.

“Are you okay?” Benno asked.

“I’m fine.” Onus massaged his abdomen. “Let’s go.”

They entered the kitchen.

Mara stood at the chambers stove sobbing into her yellow oven mitts. Nothing else had changed except for the fact that she was enormously pregnant.

She looked up after a few moments, her face flushed and her eyes swollen.

“Looks like Zev came around,” Benno said.

Mara’s shoulders lurched. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said between sobs. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Onus lingered by the doorway, his stomach making noisy gurgles.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Benno asked, taking a step toward Mara.

Mara shook her head rapidly, like a child sinking into a tantrum. “I can’t do this alone. No one is supposed to do this alone.”

“Where’s Zev?”

“He left. He couldn’t even look at me. Now he’s out there…” She turned and stared, listless, at the curtains over the window. “There are dangerous animals in the woods. Lions. Tigers…”

Benno frowned. The same feeling that he was missing something swarmed in his stomach, but nothing emerged.

Mara blinked. “It’s not his fault.” She wiped tears and snot across her face with a forearm. “He felt ashamed, and helpless. Because he couldn’t stop it.”

“Couldn’t stop what?”

Mara scowled at her belly. “Couldn’t stop this from happening to me.” She looked up through the bars of her hair.

Benno glanced back at Onus, who leaned on the wall just inside the doorway, then took another step toward Mara. “Who did this to you?”

Mara’s bloodshot eyes darted around the kitchen. “It was the man…” she whispered. “The man with all the teeth.”

Onus belched loudly.

“Where is this man now?” Benno asked.

Mara hugged herself, her arms trembling. “I can’t say…” She inhaled sharply, her brow creasing.

The wind-up alarm screeched.

Clear liquid splashed onto the floor from between Mara’s legs. “No…” She gawped at the floor. “No… I’m not ready…”

“Benno…” Onus’ voice was faint.

Benno took another step toward Mara. “Where is he, Mara?”

Mara sobbed, clutching her belly. “I’m not ready. Please. Make it stop.”

“Benno.”

Benno turned around. “What?”

Onus leaned heavily against the wall. His face was pale and clammy, and his hands trembled at his abdomen. “I don’t feel well,” he said.

Benno rushed to him, arriving just in time to catch him as he slid off the wall. He hoisted his arm over his shoulder and looked him in his unfocused eyes.

“That fucking cake,” Benno said. “You idiot.”

Mara wept, despondent. More liquid spilled from between her legs, but this time it was red, splattering on her bare feet and the chambers stove.

“Shit.” Benno hefted Onus’ arm further around his shoulders and fished Gemma from his pocket. “Gemma,” he said. “Take us back to the Inn now.”

…ERROR. INTERFERENCE NUMBER 528. INVENTORIED RECALIBRATION CANNOT BE OVERRIDDEN.

Benno nearly laughed. Leave it to Gemma to literalize a simple directive into a potentially deadly mistake.

“Come on.” Benno led Onus through the kitchen. Onus’ long legs wobbled until Benno was essentially dragging him on his knees.

Mara looked up at them as they passed, and for the first time Benno saw the woman behind Kerr’s tricks. Unwilling. Trapped in a waking nightmare. But she was not scared to tears as her ceaseless crying would suggest. She was angry. She was fucking furious.

Benno nodded at her as he carried Onus through the sitting room and up the stairs. The paintings on the wall blurred in his periphery. As they reached the landing, Mara started screaming behind them.

Benno helped Onus to the floor and leaned him against the mouth of the hallway. The Lonely Son’s head lolled and his eyes blinked slowly, unfocused. Benno knelt in front of him. “Hey. Can you hear—”

He jumped back as Onus vomited stringy yellow fluid onto his own chest.

“Gemma,” Benno said. “How much time left before you recalibrate us to the Inn?”

…FOUR MINUTES, SEVENTEEN SECONDS.

“Do you know why Onus is sick?”

…HAZARDOUS LEVELS OF CYANOGEN CHLORIDE DETECTED.

“Can you help him?”

…YES.

“Do that.” Benno leaned down and took Onus’ face in his hands. “I’m going back for another take,” he said. “I’ll see you on the Shenandoah.”

Onus’ eyes tumbled, and he moaned.

Benno stood up and pulled Holes from his shirt. “I need you to stay with him,” he said.

Holes leapt from Benno’s hands onto Onus’ shoulder. It nestled there, its plasticky blue petal stroking the Lonely Son’s gaunt face.

Mara’s screams pitched into a new octave of agony.

Benno rushed down the hallway. Since the second take, he’d been unable to shake the conviction that he was close, that he was close to getting his hands on Kerr. There was just something he was missing, something hiding in plain sight…

Mara’s screams tore through the house, and as Benno opened the third door and started through, they were joined by the shrill, heartbreaking shrieks of a newborn.

#

Warmth and the unctuous odor of cooking meat.

A quaint country mudroom. Robins egg wallpaper and wainscoting. A handmade wooden bench and a coatrack. A circular, pinkish rug frayed from decades of use, with six sets of icy, muddy footprints across it—three Benno’s size, three much larger—leading off through the only doorway. An old tennis racket—Benno remembered having one just like it, given to him by his father one summer as a belated birthday present—leaning against the wall. Old brass light fixtures with incandescent bulbs cast soft orange light. A general sense of foreboding.

From the kitchen, silence.

