I waited for him to speak, but he did not. Instead, he pointed at the candle—no, he pointed at the bottle beside the candle. I stood, and was glad to note I once more had the use of my legs. I picked up the bottle and read the label.

Drink me.

“But I already did,” I said to the man in the corner.

“Yes, that’s why you’re here, baby.” Every word was rich and low, and charged with energy. Each word, falling coolly into place in a resonant line of displeasure, made me more uncertain and more afraid.

“Where am I?” I didn’t know what else to ask.

He did not move. I did not even see his jaw line rise or fall when he replied. “Here with me. You’re not supposed to be. You’re not who I thought you were.”

“You expected Eliza?”

He nodded. “You’re not supposed to be here, but here you are. May as well make the most of it. You’re on your way to find me anyway. You’re on your way home to me.”

“Who . . . who are you?”

He shifted his weight and uncrossed his arms, then passed along the wall like a shadow until he stood before me. In his left hand he held the bottle. I’d not seen him pick it up, but when I looked over my shoulder at the candle, the medicine was missing. He held it out to me, label forward so I could read its command again.

“But—but that’s how I got into this mess,” I argued weakly. “I don’t want to drink anything else unless I can readily identify it.”

His right hand was on my throat.

Just like that. So quickly I didn’t have time to start, or scream, or fight. I tried to push against him but his body was like flesh-painted steel. Even with my feet against his pelvis and my nails digging into his forearm, he took no notice. I could not help but think that he was not really there at all, not in any way that I could fight him. I was in his world, one way or another, and at his mercy—if he had any.

His wrist shifted, providing me with the two options of letting him crush my windpipe or leaning my head back. I leaned back. He slipped two of his massive long fingers up around the joints of my jaw the way you force a cat to take a pill, and he poured the liquid down my gullet.

The last thing I remembered before waking was that it was not like the first brew. It was almost sweet and not half so bad, which didn’t make it good, but I didn’t gag on it, either.

“What are you doing to me with this stuff?” I gurgled as the room started to fold in upon itself.

I’m getting you ready for it. I’m making you strong.