Page 90 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

The storm swallows us whole. Clouds that look like waves in an angry sea. Lightning claiming the powerful sky. Rain hammering down on us, so hard and so fast that it stings when it shoots across our skin. The trees overhead are waving like giant green flags, whipping through the watery line of fire.

“We should find shelter!” Warrose yells at me through the ferocious winds. “Someone will get hurt!”

But my mind isn’t operating on reason. No, it’s running on fumes and dangerous threads of hope. I let the images of my Dessin bleeding out across my lap counteract my thoughts, laced with hope that could very well kill me. I’m not thinking about anyone’s safety. I’m not concerned with the lightning splitting trees in half or the ground beneath our feet starting to slosh with a flood.

I’m thinking ofhim.

That boy who reached his hands into Jack’s dark basement, pulling me into the sunlight. The one who taught me to swim, to climb a tree, to find food in the forest, to fight like an assassin in the night. That boy who held me while I cried, while I asked God to take us far away from this horrible place. That boy who put my happiness before his own.

Kane.

I’m thinking of the man in the thirteenth room that everyone feared. The man that was cruel to all except me. The man that would ride through hell, endure endless torture, walk through fire just to save me. The man with the heart covered in armor. The avenging alter.

Dessin.

The cold rain mixes with the blood of the asylum devils, washing it away in the storm. I have no food in my stomach. No sleep to keep my eyes open. No rest to soothe my aching muscles. All I have now is my will to see him again. To feel his heart beating.

Chekiss and Niles start to fall behind, and to my surprise, Ruth picks up her pace, running violently beside Warrose and me. Our feet splash in puddles, and she looks at me through wet strands of hair and those deep-brown eyes.

“I’m with you,” she grunts, sharp whimsical features covered in drops of rain, firm with determination.

My heart of ice and poison cracks, only a little, a slight hairline fracture that lets in some of her warmth. Even after the cruel words I said, cutting her deep, she is still standing by me. I give her a quick nod.

We enter the graveyard. The air heavy with lingering spirits and the strong scent of wet soil and wilting flowers. I point to the red oak tree drooping over my father’s grave. Kane’s family plot is right behind it. Now that I think about it, they must have planned it that way. Sophia and Jack’s families, bound in life and death.

I slide to my knees, gliding through the mud as we reach his headstone. I blink several times, clearing the water from my lids. It says the names of all of his alters.

I look up at Warrose with stunned eyes.

He nods. Guilt. Fondness. Calm sadness.

Without another word, I scramble to dig with my hands. Six feet of compact dirt, only soft and mushy at the first few inches due to the storm. I’ll do it. I’ll break my fingers, bloody up my nails, push myself to the brink to find him.

Niles and Chekiss finally catch up, dropping to the ground to help Ruth and me dig. With every handful of mud, rainwater fills the small hole. It’s exhausting. We’re hunched over, sopping wet, blind from the sideways rain, and slipping around in mud.

“Move,” Warrose orders. He rips off his black tunic in a hurry, revealing his raised tattoos, gray and black, an ancient language in the form of calligraphy markings all over his body.

And he’s huge. The broad lines of his back. The trim coiled muscles across his stomach. I turn away quickly, looking over at Ruth, who is gawking with an open mouth. She stops digging.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks him.

Warrose snorts. “I brought shovels. So, yes.”

Oh, thank God.

It feels like hours pass as we dig to the bottom. Niles’s shovel clanks against the coffin first. At this point, the storm lets up, now sprinkling over us in a fine mist.

“Niles!” Warrose shouts, gripping the edges of the slippery wood. “Help me open it!”

We drop our shovels, moving out of the way to give them some space. My heart is a ball of thunder in my chest. The oxygen is too thin. And what if he’s in there? What if he is—still dead? My body starts to shake violently as if it only just realized we’re soaking wet and surrounded by a chill in the air.

Ruth’s hand slides into mine, holding me close as they work the lid.

I hold my breath. I wasn’t supposed to let that dangerous sliver of hope tighten itself around my heart. But it has. There’s no denying it now. I can’t protect myself from what comes next.

“You can fake your death.”

Niles and Warrose grunt, opening the lid slowly.

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