Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

CAT

T he police would have kept questioning me, but Professor Poppy and Professor Radclyffe insisted I'd been interviewed for long enough and clearly needed to clean the blood from myself. Hollow eyed and staring, my voice a dry rasp, I hadn't fought when the kind woman and the usually glaring old man had ushered me away. Radclyffe was practically mellow compared to his usual glaring, snappish self, but I guessed that was what happened when a fellow member of staff was savagely murdered. It wasn't like I'd forgotten to hand in coursework or answered a question wrong; Caroline was dead.

Murdered and cut apart and eaten. I shuddered, not wanting to think about what had done that.

I showered numbly, getting as much blood from my ring as I could, frantically scrubbing under my nails until my skin turned red in protest. But it was still there, a line of dark red reminding me what had happened. Now, sitting on the edge on my bed staring at the blank wall opposite, I was too hollow, too afraid, too numb to convince myself this was a bad idea.

I called Tor first, mostly because I knew he'd never pick up. As expected, it rang four, five, six times. I dropped the phone from my ear, but I froze with my finger over the end call button when I realised it had connected.

"Tor?"

My voice came out too small, too broken.

"I don't know if I want to talk to you yet," he said, his tone perfectly even, giving no emotion away. But the sound of his voice after three weeks without it made my chest cave in.

"Can we just—pretend everything is back the way it was? Just for a few minutes. Please."

"Cat?" His tone changed, honed and softened all at once. "Are you crying? What's wrong?"

In a miserably small voice I said, "I can't get the blood from under my nails."

"Give me one minute."

I nodded even though he couldn't see me, even though I didn't know what he needed a minute for.

"One minute, Cat. Okay?"

"Okay," I echoed, and jumped when the line went dead. I lowered the phone, holding it in numb fingers. My head was swimming, thoughts returning to Caroline's mauled body over and over, the clarity sharp in a way Byron's death wasn't.

Shock had clearly taken hold because when shadows swirled in the middle of my room I didn't even notice, my whole body cold and trembling. I hadn't even got dressed; I sat in my towel, the blood itching under my fingernails.

Calloused hands wrapped around mine, turning them over to inspect my fingernails, and I gasped in surprise, my whole body jolting. A lump rose into my throat. Tor knelt on the cream rug in front of me, a hard expression on his soft face and his familiar black leather jacket creaking as he lifted his head to meet my eyes.

"Are you hurt?"

I shook my head mutely, struggling to process the fact he was here, looking as handsome and dangerous as I remembered but so much more real. I'd forgotten the details—the faint scar through his upper lip, the gravel in his voice, the way his brown eyes looked like latte when the light hit them.

"Did she—whose blood is it?" he asked tentatively.

I swallowed, seeing the bite ripped out of Caroline's arm, the deep claw marks across her stomach, her chest, her throat. "My grief counsellor's."

"Your grief—" Tor swore under his breath, his fingers tightening on mine. "Of course you have a counsellor. Fuck, I'm sorry, beautiful. I've been a pig-headed bastard. I was so focused on my own hurt, I forgot you were grieving."

I shrugged listlessly, tasting the sandalwood and leather of him on my next breath. It hit me like a truck—how much I'd missed him. "I hurt you."

"Doesn't matter right now. Like you said, let's pretend we're back to normal." Tor cast a glance around my room, like he was looking for something, and a scowl furrowed his brow. "What happened?"

"I was talking to her on the phone." I licked my lips, my mouth so dry. "I heard her—she screamed and said something about a monster. When I found her, she was… it looked like an animal attack."

"A reasonable, perfectly normal explanation," Tor pointed out, his voice soothing. He brought my hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles.

"I could feel her there. Not—not like when she's watching me, but… this was Nightmare. I know it was."

He squeezed my fingers. "You sound like Miz."

My chest cut through with pain. I had to blink fast to keep the tears in my eyes. "There were crows, watching me. Six of them."

Tor sucked in a breath, a scowl pressing his mouth thin. "Right. Yeah, that shit's got Nightmare written all over it." He looked around the room again.

"What?"

"Wondering what's taking so fucking long," he muttered, sounding so familiar and annoyed that I couldn't help but smile. "Wait here. I'll get some water to clean your hands."

He stunned me in place with a kiss to my forehead that seemed to catch him off guard as much as it did me. But we were pretending everything was normal, pretending we were together, and I hadn't told him everything I felt was a lie.

