Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CAT

" W e're thinking white décor with silver roses and swaths of ribbon in dark blue like his eyes," Phil said with a grave softness, her hand resting over mine on the teak wood table by the window of Ford's Costa Coffee, the room a low rumble of noise around the four of us.

"Sounds pretty," I said absently, sipping a cappuccino that was little more than cold, soggy foam. I hit my limit for social interaction twenty minutes ago.

Honey and I sat across from Phil, who was as athletic and put-together as always, with her brown hair in a high pony and her cheeks flushed, and Wilfrith Riggs, who wore a combination of pink fishnet sleeves, a pleated black skirt, long skull-and-crossbones socks, and a T-shirt that read WHO NEEDS LIPGLOSS WHEN YOU CAN USE THE BLOOD OF YOUR ENEMIES? He was the envy of rebellious emo teenagers everywhere.

Both of them, it turned out, were part of Ford's event committee, and were planning Byron's memorial. That at least explained why Byron was getting a memorial when the others hadn't; he was my friend, which made him their friend, and earned preferential treatment from the committee.

"It's gonna be classy as fuck," Wil assured us gently. "Exactly what Byron deserved. But we need to know—would he have loved or hated a buffet at his memorial?"

I didn't know. I barely knew Byron anymore. My friend who I'd known inside out, who blackmailed his way into Ford and killed people to cover up that secret. For all I knew he ate the murdered corpses of fluffy bunnies and bathed in blood to keep a youthful glow.

"Byron loved food," Honey said in the flat voice that was becoming more familiar than her old animated tone. She picked at the matcha-glazed cronut Phil had insisted on buying her. "He'd love a buffet."

"With popcorn," I added, tapping the cold handle of the mug. I'd found if I contributed something to the conversation, I could go a good two minutes without anyone expecting me to speak again. "Byron loves popcorn. Loved," I added after an awkward silence. That silence crawled down my spine, digging in its claws. I reached for the remnants of my own cronut just for something to do.

"Popcorn it is," Phil said with a soft smile, her big brown eyes filled with nothing but understanding. She must have lost someone too, to have that sympathy in her eyes. "And I was thinking—we should leave some food for Byron, too, set him up his own little buffet. I know it sounds weird, but it's what I did for my grandmother, and for my brother, too. It's nourishment for their soul while they're finding their way to the afterlife. And a mark of respect for their life."

My throat swelled. I never saw Byron in Death's domain, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. Had he already passed through its gates, or was he hanging around here, tormented by his death?

"I like that idea," I said, rough with emotion. I didn't want Byron stuck here, where he'd been blackmailed and manipulated by Nightmare, where he'd been murdered. I hadn't been back to the moors since that night; what if he was still there? "Byron deserves that."

He deserved peace, even after everything. I couldn't let go of the anger, but that was my problem, not his. I didn't want him to suffer in life or death.

Honey sniffled beside me; I put my arm around her, pulling her into my side. "That's really kind of you. You didn't have to do all this for By, but I'm glad you are."

Wil ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. "We have to do something to acknowledge his passing. Everyone keeps acting like everything's normal, when we all know it's a dangerous shitshow of magic. Byron should still be with us."

"So the memorial's a tribute to Byron, but a fuck you to Nightmare," Phil whispered. I waited for laughter to ripple through my mind, but it never did. Probably because the goddess didn't want me to realise she could listen whenever she felt like it, twenty-four-seven, seven days a week.

Phil squeezed my hand and let go. "I'll get us a coffee refill. It won't help you grieve, but it won't hurt either. Same again?"

I nodded absently, holding Honey tighter. I'd been half-awake at Byron's funeral, on complete autopilot and numbed all the way through, but this memorial was going to hurt.

"It doesn't get easier," Phil said, hovering by the table with her hands full of coffee mugs, "and I won't bullshit you that it ever stops hurting. But you find a way to live with it. Grief's like a ball and chain; it might slow down how fast you can walk, but you can still walk. Promise."

My throat was so tight I couldn't speak. I just nodded, my eyes blurring. I didn't want it to hurt any less. If it stopped hurting, I might forget him. But even hurt, I could still walk, no matter how slowly.

"Shit, Phil," Wil said, awe in his wide eyes. "You should become a poet."

"Bold of you to assume I'm not already a poet," she teased. "I could be a famous poet and you'd never know."

She went over to order us more coffee with a wink, and I felt the impact of having friends like these to take care of me like both a dropkick to the chest and a warm hug.

"Did you hear about the monster?" Wil asked, changing the subject. A piercing winked from his eyebrow as he leaned towards us. "It's all over the front page of the paper. Even some online sites are picking up on it, calling it the new Loch Ness Monster. Apparently, Beaumont wasn't the only one attacked."

Bloody images flashed in my mind and I flinched. Intestines ripped out, gore spilled across the pavement, flowers scattered on the ground.

"The monster killed two people in the village," Wil told us with a strange mix of gravity and gossip. "That makes three. Either there really is a monster loose in Ford, or we've got a serial killer on our hands."

Two people. The creature killed two people. Would I have been the second if I hadn't escaped into Death's domain? Ice skated down my arms and I shuddered.

"Aren't you worried?" Honey asked, giving up on her cronut now her restless hands had shredded it. "You sound eager for a killer to be stalking Ford's streets."

"Are you kidding?" Wil sat back in his chair with a laugh. "A normal, run-of-the-mill murder would be a nice change of pace, don't you think? I bet you twenty grand it'll turn out to be a wild wolf or something. There used to be wolves in the woods back when Ford's End was a pagan site."

"A pagan site," I repeated, like we didn't all know that was bullshit and Nightmare was the only goddess worshipped here.

