Page 62 of Forged By Shadows

“There’s no one here. We could ransack the whole house and be done with it.”

“You know we don’t operate that way. Keep it clean and contained. That’s the deal.”

“Catherine Hughes kept secrets from her husband for decades. She wasn’t going to leave the evidence of it lying around in his own office.”

“Nixon must know by now. He’d have had people looking into her death. Once the fingers pointed to our Boss, everything should have clicked into place for the old man. He’s a fucking idiot, but no one is that naïve.”

The wireless mouse in my hand clatters to the ground. I push the headphones off as if I’ve been burned, my entire body shaking. My jaw aches from its tensed position and my spine is rigid enough to snap.

“Wyatt? What is it?” A gentle hand settles on my shoulder. I jerk out of the seat, as far from her touch as I can get in this room. The walls don’t seem so wide apart anymore, the darkness closing in around me. “Wyatt?” She calls for me again. What did that stupid poem say? A light in the darkness, the eye of the storm. Avery’s pale blue eyes fill with concern, offering me exactly that. A lifeboat, if only I could let myself accept it. Twisting away sharply, I face the steel door containing me in this claustrophobic lockbox.

“When they’ve all left, give it an hour before you come out. We’re taking Megan home and then we’re getting the fuck out of dodge. No fucking arguments.” I press the release button and exit, lowering myself onto the wooden steps halfway outside the safe room. Avery takes her cue to shut me out, shrouding me in darkness. I tremble, placing my head into my hands. Silently, I cry into my palms, stifling my sobs into nothingness.

She didn’t just die in a car accident. My mom was killed. A sickening feeling turns my stomach. The memories I try to call on are twinged with shadows. Tainted with guilt and paranoia. Her bright smile which might now seem forced. Her lingering hold in the crook of my arm that may have been tighter than I realized. I was so distracted by my own anger. What secrets was she keeping that she couldn’t tell anyone?

Cold air sweeps past my hunched frame, yet I’m on fire. Words echo through my ears on repeat. This is all my fault. I should have been there. I should have seen more. I could have saved her.

Chapter Forty Two

“You 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.

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