I blinked and he was gone, a wisp of shadow all that was left of him. I began to think I hallucinated him until darkness pooled in the corner of my room, ruffling the clothes I hadn't bothered to put in my wardrobe in the past few days. Death stepped out, making my heart stop for a second, and Miz followed him, looking awful. Looking unwell.

My stomach knotted. I hated the way Miz's eyes went everywhere but me, hated the dark circles carved into the sallow skin under his eyes, and the way he moved hunched, like he was trying to make himself smaller.

"I shouldn't be here," he said under his breath.

My chest crushed under the weight of pain. I should have known. I did know. I knew they didn't want to be around me, that they hated me now, Nightmare's handiwork more than effective. I broke Miz's heart; of course he wouldn't want to be here.

"Don't even think about leaving," Death said in that kind but steely voice of his. He pinned Miz with a loaded look and strode across the room to me, the weight of him sinking on the mattress tipping me into his side. "What happened, Cat?"

Still Cat. No little bride. That was fine. I was under no illusions that we were still together, that he still cared.

"I found my grief counsellor mauled to death," I replied, all the life gone from my voice. Whatever scant bit of healing Tor had managed to do was neatly undone by my name and a soft admission. I shouldn't be here.

Then go, I wanted to snap, but I needed him here too badly to voice the response.

"Mauled?" Death repeated, a furrow between his strong brows. It hurt every time I saw him, perfect and gorgeous and so kind it killed me. I stared at the embroidery on the edge of his sleeve instead of looking at him or Misery.

"Something attacked her. A monster. That's what she screamed— a monster. She was covered in claw marks and bites." I stood abruptly, pacing over to the dresser and leaning against in, aware that Miz stiffened in the corner. His scent wrapped around me, like violets and snow, like serenity, and my shoulders dropped all their tension at the same time a lump formed in my throat.

I jumped when the door barged open, Tor coming into the room like a storm, a fierce look on his face and a bowl of soapy water in his tattooed hands. He knocked the door shut with his hip and gave Death and Miz matching unimpressed looks.

"About time you two showed up. You better be being nice to our girl." I froze. He winced. "Force of habit," he said apologetically, throwing me a quick glance that cut like a dagger.

I hated this. I hated the distance between us, like my room was bisected by a ravine none of us could cross.

"It's fine," I said. My voice scraped my throat like broken rocks. I felt like someone had cut a hole in my chest and scooped out all my insides like a pumpkin on Halloween. But that just reminded me of the guy who wore a Jack-O-Lantern costume to Ford House. He was left in the garden in front of the house and rotted days before Nightmare's curse fell. Someone found him three weeks ago, a shrivelled corpse among the roses and grass.

"Come, sit down, Cat," Tor coaxed, his voice gentling when he spoke to me, hardening when he set down the bowl and swatted Death's shoulder. "You, move. You'll crowd her."

"It's fine," I protested, hunching when Death rose the moment I sat, like he was repelled by me. I knew he was only following Tor's instruction, but I couldn't help the rejection. I'd wanted them back, wanted them here, all in the same room as me again. Now I got my wish, and all it did was hurt.

"It sounds like an animal attack," Death said gently. "I know how easy it is to connect every death to Nightmare, but—"

My head snapped up, realisation hitting me. "You must have collected Caroline's soul, right? All souls go to your domain." I looked him in the eye and ignored the way his storm-grey gaze made my stomach squirm. "You can find her spirit and ask her what happened, what the monster really was." I forced myself to add, "And if it's just a wild animal, we don't have to worry that it's… her."

I didn't say her name. I didn't want to watch Miz flinch.

He didn't speak, didn't look at me, didn't even breathe. Was breathing optional for gods?

"Not a bad idea," Tor agreed, dunking a nail brush into the warm, soapy water and lifting my left hand, rubbing under my nails so vigorously that I winced.

"You'll damage her fingertips," Miz said tightly, the first words he'd spoken in minutes.

Tor looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "You do it then, if you think you can do a better job, O High And Mighty One."

Miz's expression flattened even further, but some life returned to his eyes in the form of exasperation. I realised how dead and empty they'd been a moment ago. Because he was here, where he couldn't escape the fact I broke his heart? Or because of what happened? Because Nightmare took control of him. Made him kill.

"Fine," he muttered, stalking across the room. Black smoke rippled across the floor with every step he took, like his power was barely under control, and I bit my tongue against the urge to cry, my shoulders curling inward, stomach cramping. I couldn't stand it—the distance, the words unspoken, the memories of everything that happened the last time we were all together. My next inhale shuddered.

