Chapter 36

Death was gone when I woke up three mornings later, only a lime green tulip left behind, but I'd been prepared for that. It was nice to be in a relationship with someone who communicated openly, and told me he had a stubborn soul to bring to his domain the next day instead of letting me wake alone, wondering if I'd done something wrong.

And we were in a relationship—we'd had that conversation yesterday and he'd told me, in explicit terms, that he was serious about being my husband, and I was his for life. Life seemed a little unrealistic, but it put a smile on my face anyway. At least until he wiped it away by sinking his cock inside my pussy and making my mouth drop open.

Remembering that, a split second smile curved my lips until everything that happened in the woods returned with force. Darya's immobile body, the helpless terror in her eyes, Nightmare's voice hooking through my mind like a scythe. Well done, Cat, you've proven very effective. Now kill her.

Like it did every time I remembered, my whole body locked up, a weight crushing my chest until I could only half breathe, and my heart beat strained.

You're scaring me, Cat, what's going on? The last words Darya ever spoke to me. To anyone.

I rolled over and threw my torso over the side of the bed, aiming for the bucket I'd kept there for days. A cramp in my stomach sent bile splashing the bottom of the bucket. Ugh. This happened too many times a day; I was so wretched I hadn't made it to classes yesterday and I had no interest in going today either.

I didn't know this room yet. It was surprising how quickly I'd adjusted to my old room, and now I was thrown in a whole new space, I hated it. The desk and wardrobe were on a whole other side, the window bigger, throwing shadow and light across the floor in a new pattern. This room had a heater and extra blankets, though, and Miz had shielded it. Whatever that meant.

I flopped back onto the bed with a groan—and frowned at the yellow blur of colour in the corner of my eye.

"Huh?" I squinted, still bleary-eyed and miserable, but no, I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing: a 20cm tall duck plushie.

My bottom lip wobbled, and I wanted Death to come back so I could hug him fiercely—but when my eyes focused, they drifted from the plush duck to two iced drinks from Dunkin Donuts and a white paper bag with their logo. I couldn't take it. I buried my face in the pillow and cried, and didn't stop until I was hollow and my chest hurt.

It took me an hour to feel human again, and by then the sun was high in the sky, blazing through the crack in my curtains. I pulled myself up until I was propped against the pillows and reached for the iced coffee, sliding my phone out from under my pillow.

I dialled Virgil first, frowning when he didn't pick up after a solid minute of ringing. Then I tried again, to the same end. I left him a voicemail and tried Tannie.

"Darling sister," he greeted, "why have you abandoned me?"

I grunted in reply.

"Ten days without a call, and yes I counted." He tsked. "Do you not love me anymore? Are we over?"

"You're my brother, I can't break up with you."

He gasped, affronted. "So if I wasn't your brother, you would break up with me. Harsh, Cat."

I found it in me to laugh, but it was weak. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Bored. I'm waiting for a placement so I'm just sitting here twiddling my thumbs."

"There must be something you can do. You're telling me you have no work due?"

Zoltan groaned dramatically. "Don't be a bore, Cat. You know I'm allergic to theses."

"Since when are you writing a thesis?"

"Ugh, don't. I have too much personality for this drabness. Why are you calling, anyway? What do you want?"

"Charming," I muttered.

"Ten days of silence, Cat. I'm suspicious."

"I've just been busy." Being tormented by a madwoman and her followers. "Sorry, I won't leave it as long again. I actually called to see if you've heard from Virgil."

"Not in a few days."

"I just tried calling him, and it went to voicemail."

"And you're panicking," Tannie said, not entirely a question. "You know Virgil, he's a swot. He'll be doing all that boring stuff you just told me to do. Last I heard, he had a practical coming up."

I chewed my bottom lip. Tannie was probably right. Virgil was a perfectionist when it came to work and grades. He considered it a disaster if he got a ninety nine score when a hundred was available.

"Don't panic," Tannie said, his voice softening. "He'll be fine, Cat. He's in Australia, not an active warzone."

"I know," I mumbled. But with everything going on here, it had me paranoid. "You're right."

He gasped. Obnoxiously. "Wait, wait, let me open my recording app and say that again."

I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at my cheeks. "I want you to know, I'm giving you my middle finger right now."

"I'd expect nothing less from my grumpy baby sister. How's things on the creepy gothic island anyway?"

"Creepy and gothic," I muttered. "It's fine. The professors are okay, classes are good so far, and we've even made a friend or two."

"Wonders will never cease," he drawled. "Even Byron?"

"Even Byron," I confirmed.

"Fuck me."

"You've got to stop saying that, Tannie. Someone will take you up on it."

"Chance would be a fine thing," he huffed. "Everyone's straight or closeted here. Hence, I am bored."