Wil flicked his eyebrows up. "Yeah. Pagan," he agreed, making quote marks with his fingers.

"It's probably her," Honey said bitterly, "using her fucked up magic to turn into a wolf."

Rage entered Wil's eyes for a moment, and I felt an echo of it in my own expression. That bitch had killed so many people, and it was far over. She wanted me under her thumb—she had Virgil for a reason. How long until she unveiled whatever horrific plan she had in mind this time?

Her last grand plan had turned the men I loved against me, killed my best friend, revealed the woman I murdered was a ghost, and made me her lackey. I needed to get Virgil to safety before she could put everything in motion. I needed to remove her power, to tell my gods everything that had happened. I knew they were searching for her, scouring every dark part of Ford's End for the goddess, trying to find some way to kill her or curse her or remove her power.

"One vanilla latte; one large cappuccino; one unhinged blueberry bubble frappe with soy milk, caramel syrup, a shot of espresso, and cheese foam; and a perfectly sane iced americano for me."

"Hey, don't knock the cheese," Wil huffed, clutching his drink to his chest like it was his baby.

"I'm Korean, Wil; do you know how many drinks are sold in Seoul alone with cheese foam topping? That's not the issue. Blueberry, coffee, and caramel? In one drink? With boba?" She wrinkled her nose, handing drinks to me and Honey. "I can only presume your taste buds were seared off years ago."

My chest was still weighted by the monster, by Byron's absence, but I managed a small smile at their antics when Wil gasped dramatically at the insult.

"How—very—dare you," he breathed, staring at his friend with betrayal.

Even Honey snorted.

"Oh, and Cat," Phil said with a cheeky smile, "I had the barista put an extra special design on your coffee."

I hadn't even noticed, distracted by images of bodies ripped apart and eaten, but a glance at the coffee in my hands had a laugh bursting out of me. It was so loud it echoed around the coffee shop.

"That's a cock."

"Yup," Phil agreed with a beaming grin.

"There's a cock in my foam."

"Lucky foam," Wil muttered, taking a healthy gulp of his questionable drink and smacking his lips like it was delicious. 1

"Mine's got… what is that?" Honey said, tilting her head until she nearly dipped the ends of her golden hair in the coffee, a crease between her brows.

"Two bunnies fucking," Phil informed her. "Since you and that boyfriend of yours are always glued at the hip, I have to assume the sex is off the scale."

Honey blushed to her roots.

I drank my cock coffee 2 and tried to hide my scowl. Wil noticed and raised his eyebrow but Honey, thankfully, did not. I managed to arrange my face into something more neutral by the time she looked at me, her whole face pink.

Whatever Phil had been about to say died on her lips when the heavy glass-inlaid doors to the coffee shop swung open and two police officers came in, their neon-yellow coats drenched by the drumming rain outside, their faces half hidden under black hats.

"Oh, shit," Wil breathed.

My stomach twisted into a sailor's knot; my first thought was they'd found out I was there the day the creature killed the florist. Who else? Who else had it slaughtered after I escaped? I should have told Honey. If no one else, I should have told her. Now she'd have to watch me be carted away for questioning, frogmarched out of the school to—

"Duncan Ford?" a deep, gruff voice called out, and my sickness intensified. I wiped my hands on my jeans as sweat beaded. Oh, god. They weren't here for me—they were here for Duncan.

"Yeah?" Duncan asked, standing from the small table he'd been sitting at, hidden behind a MacBook. I hadn't even noticed him. "Finally decided to investigate my cousin's murder, have you?"

Of course they hadn't. Nightmare would see to it that they never did.

"We need you to come down to the station," the gruff man's smaller partner said, pushing her hat back so she could give Duncan a serious stare. "We have some questions you need to answer."

"Like what?" Duncan demanded, his shoulders straightening, chin cocked out. Defiant and angry, all because of me. My stomach soured further.

"Like why we found a murder weapon in your wardrobe," the gruff officer replied, to the utter silence of the coffee shop. Even the low hiss of steaming milk and rattling crockery had gone quiet.

"What?" Duncan laughed breathily, shaking his head. "That's bullshit. You didn't find anything in my wardrobe because I never killed anyone."

Even I knew that wasn't true.

"Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be," the second officer said. She couldn't have been taller than five-foot-three, but with that expression on her face, I wouldn't fuck with her.

Chair feet screeched before I realised I'd stood. "I'll come with you," I offered Duncan.

Duncan shook his head, looking angry and tired but not confused. Did he know I'd planted the evidence, or did he assume it was Nightmare's doing? It was Nightmare's doing, I reminded myself. "I'll be fine, Cat. Don't get yourself questioned by these amateurs, too."

I wilted under the woman's stare, all my instincts screaming at me to sit back down. "Who are you?"

"A friend," I replied, swallowing hard.

"Well, be a good friend and convince him to cooperate. No one wants to see you dragged out of here, son."

"Fine," Duncan bit out, storming across the room, his laptop forgotten. "But I'll be calling my lawyer."

"Be our guest," the gruff officer said, cuffing Duncan's bicep with a meaty hand.

I froze in place as Duncan was marched out of the heavy doors. Everyone was watching him; he'd be humiliated. It would be vindication for everyone who said he was guilty of summoning Nightmare. They'd turn against him again.

"Sit down, Lois Lane. I'm sure Superman will be fine by himself at the station."

Wil's statement was so surprising that I scowled at him, dropping back into the cushioned chair. "Duncan and I aren't a thing. I already have three men; I don't need a fourth."

"Three!" Phil blurted, and my own words replayed.

Shit.

I groaned and dropped my head to the table.

Will poked me in the head. "Tell us everything."