Chapter 40

Ihad the unsettling feeling that everything was getting bigger, and by bigger I meant worse. It had been three weeks since I found Erika murdered, and five others had been found dead.

The island had their own police—two men in their late fifties with matching paunches and balding spots. They'd made a cursory investigation, but either they were in Nightmare's clutches or they were just useless. Fear of my prints being found on Erika's door and desk chair had kept me awake, but the officers didn't even dust for prints.

According to Byron who'd seen the officers in the room of a third year called Willie Herbert1 all they did was walk around the room squinting at stuff, put electricals in bags for later examination, and ask around if anyone had witnessed anything suspicious.

Naturally, everyone said, no, everything was completely normal. Eight people were dead and one was missing, but sure, everything was normal.

Hell, maybe this was normal for Ford. There was a reason the school was cloaked in so much secrecy, so much information held back until a week before term's start. Maybe the administration at Ford knew Nightmare would rise.

I wanted to know how my gods had killed her the first time. All they'd said was they'd tried the same method this time, and it had failed. Clearly, Nightmare had expected the attempt. I didn't like the thought of them confronting the terrifying madwoman, but they were gods, I reminded myself. I didn't fully know what they were capable of.

Miz had returned to my room after we followed the cult member, but had told me nothing—not why he was as pale as a ghost, or why he was shaking. I hadn't seen him since, but I got the sense he was always nearby.

"Please," Honey begged, perched on my desk while I caught up on online coursework I'd missed while spending time with my husbands this morning. "Please, please, Cat."

"No," I said, slanting a narrow scowl at her. "It sounds hellish, and no thank you. Go ask Byron."

"I can't find Byron," she muttered, batting a lock of slick, dark hair from her face and giving me a pleading look I pretended not to see.

"He'll be with his boyfriend."

The pleading look continued. "You only have to come for two hours."

Honey, I have no interest in attending a charity gala organised by your boyfriend who threatens me every time he finds me alone and vulnerable, and who the very sight of makes me want to throw up with fear or break his fucking nose.

But I couldn't say that. And besides, she didn't know he'd threatened me. She was so stubbornly attached to him, I worried she'd fallen for his sneering golden face. I'd tried to bring up getting a weird vibe from him several times, to which she'd said I just needed to spend more time with him.2 When I told her he'd said some things that made me uncomfortable, she'd promised to talk to him. The next time he caught me unawares in the dining hall, he pinned me to the wall with his arm to my throat, so that worked so well.

I wanted to scream the truth at her, but I was scared she'd take his side, and then she'd be alone with a man I knew wouldn't hesitate to hurt a woman. At least if I was still her friend, I'd know if something was wrong. So far, she was in the honeymoon period, but the first hint I got that it had changed, I'd ask one of my husbands to deal with him. I'd come so fucking close to telling them about all of Alastor's threats, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt Honey. What if this came between us and she never spoke to me again?

"One hour," I muttered, because her pleading expression was changing to one of hurt, and I couldn't stand hurting my friends.

"And hour and half," she haggled, hope brightening her blue eyes.

"Fine," I groaned.

I couldn't resist a smile when she moved my laptop aside so she could throw herself on me, hugging me tightly. I hugged her back harder than normal but neither of us commented on it.

The scream Miz and I heard in the woods that day hadn't led to another murder, but it had shaken both of us, and I couldn't get the sound out of my head. Or the sound of Miz's fast, frantic breaths and Nightmare's laughter. She was toying with us.

I didn't want to think about going to the gala, where Honey would be vibrant with happiness and I'd have to pretend to be okay when every moment of every day I waited for one of Nightmare's followers to break into my room and murder me.

Almost everyone at Ford had seen the cloaked person I chased now—they were calling him the Assassin. Duncan Ford had been beaten up because everyone, especially his blond friend Fashion Magazine had managed to convince everyone he did it. Duncan walked stooped with a limp now, and I would have loved to believe it was him who hunted and murdered people, who pushed that envelope under my door, but it was too convenient and I wasn't convinced.

When Miz and I got back that night, there"d been no envelope, but I knew what I saw, like I knew it was Nightmare's twisted magic that had removed it.

"Thank you, thank you," Honey was gushing, squeezing my shoulders. "You won't regret it. And it'll give you a chance to wear that amazing red dress you brought."

"Yeah," I agreed, trying to summon some enthusiasm. "That makes it worth going."

"Andwe get to save some kittens, and you get to support your bestie."

I smiled, unable to resist her enthusiasm. "And there'll be food, right?"

"There will, a hundred percent," she agreed, laughing, "be f—"

Honey's laugh cut off. The world seemed to pause. To muffle, like a blanket was thrown over every noise.

"Cat, Honey," Nightmare's voice came floating on the air, a ghostly call that snapped us both to attention. "Come to me, my terrors. I have a job for you."

And like puppets we climbed off the bed and obeyed.