"You'll live." The smile was still on my face. I pointedly did not mention my three husbands. I could have told my brother I'd hooked up with three men and he'd praise my sexual liberation and encourage me to shake off the trappings of an outdated society's beliefs about sex and bodies, but explaining husbands? And gods? And a curse? I kept my mouth shut.

"Oh, this looks promising," Tannie said before he could tease me. "Yep, I'm being given my placement. Gotta go, darling sister. Take care, and don't wait ten days to call me, or I'll share that video of you walking the runway as Kitty Corner in our hallway."

I gasped, clearly able to see the footage of me in drag, massive wig and sequins and all. "You wouldn't dare."

"Totally would, love you, bye."

I scowled when he ended the call, and stuffed my phone back under my pillowcase, staring at the ceiling. For a few minutes, I felt normal again. I felt myself again. I spun my crown ring around and around my finger and drank the rest of my coffee.1

"What am I gonna do?" I asked the duck plushie, hugging her to my chest. I decided to name her Yena, and I loved her at first sight. "Clearly I don't have the nerve to tell my family what's happening here."

But Honey knew, and now Byron did. He hadn't taken the news calmly—he'd paced from one end of his room to the other, fingers tugging at his hair, and when we finished catching him up, he just murmured, "Fuck. She's gonna kill us all. Fuck."

I hated it but Byron was right. And maybe that was why I didn't have the guts to tell Tannie what was happening. He'd steal a helicopter and fly his way here, and then he'd be right in the middle of it. And I didn't want him to be doomed, too.

Panic settled like an anvil on my chest, but I ripped the covers off myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

"Get up, come on, get up," I breathed, and tensed all my muscles, physically propelling myself out of bed.

I dressed robotically, chanting at myself to keep going, keep moving. If I stopped, Nightmare won. She wanted me broken, wanted me completely paralysed by fear and guilt and the memories of what I'd done. Death had murmured as much to me every time we were together. So had Tor, and even Miz when he dropped by very briefly to check his shields were holding up, his stare lingering on me when I just sat in bed, my knees to my chest.

I wondered if any of them knew I hadn't eaten, that throwing up multiple times a day made it difficult but I had no appetite to begin with. I didn't even check what was in the white paper bag.

Dressed and shaking and crushed with anxiety, I grabbed my satchel and threw it over my shoulder, more as a talisman than anything else. This is normal, you are normal, everything is normal.

I squeezed Yena to my chest for a last boost of courage, settled her among the cushions on my new bed, and rushed to the door before I could talk myself out of it. It opened with a creak that drew the attention of my old neighbour—the studious black guy I'd seen once, when he got the party invitation. I didn't know if he was cursed or if he escaped before that happened. He stood by the landing, speaking to one of Duncan Ford's friends, the tall, blond guy looking like he'd walked out of a fashion magazine.

"Hey, you know Darya, right?" my once-neighbour asked, something drawn and disturbed about his expression.

"I…" I wasn't expecting to hear her name. I couldn't bear it. You are normal, everything is normal. "Yeah, we've spoken a few times. Why?"

"She's gone missing," Fashion Magazine jumped in, his eyes bright with either fear or excitement. "So have Professor Lancashire and Jillian Pendleton."

I didn't know the last name, but… "They've gone missing?" My breath came faint, my head starting to pound again.

"All three of them," my neighbour agreed, pushing his glasses up his nose in an obviously stressed move.

"Three at once," I breathed, panic closing off my chest.

"And you know why," Fashion Magazine said emphatically. "This is Duncan Ford's cult bullshit."

I blinked. "Aren't you friends with Duncan?" I asked, trying to ignore the hammering inside my skull, the anvil crushing my chest. The room was starting to go dark around the edges.

Three were missing. Darya was dead. People were asking after her. But she was never coming back, because I killed her.

"I was," Fashion Magazine said, his mouth twisted and arms crossing over his fashionable jacket. "Until Halloween."

So he thought Duncan was behind Nightmare's resurgence to power. Duncan was one of the few I knew wasn't—I saw the look on his face that night, and it was honest and terrified—but I could understand how everyone would jump to conclusions.

"You got an invitation," my neighbour said, watching me with tense understanding. "Did you go that night?"

I nodded tightly.

"Me, too," he offered. Neither of us was talking about simply attending a party. What costume did he wear that night? What was he now cursed as?

"They're picking us off one by one," Fashion Magazine spat, the whites of his eyes showing. He angrily stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks.

"They?" I asked. My blood pounded too loudly in my ears.

"Those robed fuckers. The cult."

Was he right? Had her cult killed the other two? Oh god, was I one of them now? Was I her follower, controlled by her whim, powerless against each command? I shuddered hard, cold all over.

"I can't do this," I gasped, and fled back into my room, locking it firmly behind me. I stumbled over the rug to my bed and collapsed face down onto the covers, shaking all over. Cold all the way down to my bones.

People knew Darya was missing. How long before they realised she was dead?