Excerpt: Eight Square

“No, Jero!” Caratina cried. “What have you done? Take us back!”
“'Back'?” The man with the blue glow in his eyes reached out to her face, another implement -- a crudely-chiselled dagger, in his palm. “Tell me where 'back' is. Tell me! And I might give you less than death!”
She twisted away from him and the dagger, but just as much she longed to be away from that voice. It groaned and buckled, like a heavy rock breaking slowly through rotten timbers. How could any man make his voice sound that way? He should be screaming in agony at being forced to make such a sound, she thought. If she lived -- if she lived? How had this happened to her? -- she might have felt sorry for the man. But it seemed an academic thought now, as he loomed up, ready to kill her.
Jero let her hand go and she lost her balance, since she had been leaning as far away from the black-clad figure as she could get. Everything in the room shifted back to the restaurant, to the Circle, to daylight, to sanity.
Cara fell upon the floor with a shriek. Solid floor beneath her. Clean air in her lungs. Oh, thank Khrizu she was still alive. She touched her breasts, her head, her hips. She seemed all together, all perfectly safe. Then she looked around. No one else in the room seemed particularly surprised. Had it all been in her head?
Jero Tiel lowered his hand towards her, waiting.
She sighed, casting a dark look his way. No matter what all of that meant, no matter his role in that, HE had done that to her. He was to blame.
The man from Knivis stood silently.
“Nothing to say?” Her voice broke a little more bitterly than she’d meant for it to. But she continued. “No explanation of how you’re going to HELP me out?” She started to reach for his hand despite the emotions roiling through her -- she prided herself on her rationality, after all -- but she stuck on one thought.
“That woman.” The images ran through her head and she wished … she wished that she could wish them away. “Who is she? What will-- is that really happening to her?”