Page 37 of All Hallows Game

“That’s not what Three Tequila Shots Cat told me last night,” she retorted, dredging enough amusement through the mire of her grief to waggle her eyebrows.

I groaned, turning away. “I told you nothing.”

“You told me far too much,” she disagreed as I wove through the garage towards my car. “In too much detail.”

I vaguely remembered telling her about Death’s to-die-for stroke game and winced. Tequila didn’t agree with me. At all.

I shook my head at myself as I got settled in the driver’s seat, but the gravity of my situation crashed back into me. I wasn’t going into Ford’s End for book and coffee therapy. I was going to Death’s domain to see Byron’s ghost.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MISERY

Idreamed of the Fords that night, a lavish feast under glittering torches and a gilded ceiling that had been torn down in present day, replaced by a practical wood panel. The vast dining table was covered in platters of food, a whole roast hog the centrepiece as my family hosted dinner for the power players of the village.

She came to Ford because the veil between life and death was thin here, but I only found that out when it was too late. It was why Death’s domain spat me out on this island, why eerie things seemed to happen, why mist wrapped the hills and houses and I saw spirits wandering the cobbled streets.

I could have gone anywhere, could have taken a boat to the mainland and left Ford’s End, but it was Rosalind and the Fords that kept me there. The family I’d never had before, that was too precious to leave even to explore the world. By the end, I wished I’d travelled as far away from Ford’s End as possible.

It was a name I came to hate, a name that reminded me of everything that happened—the accursed island where the Fords met their end.

In my dream, it was the banquet again, and Baldric sat beside me boasting of the deer he’d hunted in the woods, Theodore on my other side rolling his eyes as he drained his wine and reached for the jug to refill his goblet. Across from me, Rosalind wore a secret smile as she cradled a small, leather bound red book in her hand.

“I don’t know how you can smile while reading Beowulf,” I said, scanning the table full of family, friends, and familiar faces before returning to my sister.

We’d all dressed in our best clothing, the women in gowns made of the finest imported materials, details painstakingly embroidered, and the men in tunics fit for King Edward’s court. It was an impressive show of wealth, but the strip of fabric that held my stocking in place was itching like crazy and my tunic was so heavy my shoulders kept slumping before I threw them back again. I couldn’t wait to go back to my room and throw all this finery to the floor.

“If you can’t smile while reading Beowulf,” Rosalind said, flicking me an amused glance over her book, her blue eyes glittering, “you are reading it wrong.”

My brow furrowed as I remembered the subject matter of that particular book. “Are you sure you aren’t holding a book bound in the wrong cover?”

“Funny,” she drawled and went back to reading.

The banquet hall smelled of roast hog and vegetables, but for a moment the scent of cloves and copper overwhelmed the fragrant food, and I frowned, glancing around. My eyes fell on a woman taking a seat beside the local clergyman, her dark red dress cut scandalously low and her features unlike those of anyone else in Ford’s End. Like mine were unlike anyone else’s. She glanced up, sensing my attention, and smiled. My stomach knotted, but I smiled back, the very beginnings of a friendship.

Within four weeks, everyone I loved in the mortal realm was dead.

I woke up drenched in sweat, gasping, shaking. The image of Nightmare was so clear, the memory so ruthlessly sharp that I had to wonder if she was placing these dreams in my mind. Torturing me with my worst mistake—meeting her.

I scrubbed my hands down my face and forced myself to face the truth. I was her puppet, and I couldn’t be trusted even a little bit. If she was in my dreams, she was everywhere.

I remembered the blood and foam that poured from the mouths of my family, remembered Rosalind’s silent scream as she drowned in the lake, and I threw myself out of bed.

My legs were weak as I crossed the moonlit room to the cabinet where Peach’s enclosure sat. I hadn’t told anyone about this plan, mostly because Tor and Death would talk me out of it, but I couldn’t go on like this. I wasn’t in control of myself; I was in her control, and Nightmare plus the power to inflict misery on every living being was a dangerous combination.

I thought of the way Cat had hunched over herself, arms around her middle, and true suffering in her eyes when I slipped and my power hit her. I wouldn’t do that to her again. I’d done enough. I guided the heavy drawer open, wincing at the low groan the old wood let out, and removed a small leather box. It had always been a last resort, a contingency plan in case Nightmare came back.

Well, she was back now, and inside my head. She had always been inside my head. I’d never been free, just a ticking time bomb.

“It won’t kill me,” I said out loud, manifesting those words into truth. My heart hammered, more sweat beading on my forehead, but I eased open the leather box and took out the ampoule within.

Peach ventured out to see me, blinking luminous eyes at me like she knew what I held, what liquid glowed silver inside the vial.

“I have to, Peach,” I croaked, swallowing the lump in my throat. I would be powerless, and I risked permanent damage, but if it kept the people I loved alive, it was a price I’d pay. “I’ll be fine,” I murmured, convincing myself.

Pain said it wouldn’t kill me. Probably. But Pain had been known to lie, and he hadn’t been forthcoming about where he’d sourced the ampoule.

“Too late to worry about that now.”

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