"Miz," Torment said gently.

"I know, fuck," Misery bit out, sharper than I'd ever heard him speak to Tor. He sounded like the cruel bastard who cornered me in an alcove after my lecture, his face completely different, his eyes blue instead of gold, hair black instead of silver-white.

I blinked and tears fell, but Misery knelt and took up the nail brush and all at once the pressure on my chest lifted. My stomach stopped cramping, tears stopped falling. "I don't understand…"

Miz said nothing, just carefully took my hand and cleaned the blood from under my nails with gentle, sweeping movements. He didn't stop until every trace was gone, deadly focused on his task. He didn't see the look Tor exchanged with Death that told me Tor had done a shit job on purpose, to get Miz closer to me. But why? He was heartbroken because of me. They all were.

We had something perfect, all four of us, and I ruined it with a few well-placed words from Nightmare's script.

"What do you feel like wearing, Cat?" Tor asked. I hadn't noticed him opening my wardrobe, hadn't noticed much beyond the feel of Miz's gentle fingers on my hands. I couldn't focus on anything else. He made sure every last trace of blood was gone, like he understood even a single spot would send me into a backslide, and then let go.

I mashed my lips into a flat line to stop my sound of protest. I couldn't ask him to stay when I was the one who pushed him away.

"Cat," Tor repeated, softer. "The towel is a great look on you, but it can't be warm."

"I'm fine," I dismissed, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"That's the shock talking," Death disagreed, taking a step like he wanted to come closer, like he'd sweep me into one of his all-consuming hugs that made everything feel okay again.

"I'll wear whatever," I said, and realised how curt and rude that sounded. "Thank you."

When Tor pulled out fleece-lined leggings and my favourite knitted jumper with a giant yellow duck on it, I clenched my jaw to fight back tears. He raided my underwear drawer next, and clearly expected to help me into them when he gestured at me to unfasten the towel.

"I can dress myself," I protested, but allowed him to help me to my feet.

"We're pretending, remember?" he whispered with a wink that made my whole chest cave in. The tears I'd been fighting rushed free. "Miz," he hissed, turning to the silent man who'd returned to the corner after cleaning the blood from me. "Oh," Tor breathed.

"Yeah," Misery whispered. "It's not me."

"What?" I asked, flicking the tears off my cheeks and snatching the underwear from Tor's hands, shimmying into my knickers without removing the towel.

"Cat," Death said gently. "Just get dressed, sweetheart, we won't look."

It was nothing they hadn't seen before. I ignored the way my face flamed red at the reminder, ignored the way more tears fell at the reality they'd never look at me the same way, never want me, touch me, that way again.

I got my bra on before Tor took over, bundling me into an oversized T-shirt and the jumper, brushing the tears off my cheeks. The care made me cry harder no matter how much I tried to stop the tears. My shoulders shook with the force of them when Tor pulled me into a hug, Death fitting himself against my back.

I blinked my eyes clear, searching for Misery despite myself, despite the fact I told him I'd never cared about him, despite his hand driving a knife into my best friend's chest. He was watching me, watching us, closer than I'd expected. There wasn't the jealousy I expected on his face, and neither was there the hatred that had hardened his eyes when he shoved me into that alcove. There was something like horror, something like understanding. His eyes went from me to the duck plushie, the only bit of life in the room, the only colour.

"What happened, Cat?" he breathed, putting pieces together that scared me.

"I told you—" I began, my throat swollen and raw.

"What happened with us?" he corrected, his voice a strange blend of softness and steel.

I swallowed hard, glancing away. I couldn't look at any of them, so I closed my eyes, letting more tears cascade down my face.

"What did she do?"

I stiffened, my breath rasping. "You know what she did," I said, pulling away from Tor, from Death, even if it made me sick. I wanted to stay there forever, safe in their arms. But it was only pretend. "She cursed us."

I sank onto my bed, not particularly caring that my legs were bare. "I'm tired. Thank you for coming." I glanced up, forcing myself to look at them. "I mean it. Thank you. After everything, after the way I hurt you—I probably shouldn't have called you," I said to Tor.

"You call me any fucking time you need me," he disagreed, the volume of his voice making me jump.

"But—"

"No," he said firmly. "We might not be together anymore, and the curse might have messed with our emotions, but no matter what, you're important to me. I give a shit about a grand total of three people, and they're all in this room. You're my friend, so you call me when you need me. I missed this place anyway." His mouth flicked up on one side. "Best caviar in the mortal realm."

