Page 17 of Deadmen's Queen

Bast nodded. I turned and punched Alan again. His head snapped back, and he gave a cry of pain.

“Wrong answer, Alan,” I said. “Let's try again.”

“I told you.” He glared at me. “I didn’t do anything.”

I turned and walked over to the kitchen units. I pulled open each drawer until I found what I was looking for. The look on Alan’s face as I turned around holding one of his kitchen knives was priceless.

“No more chances, Alan,” Bast warned. His voice echoed in the room ominously. “I want the truth.”

Alan’s fear-filled eyes flicked to the knife and back to me. “I swear, I didn't do anything. I wouldn’t... I didn’t…”

His voice trailed off as I stepped closer, pressing the cold blade lightly against his throat, just enough to make him understand the gravity of the situation.

“See, Alan,” Bast said, his voice cold. “You're playing with fire and the thing about fire is... it burns.”

I brought the knife down hard, feeling it slide into his thigh. Alan screamed.

“Fuck! Fuck! What are you doing?”

“This is what happens when you don’t answer our questions, Alan,” Bast said calmly. “Now the other,” he said to me. I raised the knife again.

“Alright!” Alan yelled. “I took bribes! He showed up one night, near the start of term. Said it was part of the shit those idiots play. Just playing jokes on people. I didn’t think it was anything serious.”

Bast frowned. “What idiots?”

Alan rolled his eyes. “Those Reaper twats, with their skull masks. He was wearing one.”

I raised my eyes, looking over his head at Bast. His eyes were like steel. The plain black balaclavas we wore hid any hint of our identities from Alan, but hearing Paige’s stalker had used one of our Reaper masks to terrorise her had my fury rising. I slammed the knife down into Alan’s other thigh and he gave a high pitched scream.

“What the fuck? I’m talking you fucker!”

“He spoke to you?” asked Bast, his voice like ice.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah… the first time. Said he needed to pull a few harmless tricks on people, leave them some clues for some shit over the next few weeks, and he’d see I got paid for it. That’s the problem you see, all these stinking rich fuckheads, think they can do whatever the fuck they want-”

I ran my gloved hand through his hair, gripping hard and jerking his head back as I brought the knife to his throat.

“So how much did you get paid to put a girl’s life in danger?”

“Come on, mate. Come on… look, I just thought he was messing around, I swear…”

“How much?” I growled.

“Fifty each time. He’d leave the money on the desk on his way past.”

“Was there a pattern?” snapped Bast. “Did he come on certain nights, or was it random?”

“Random,” answered Alan quickly this time, his eyes shooting up to mine. I lowered the knife and released his hair, and he sighed in relief.

“Did you notice anything about him that could help us identify him?” Bast asked.

Alan shook his head, wincing as he shifted to try and alleviate some of the pain.

“Don't know,” he said. “Always wore a mask, like I said. Never saw his face.”

Bast sighed. “Fuck. What about his voice? Accent?”

“Nothing special,” Alan replied. “Just sounded normal. English, no accent or anything.”

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