Benno crept forward. He’s here. Right off frame.

Mara sat on the floor in front of the chambers stove, her yellow oven mitts flopped dejectedly in her lap. Her eyes were crusty with dried tears. She was no longer pregnant. She looked up at Benno, dazed, blinking as if she wasn’t sure he was there at all.

“Where’s the baby?” Benno asked, scanning the kitchen. There were the shelves with plates and bowls, the stove, the pinkish curtains, the cast-iron sink and woodblock countertops. Framed illustrations of farm animals lined the walls. The four green chairs at the table covered with a delicate tablecloth, the candles on a wax-covered plate standing on one side…

Mara opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.

Benno went to the candles. Their wicks were frayed and oily, long unused. Benno picked one up and held it at eye level. The milky wax softened in his palm. Nothing about the candle was out of the ordinary. It was as inconspicuous as anything else in the room.

Benno crushed it in his hand.

The wax oozed through his fingers and fell in clumps onto the floor. Just a candle.

“I think…” Mara murmured, looking down at her over mitts. “I think Zev is dead.”

Benno wiped his palm on his shirt. “Why do you say that?” he asked, walking slowly along the wall, eyeing everything.

Mara took a slow breath, her shoulders rising and falling. “It’s cold outside…”

“It is.” Benno picked up a teacup from a shelf, peered at it, and tossed it over his shoulder, where it shattered on the floor.

“I don’t like the cold,” Mara said. “You can’t play outside.”

“Sure you can,” Benno said, opening a drawer filled with napkins, then shutting it. “You can build snowmen. Ski. Whatever.”

Mara shook her head. “I don’t like any of those things.”

“What do you like?”

Mara blinked slowly. “When I was a little girl…”

The wind-up alarm screeched.

“It’s ready,” Mara said, standing. She removed her oven mitts and set them on the stovetop, then opened the oven. Tendrils of gray smoke drifted out, and the smells of meat intensified. She reached in, bare-handed, for the cake pan.

“Wait—” Benno said.

But she’d already taken hold of it. Benno grimaced at the sound of her skin sizzling as she drew the pan from the oven and dropped it roughly on the stove.

Benno’s chest tightened, and his mouth went dry. “Jesus…” he breathed.

Mara turned to him. “It’s my mother’s recipe,” she said. “She had me very young.”

The charred thing in the cake pan was gnarled and puckered.

The wind-up alarm continued to screech as Mara fumbled a knife from a drawer with a hand already starting to blister, then stood over the stove, her arm flexing as she sawed.

“You have to try some,” she said, her voice flat. “I think you’ll really like it.” She turned, holding the plate, her hand trembling minutely, and held it out to Benno.

Benno glowered at the plate.

“If you try it,” Mara said, fresh tears gathering in her eyes. “He’ll come out.”

Benno peered at her.

“Just a bite.” She held the plate forward. “Just take a bite and he’ll come out and talk. That’s all you want, right? For him to come out?”

“I don’t believe that,” Benno said. “I think he’s lying.”

The plate wobbled in Mara’s hand. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s impressed with your performance. He says you’re a natural. But Onus… He doesn’t think he has what it takes.”

“What about you?” Benno asked.

“What about me?”

“Does he like your performance?”

Mara’s wet eyes creased. “He lets me improvise,” she said. “Just enough to get what he wants.”

Though he didn’t totally follow, her words sent a chill up Benno’s spine.

“It’s cold outside,” Mara said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” Benno looked around the room. “You mentioned that…”

“It’s cold.”

Benno looked at her.

Her exhausted eyes looked back, and her lip trembled.

She’s trying to tell me…

“Mara,” Benno said. “What did you like to do outside when you were a little girl?”

Mara’s nose ran. “…I’m not allowed to say.” She gritted her teeth, her eyes digging into Benno’s. Then she seized Benno’s arm and pulled herself toward him. For a moment he resisted, but then he allowed her to guide his hand to her waist, and she nuzzled her mouth against his ear. “When it’s cold out, they hunt for it,” she whispered, gyrating with exaggerated movements. “They do it to traps. They use it to light fires.”

Benno frowned and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“They hunt for it,” Mara articulated in his ear, her whole body trembling. “They do it to traps. They use it to light fires.”

Benno frowned into her hair. They hunt for it… They do it to traps… They use it to light fires… “They hunt for animals?” he said.

Mara shook her head.

“They… They set traps?”

Mara withdrew her head, and her glassy eyes widened.

Benno nodded. “They set traps. They use… lighters? Flint?”

Mara’s eyes darkened.

“They hunt for…” Benno searched. “They hunt for prey? Game?”

Mara tensed.

“They hunt for game,” Benno said. “They set traps. They…” He looked at Mara, who looked back at him, a ghost of hope in her dead eyes.

“Thank you,” he said.

INITIALIZING LOCUS RECALIBRATION… Gemma said suddenly.

“Wait…” Benno spun around. “Just wait!” He sprinted back through the kitchen and into the mudroom. As he went, his periphery darkened, and the whirring sound rose up. “Wait!” He skidded on the pink rug as the stifling darkness closed around him, his field of vision attenuating into a point in which he could only see one thing. Formerly a stuffed bear, formerly a BB gun, formerly a sled. Now a tennis racket, leaning against the wall. Hiding in plain sight.

A special vantage.

He lunged for it as everything went dark.