43. Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Two

" Y ou know he's going to be pissed," Meg states as if I'm supposed to care. I shrug, opening the opposite door to the one he left through. Wyatt can sulk on his own all he likes. The repair guys must have decided they didn't have the right tools for the job, since all of them packed up and left pretty soon after Wyatt's episode. I waited as instructed, but in that time, I realized I'm done waiting. I'm actually home, exactly where I wanted to be.

Pushing through the wall, I appear in my bedroom. Decorated in soft pastel pink and gray, the room hasn't changed since I left. The king size bed in the middle of the space, the desk and walk-in closet across one side, and a vanity mirror on the other. I drop the box of Mr. XO letters down on the bed, leaving the rest until later. From those I did look through, there wasn't anything worth noting. No hint at who this person is, or what they want. Just innocent letters, not the ramblings of a psychopath. Of that, I'm fairly certain.

Collapsing onto the plush duvet, I stare up at the ceiling fan steady and unmoving above me. Meg heads over to the door leading onto a thin balcony. Just big enough to stand on and lean over the railing to see the driveway. Whatever spurred her to do just that is quickly followed by an ‘eek'.

"The fuck was that?" I crunch my neck upward. Meg rushes back in, her actions all flappy and panicked. My own chest leaps, a sense of unease brewing as she grabs my wrists and drags me upright. Dragging me to the balcony, her hand on my nape twists my head to peer at the large gates.

"I think you've got a problem."

"Shit," I gasp, my eyes wide. Then I'm running, through the manor, down the stairs and rushing to open the front door as a convoy of white Bentley's pull up. Huxley, Dax, Garrett and Axel all file out of the first, followed by streams of Huxley's uniformed staff out of the rest. The guards take up stations beside the front entrance and main gates, while butlers, maids and the chefs start to unload the trunks.

"I can explain," I blink widely, holding my hands up to Huxley's chest. He pauses in front of me, gently placing his hands over mine and smiles .

"No need. We anticipated as much. I'm just surprised Wyatt agreed to accompany you." Placing a kiss on my temple, he eases me to step aside and allow his staff to start filing through the lobby. Meg directs them to the kitchen.

"Where is the shitbag anyway?" Garrett hops up the steps, sweeping me into his arms. I gasp, and not from him swinging me around.

"Oh shit, I left him trapped in the walls." Garrett's responding laughter bleeds through the manor, instantly lighting the place with his humor.

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He sets me down just as Meg swings back around, stating that she'll attend to freeing Wyatt. I'd happily leave him there, but my attention is swayed by Axel's stunning hazel eyes. He lowers his head with tantalizing slowness, placing a tender kiss on my lips.

"Did you at least find what you were looking for?"

"I have more questions than answers," I sigh. "What are you guys even doing here?" Releasing me, Axel guides me into Dax's embrace. He was patiently waiting on the sidelines.

"Last weekend of Fall Break," Dax smirks. My heart melts at the warmth in his blue eyes, thankful that he isn't mad at me for sneaking out. "We've come to have the Thanksgiving Fest you wanted." My mouth drops open. They've driven all this way just for me? With a rush of excitement, I push up onto my tiptoes; giddy, throwing my arms around his neck. Dax shifts his head back when I try to plant a huge kiss on his mouth. "Before you thank me, it was Wyatt's idea. He called from the car last night."

Like a douse of cold water, I step back skeptically. Dax chuckles, reading my mind.

"Don't worry, we won't let him ruin it. With any luck, he's the character we kill off in the first five minutes and we don't have to suffer him for too long." Dax winks and I splutter a laugh. I'm not used to Dax, of all people, being conniving.

There's a rush of bodies in the manor, all moving with a sense of purpose, and it hasn't felt this much like home in too long. Meg and Axel help me dig out the box from the attic, containing all of Mom's plans. We won't be putting the party on for the staff like usual, but there's something much more intimate about celebrating with the Shadowed Souls. I think she'd approve of me having fun with a group who aren't being paid to attend for once.

Dishing out character sheets and outfits, we all find a space in the various empty rooms to freshen up and get ready. The time to learn our given persona is imperative, as is for the murderer to discover who they are. Meanwhile, the cooks adhere to the menu provided for the dinner and the housekeepers sort decorating and hiding the clues. The theme for this evening is the nineteen-thirties, in the height of the Guys and Dolls era .

Meg dresses with me in my room, transforming herself into Isabella Sinclair - the glamorous and mysterious ex-wife of our host, Victor Blackwood. Her navy blue dress is covered in small white flowers, cinched in all the right places at her waist and bust. The V is lower than I imagine it would have been back in those days, although the fabric does reach her knees in a tight-pencil skirt fashion. Bouncing her hair with tight curls and a gold pin to move the strands away from her face, she finishes off with black kitten heels, a tiny handbag and dainty leather gloves.