I knew damn well that wasn't true, but he was trying to make me smile so I obliged. It was weak and wobbly, but it was the thought that counted.

"Okay," I agreed, his words meaning so much more than he could ever know.

"He's right," Death said in that caramel voice that felt like a hug itself. "No matter what, you're important to me too, Cat."

I pressed my lips flat, my bottom lip dangerously weak. "You, too," was all I could manage.

Finally, he was admitting that was all there was between us—friendship. I was lucky they'd even let me back into their lives. Their friendship was a gift, and I'd sneered at it. What a selfish, ungrateful idiot.

"Miz, I—" I began, the words painful as they grated my swollen throat.

"It's okay, I understand," he said quickly, pale arms crossed over his chest. I realised how plain his clothes were, no embroidery or fine details, and the material was wrinkled like he'd slept in them. "I know it's different with me because I—because of what I did."

It should have been different. I kept coming back to that— it should be different, I should hate him, I should stop missing him. Should, should, should. But I didn't.

"You didn't do that," I said after a tense pause, wrapping my arms around myself, seeing the knife angle under Byron's ribs over and over. "That was her."

It was Misery's fingers wrapped around the knife, his body surging forward, propelling the knife deep, but it wasn't him. Miz didn't choose to hurt Byron. I should have been bitter and furious, and maybe if Byron hadn't tormented me with threats, maybe if he hadn't killed Erika, I would have been. But Byron's crimes helped me see clearly when I should have been blinded by grief. Nightmare was the only person responsible. She was the one who should pay.

"I mean it," I said when Misery shook his head. "That wasn't you, Miz."

"It was," he said bitterly. "And it will be me again the second she wants someone else dead, which is why I need to stay as far away—"

"That's why you need us around you," Death argued, and something about his tone made me think they'd had this disagreement many times before. "We can stop you doing anything against your will."

I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged them, my throat viciously tight. "He's right. You stayed with me so she couldn't take control of me, remember. So let us stay with you."

"Us," Misery echoed, shadows twining around his knuckles as his hands curled into fists. "There is no us. There's them—" He gestured angrily at Tor and Death. "And you."

I pressed my fingernails into my knees, biting into skin, and breathed through the pain gripping my chest. "That's fair."

"No, it isn't," Tor snapped. "She was cursed, Miz. It's not Cat's fault she was tricked into having feelings."

The shame of it, the secrecy, the absolute fucking agony pressed on me until I felt like I'd choke on it, until it would kill me. And I knew they could feel every ounce of misery and torment this secret gave me.

I faltered, the words on the tip of my tongue. I lied, every single word was a lie. I realised in the moment I told you I felt nothing that I felt everything. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, more than I thought it was possible to love someone, and every day you spend hurt or hating me is another dagger to my chest. It's a miracle I'm still alive with so many knives in my heart.

But I couldn't get the photo of Virgil out of my head, the emptiness and hopelessness in his eyes, like he'd already given up on life. He was dead if I breathed a single word of what happened.

I swallowed the words and bit my tongue. When I glanced up again, Misery was staring straight at me, looking through my skin and bone to my bruised soul. Like he felt this cruel, endless misery and had begun to ask why I might be feeling it more with every minute they spent with me. Was he so familiar with misery that he could recognise the difference between grief and heartache?

I dug my nails deeper into my knees. It wasn't difficult to fake a yawn. Death, as perceptive as ever, watched me with soft eyes.

"We'll let you sleep. If you need us, call Tor or say my name. Do you remember it?"

I nodded, another spike driving deep through my chest. I remembered everything he'd ever told me, every gentle word and loving promise.

"Let's see your hands," Tor said, prising them off my knees to inspect my fingernails. "Better." He squeezed my hands and met my eyes. "I'm sorry for being a dick when you needed me most. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere." He paused, a twinkle entering his eyes. "Well, I'm going to go hunt this supposed monster until its eyes are glassy and its head is detached from its body, but metaphorically I'm not going anywhere."

He managed to get another smile from me. "Be careful."

"I'm a death god, beautiful. It takes more than a monster to kill me."

He caught me off guard with a kiss to my cheek and my eyes welled with tears again. Virgil, I urged myself, remember Virgil. You can't tell anyone, can't let these men close again or they'll discover the truth.

But I didn't have the strength to keep them away.