Page 38 of All Hallows Game

I flicked up the filigree metal stopper and tipped my head back, emptying its contents in my mouth. The silver liquid tasted like a fragrant cocktail of ditch water, blood, and rotten apples, but I choked it down. Two swallows and it was done.

Nothing happened for long moments. I stood there, my hands braced on the cabinet, watching Peach watch me, and I decided Pain must have conned me. That would be like him—to take what I so desperately needed and deprive me of it to cause maximum damage. It was his nature after all.

But I should have known better. The sadist god would love the suffering of me drinking this potion more than depriving me of it.

Pain hit with the swiftness and ferocity of a lightning bolt and my knees buckled, sending me to the floor. I grunted at the impact, but the pain in my chest, slicing through my soul, was so much worse. I clutched my chest, panting, wheezing, as a vital part of me severed itself from my soul. The fibres of the rug scratched my cheek as I fell onto my side, struggling for breath.

A door slammed somewhere in the castle, but noises were blurring into a distorted mess in my ears, only Peach’s alarmed calls making any sense to my addled mind. Scents swam around me: the familiar jasmine and wood shavings scent of my room, the blood and cloves scent of Nightmare, the amber and sandalwood or Tor, and Death’s burned sugar. I didn’t know if any of them were real, didn’t know if any of them were here, and it hurt most that I couldn’t smell Cat’s peaches and cream even as a delusion.

The dream closed around me again, blurring my room with the vision of the banquet, the smile on Rosalind’s face, the good humour and teasing from my brothers, the watchful amusement on Nightmare’s face as we met for the first time. That was the last banquet I had with my family, and it was all my fault.

All your fault, all your fault.

Something rocked me, and my head lolled, a groan ripped from my lips as the dream images blurred into my room, the golden light fitting above my head swooping and curving like the long dragon I grew up hearing fantastical stories of. If only dragons could reach into the mess I’d made of my life and use their powers over the weather to set everything right. I was a disastrous flood that would sweep away everything that mattered.

“Not anymore,” I slurred, my eyes half-shut. The scent of burnt sugar intensified and I realised I was cradled in Death’s lap, his beautiful face hovering above mine, frantic eyes roving across my features.

“What did you do, you stupid bastard?” Tor demanded, dropping to his knees beside me, his golden skin wan with panic, with fear.

“My magic’s bound,” I rasped, trying to reach for him but too weak. “You’re safe from me.”

“You idiotic fucking—”

I passed out before I could hear the end of Tor’s rant.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CAT

“Everything is fine and nothing bad is going to happen,” I said like a chant, my hands white-knuckling the steering wheel of my Lamborghini Urus as I took the moors road slowly, no matter how badly I wanted to speed along it until it was in my rear view.

I didn’t put the radio on. The haunting memory of the radio glitching last time I drove down this road was far too fresh. I scanned the fields around me, waiting for fog, for robed cult members, for Nightmare herself.

The sky was gathering rainclouds overhead, but that didn’t mean it was an omen. It rained all the time in Ford’s End. The sea thrashed violently where I glimpsed it as I rounded a bend, the village spread out below me, but that was normal too. We were halfway between Britain and Ireland; rough weather and choppy seas were to be expected. Not an omen.

“Everything is fine and nothing bad is going to happen.”

If I said it enough times, would I believe it? I needed a hand free to spin my crown ring around my finger for strength but I didn’t dare lift a single fingertip off the steering wheel, visions of me crashing over the edge of the winding road filling my head. I might have been having a horrific time, but my anxiety was happy and thriving. And intent on driving me to madness.

Movement caught the corner of my eye and I whipped my head around, my hands jerking on the steering wheel.

“Shit!” I screeched, forcing my attention back to the narrow road before I crashed into the fucking ocean. “You’re fine, you’re fine,” I chanted. “You’re fine.”

Except a flutter of dark wings and beady eyes had lit on a tree to my right, and I couldn’t dismiss my panic about omens. Another crow.

One crow for bad luck.

A tremor of cold went down my arms, raising goosebumps, and I fumbled for my phone, sending it straight to speed dial.

“Come on, come on, please,” I whispered, keeping my eyes on the road through sheer effort, taking the next bend with painstaking care. As the road curved, I couldn’t help but notice two more crows watching me. But that was just my paranoia. They weren’t watching me. They were crows.

Two crows for good luck, three crows for health.

“They’re not a fucking omen,” I growled under my breath, but the shivery sensation never left my body, and the call to Tor rang and rang and rang. I very carefully ended the call and tried Zoltan, to the same end. Then Honey, Mum, Dad, and even Wil and Phil. In a rush of desperation, I called Virgil’s phone, and for a delusional moment I was convinced he’d answer and all Nightmare’s threats would be just that—threats. She’d played mind games before; it wouldn’t be the first time.

But Virgil didn’t answer, and all the call did was ring and ring and—

“Hello, darling terror. I’m afraid Virgil can’t come to the phone right now, so you’ve reached voicemail. Leave a message and I’ll reply when we’re a little less busy.”

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