Page 43 of When Kings Rise

The very idea that the man from whom I learned everything is now an active player changes everything.

Victor glances at Oisin. “Failure is not an option.”

I try to keep my features relaxed, but my heart races in my chest. I glance at Wolf, who is delighted with this news.

I can’t afford even the tiniest slip up. Selene’s earlier accusations about me being a hitman crash heavily against my skull. No matter if the information is something she pieced together or was told, I need to make sure my Brides are in line at all times. One tiny slip up from here on out could cost me my head.

“You will all work closely with Oisin. Whatever he needs from you, you will grant.” We all nod, but Victor’s gaze lingers on me.

I hate him with so much passion. I will have my moment to destroy him, but for right now, I need to think of a way that he doesn’t destroy me first.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Selene

THE RED BRICK building towers over us, its grandeur reminding me more of a castle than the coroner's office. Despite its apparent age, I know it's a fairly new construction. The sweeping driveway leading up to it is deserted except for us.

I adjust my stride to match Niamh's erratic pacing. She bumps into me yet again, a little too hard this time, causing me to stumble slightly. I glance at her, puzzled by her inability to walk in a straight line despite being perfectly sober. This may be all too much for her, especially since Rian shared more information with us that he was holding onto.

The girl who was found on top of Andrew’s grave has brown curly hair. It’s such a small detail, but for both of us, it’s starting to paint a picture, especially since we have a photo of a missing girl who doesn’t appear to even be eighteen.

“Niamh, are you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low despite the emptiness around us. It feels like the walls have ears, and the last thing we need is unwanted attention.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile, her eyes darting around nervously. “Just, I want this done and over with.”

I can't help but agree. It was the mushroom pickers who had found the body. They told Rian the details of what they found, and we have one more final detail. She was wearing a tweed jacket on the twenty-second day of September.

As we reach the grand front door, Niamh straightens up. She rings the bell, and the sound echoes, seemingly swallowed by the building's vast interior. Moments later, the door swings open to reveal a stern-faced woman in a coroner's uniform.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her tone as cold as the air that flows out from the building. All the dead people are in there. I swallow, ready to speak, but Niamh seems to have found her nerve.

Niamh steps forward, and I admire her courage as she speaks. “Yes, we believe we may be related to a woman who was found on September 22nd. We were hoping to... to claim her, if possible.”

The woman's expression softens slightly, but she maintains her professional demeanor. “I see. Do you have any proof of your relationship? Anything at all that can help us verify your claim?”

Niamh and I exchange a glance. This is the part we hadn't fully prepared for.

“We... we have this,” I say, pulling out a photograph from my jacket pocket. My fingers are sweaty around the image. I find it hard to look at the young, smiling girl that Rian had somehow dug up from the internet. He must have spent hours comparing the small details he had gathered to find a girl who matched this description and who had been declared missing in this area on September 22nd.

The coroner studies the photograph, then us, her gaze lingering a little too long on our faces. “Do you have any ID?” She finally says.

Shit. Of course, she would ask for ID. I curse Rian for not thinking of this; I curse myself, too.

“We got here as quick as we could; I’m sorry, I don’t.” I hang my head and take a large lungful of air.

“She always wore her tweed jacket around this time of year. It was her favorite.” I hope sharing this knowledge will prove that we know her.

The assistant still watches me. I don’t know what she sees on our faces, but all of a sudden, she’s hesitant.

No.

Niamh chimes in, her voice stronger than I've heard it today. “We got a letter from her two years ago, but nothing since. We've been so worried. Please, we just need to know if that's her.”

The assistant nods, seemingly swayed by Niamh. “Let me check the records for the clothing description.” She steps away, leaving us to wait at the reception desk.

The wait stretches out like a long, dark alleyway in front of us. Niamh doesn’t speak, and I don’t try to engage in conversation. If I do, I might end up convincing us to leave.

The assistant returns.

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