I offer her the crook of my arm, signaling I'm ready also. I emerge from my room as Lucy White, Victor's loyal and efficient personal assistant. My dress is a deep purple, covering me wrist to neck and down to my shins, the satin gilding over my body like rippling water. At my throat, a large cream bow drapes over my chest. A mauve fascinator is positioned in my loosely curled hair and I hold a small clutch bag.

We're first into the dining room. Name cards indicate our places, as well as small character sheets between the cutlery in case we need prompts. In my clutch, I have the opening manuscript to start the game.

"Oh yes," Huxley waltzes in approvingly. "You two look fantastic." I warm inside as the hunk in a suit takes the time to kiss Meg's cheek as well, before finding his place at the head of the table .

"Victor Blackwood, I assume." My grin is doubled by the effect Huxley has put into styling his long hair back and tied a cravat at his top button. He bows with a flourish as Wyatt and Dax join us. I half expected Wyatt to bow out, or turn up in sweatpants in protest, so I'm incredibly surprised at his olive green army attire. Medals shine against his chest pocket, a badge number pinned across his shoulder. His dark hair is impeccably in place, there's a cane in his grip and as always - he's scowling.

"Colonel Edward Grey," he sticks out a rigid hand to Huxley-I mean, Victor. "Retired military officer known for my strict sense of duty and intimidating presence." Huxley shakes his hand with a prim and proper ‘how do you do' while I'm snorting with laughter inside. There couldn't be a more perfect role for Wyatt if it was written just for him. Dax is in the seat beside me.

"Lucy White," I briefly curtsy. Dax takes my hand and kisses the back of it, the white lab coat hanging from his arms ruffling in the process.

"Dr Henry Henderson, resident physician," he smiles kindly. I snort a laugh. Henry Henderson , really? "Calm demeanor, sharp intellect, so on and so forth." For some reason, Dax's character has donned a British accent and I'm here for it.

Covering my laughter behind my hand, he pulls out my seat for me. Wyatt does the same for Meg, his movements tight and precise. Meg's bemused expression mirrors mine for her place diagonal to me. With Wyatt on her left, that leaves the space between her and Huxley, and the one to my right. On cue, clipped footsteps enter the room.

"Professor Alexander Green, at your service," Axel tugs on his jacket to straighten out the non-existent creases. His slacks are brown, as is the leather briefcase strapped across his chest. He takes the time to greet each member of the party with a clammy, rushed handshake and takes his seat beside me. I grin at his face, waiting for him to break character. The most I get is a shy sideways glance and a hushed rehearsed spiel. "I'm a scientist, working on a rather private invention as funded by Mr. Blackwood."

"It's lovely to meet you," I greet back. Looking around at everyone seated, we share knowing glances, just waiting for-

"My darlings!" Garrett calls as he saunters into the room, accompanied by a rhythmic click-click-click. I twist in my seat and I swear, I almost die at the sight before me. His dress is scandalous, red glitter and frayed around his muscular legs. He's stuffed his bra cups, roughed up his brown hair and somehow found platform heels to fit his huge feet.

"Miss Felicity Rose is here and ready for her close-up!" Puffing on a fake cigarette in an eight inch holder, Garrett poses against the door jamb, holding a gloved hand up to his forehead. I can't contain my laughter a moment longer and as I descend into hysterics, everyone else joins me. Even Wyatt cracks a smile before remembering his no-nonsense persona. Garrett clip-clops across the marble, blowing dramatic kisses to everyone in attendance.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, my darlings. I was just performing at the theater stage and I couldn't deny the audience an encore. Hopefully I didn't miss anything?" Garrett bats a huge set of fake lashes on his eyes and pouts his red, painted lips. I decide no one is leaving this room at the end of the night before we've got a group photo.

"Just on time," I announce, sliding the manuscript out of my clutch bag. Around us, the wait staff step in to fill our champagne flutes while I read out the introduction. "As Mr. Blackwood's personal assistant, he would like me to welcome you all here this evening. However, I must regretfully inform you that this is not a simple dinner amongst friends and colleagues. There has been a murder."

"Ohhh!" Garrett gasps and clutches the pearls around his neck. Axel's jaw clenches as he tries and fails to resist laughing.

"Indeed," I raise a brow, attempting seriousness. "This morning, Mr. Blackwood and I discovered the body of the housekeeper in the larder. We have invited you all here, not only to help identify the killer, but also as our prime suspects. Anyone of us at this table has the connections, motive and means to pull off such a feat. It's our job to figure out who."

