Page 60 of All Hallows Game

“With popcorn,” I added, tapping the cold handle of the mug. I’d found if I contributed something to the conversation, I could go a good two minutes without anyone expecting me to speak again. “Byron loves popcorn. Loved,” I added after an awkward silence. That silence crawled down my spine, digging in its claws. I reached for the remnants of my own cronut just for something to do.

“Popcorn it is,” Phil said with a soft smile, her big brown eyes filled with nothing but understanding. She must have lost someone too, to have that sympathy in her eyes. “And I was thinking—we should leave some food for Byron, too, set him up his own little buffet. I know it sounds weird, but it’s what I did for my grandmother, and for my brother, too. It’s nourishment for their soul while they’re finding their way to the afterlife. And a mark of respect for their life.”

My throat swelled. I never saw Byron in Death’s domain, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Had he already passed through its gates, or was he hanging around here, tormented by his death?

“I like that idea,” I said, rough with emotion. I didn’t want Byron stuck here, where he’d been blackmailed and manipulated by Nightmare, where he’d been murdered. I hadn’t been back to the moors since that night; what if he was still there? “Byron deserves that.”

He deserved peace, even after everything. I couldn’t let go of the anger, but that was my problem, not his. I didn’t want him to suffer in life or death.

Honey sniffled beside me; I put my arm around her, pulling her into my side. “That’s really kind of you. You didn’t have to do all this for By, but I’m glad you are.”

Wil ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. “We have to do something to acknowledge his passing. Everyone keeps acting like everything’s normal, when we all know it’s a dangerous shitshow of magic. Byron should still be with us.”

“So the memorial’s a tribute to Byron, but a fuck you to Nightmare,” Phil whispered. I waited for laughter to ripple through my mind, but it never did. Probably because the goddess didn’t want me to realise she could listen whenever she felt like it, twenty-four-seven, seven days a week.

Phil squeezed my hand and let go. “I’ll get us a coffee refill. It won’t help you grieve, but it won’t hurt either. Same again?”

I nodded absently, holding Honey tighter. I’d been half-awake at Byron’s funeral, on complete autopilot and numbed all the way through, but this memorial was going to hurt.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Phil said, hovering by the table with her hands full of coffee mugs, “and I won’t bullshit you that it ever stops hurting. But you find a way to live with it. Grief’s like a ball and chain; it might slow down how fast you can walk, but you can still walk. Promise.”

My throat was so tight I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, my eyes blurring. I didn’t want it to hurt any less. If it stopped hurting, I might forget him. But even hurt, I could still walk, no matter how slowly.

“Shit, Phil,” Wil said, awe in his wide eyes. “You should become a poet.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already a poet,” she teased. “I could be a famous poet and you’d never know.”

She went over to order us more coffee with a wink, and I felt the impact of having friends like these to take care of me like both a dropkick to the chest and a warm hug.

“Did you hear about the monster?” Wil asked, changing the subject. A piercing winked from his eyebrow as he leaned towards us. “It’s all over the front page of the paper. Even some online sites are picking up on it, calling it the new Loch Ness Monster. Apparently, Beaumont wasn’t the only one attacked.”

Bloody images flashed in my mind and I flinched. Intestines ripped out, gore spilled across the pavement, flowers scattered on the ground.

“The monster killed two people in the village,” Wil told us with a strange mix of gravity and gossip. “That makes three. Either there really is a monster loose in Ford, or we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

Two people. The creature killed two people. Would I have been the second if I hadn’t escaped into Death’s domain? Ice skated down my arms and I shuddered.

“Aren’t you worried?” Honey asked, giving up on her cronut now her restless hands had shredded it. “You sound eager for a killer to be stalking Ford’s streets.”

“Are you kidding?” Wil sat back in his chair with a laugh. “A normal, run-of-the-mill murder would be a nice change of pace, don’t you think? I bet you twenty grand it’ll turn out to be a wild wolf or something. There used to be wolves in the woods back when Ford’s End was a pagan site.”

“A pagan site,” I repeated, like we didn’t all know that was bullshit and Nightmare was the only goddess worshipped here.

Wil flicked his eyebrows up. “Yeah. Pagan,” he agreed, making quote marks with his fingers.

“It’s probably her,” Honey said bitterly, “using her fucked up magic to turn into a wolf.”

Rage entered Wil’s eyes for a moment, and I felt an echo of it in my own expression. That bitch had killed so many people, and it was far over. She wanted me under her thumb—she had Virgil for a reason. How long until she unveiled whatever horrific plan she had in mind this time?

Her last grand plan had turned the men I loved against me, killed my best friend, revealed the woman I murdered was a ghost, and made me her lackey. I needed to get Virgil to safety before she could put everything in motion. I needed to remove her power, to tell my gods everything that had happened. I knew they were searching for her, scouring every dark part of Ford’s End for the goddess, trying to find some way to kill her or curse her or remove her power.

“One vanilla latte; one large cappuccino; one unhinged blueberry bubble frappe with soy milk, caramel syrup, a shot of espresso, and cheese foam; and a perfectly sane iced americano for me.”

“Hey, don’t knock the cheese,” Wil huffed, clutching his drink to his chest like it was his baby.

“I’m Korean, Wil; do you know how many drinks are sold in Seoul alone with cheese foam topping? That’s not the issue. Blueberry, coffee, and caramel? In one drink? With boba?” She wrinkled her nose, handing drinks to me and Honey. “I can only presume your taste buds were seared off years ago.”

My chest was still weighted by the monster, by Byron’s absence, but I managed a small smile at their antics when Wil gasped dramatically at the insult.

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