Withdrawing a handful of small, square cards and miniature pencils, I pass them around to each member at the table. For one brief, selfish moment, I cast a glance over those present, finding myself overwhelmed. Just a few months ago, I only had one person I could rely on. Now, with all the effort they've put in, enjoying this night with the Shadowed Souls suddenly means so much more than they probably realize.

The card fits into my palm, listing seven rooms and seven objects. These aren't the large, laminated sheets my mom had printed and prepared, but an adapted version whipped up this afternoon by pen. I make a note to thank Huxley's staff, not lost in the irony that this celebration was meant to be for my own, yet they're nowhere to be seen. Plastering on a small smile, I find everyone waiting for their next instruction.

"The rules are simple. Between courses, we will look for these weapons in these rooms. If you find a weapon, you can either share it with the group, or attempt to hide it but it can't leave that room. The murderer wants to throw people off, so be on high alert for sneaky behavior. You can ask each other any questions to deduce motives. Once you think you know who killed the housekeeper with what weapon, you can declare your suspicions at the dinner table and peek at the sealed envelope. If you're right, you win. If you're wrong, the game continues."

And with that, the first of six courses is served. Huxley assumes the role as head of the table with as much ease as his own. His chest expands within the suit, a glass of champagne in his hand. He doesn't always drink, often swirling the hazel liquid and peering at me over the rim of the glass. His gaze is magnetic, affecting me even with Axel between us.

"So, Professor ," I attempt to distract myself. "Tell us about this invention you're working on." Axel straightens his shoulders, wincing slightly as he tries to read his character sheet. He's not a natural at acting, bless him.

"Well, if you must know, it's an advanced radio communication device. A cutting-edge portable radio device which has been designed to transmit and receive messages."

"Such a device would be revolutionary for military use," Wyatt raises a brow, his colonel's badge glinting beneath the chandelier. He, unsurprisingly, does not have any issues acting. I reckon his whole life is an act.

"How far along are you in terms of prototypes?" Dr Henry Brown asks, aka Dax. He leans across me, his fresh scent of sea minerals brushing over me like a caress. I can't help but catch the crystal blueness to his eyes, or how the blondeness of his short afro hair contrasts with his tanned skin. Sharp lines and pointed features, and he's beautiful. Truly beautiful in a way I can't fathom. Catching me staring, he gives a quick wink and moves back into his seat.

"Actually, I have produced a working set of prototypes," Axel admits. "I provided Victor with a sample on my previous visit. Do you have any feedback?" All heads twist to Huxley, who's entire focus seemed to be on me.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Um…," Hux taps his jacket pockets. "I seemed to have misplaced it."

"Misplaced it?!" Axel gasps, getting into it fully now. "That was the only working pair I have. Without the receiver, mine is useless." Taking out his smartphone, he tosses it across the table. I have to bite my lip to suppress a bark of laughter. Huxley waves his hand in the air.

"I'm sure I can throw money your way and have you whip up another one."

"That doesn't resolve the issue of where the other has gotten to," Meg suddenly interjects. The ex-wife pops a piece of fish into her mouth and chews slowly, forcing us all to wait for her to continue. "Seems to me something of such expense and importance would have been ripe for stealing. How vetted are your staff these days, Victor? When you're not screwing them." She leaves Huxley with such a glare, I can feel the frostiness across the table. But she has a point .

"You're insinuating the housekeeper could have been involved?" I frown, tapping a finger on my chin. "Definitely seems like a motive to me."

"We will have to see what turns up," Dax pats the sides of his mouth with a napkin. "If you'll excuse me." Pushing his chair back, he stands, indicating the first course is finished. I didn't even touch mine, too engrossed in the plot to eat. As the others take their exit to go hunting, I quickly dig into my starter. There's nothing ladylike about my movements, but when I peer up, Huxley is still seated and watching me.

"What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Oh nothing," Huxley plays with the stem of his glass, his fingers stroking a repetitive pattern. I reach for my glass, suddenly needing a drink myself. "I'm just enjoying watching you." Butterflies flutter deep down, my cheeks heating slightly. Huxley in his fine suit, his long hair styled, his jaw freshly shaved. But I've seen that all before. No, it's the hunger in him tonight which is drawing me in like a moth to a flame. He seems to be insatiable, and it's not the dinner he's looking forward to. I duck my head, removing the napkin from my lap.

"Because that's not creepy at all. We should investigate before you try to stab me with a butter knife."

"I'm not the murderer here, Lucy White. Are you?" Huxley's chocolate eyes sparkle with mirth as he leaves the dining room, leaving me alone with my racing heartbeat and thoughts. Why did that sound so hot, and what the hell is wrong with me for thinking it did?