Page 61 of All Hallows Game

“How—very—dare you,” he breathed, staring at his friend with betrayal.

Even Honey snorted.

“Oh, and Cat,” Phil said with a cheeky smile, “I had the barista put an extra special design on your coffee.”

I hadn’t even noticed, distracted by images of bodies ripped apart and eaten, but a glance at the coffee in my hands had a laugh bursting out of me. It was so loud it echoed around the coffee shop.

“That’s a cock.”

“Yup,” Phil agreed with a beaming grin.

“There’s a cock in my foam.”

“Lucky foam,” Wil muttered, taking a healthy gulp of his questionable drink and smacking his lips like it was delicious.1

“Mine’s got… what is that?” Honey said, tilting her head until she nearly dipped the ends of her golden hair in the coffee, a crease between her brows.

“Two bunnies fucking,” Phil informed her. “Since you and that boyfriend of yours are always glued at the hip, I have to assume the sex is off the scale.”

Honey blushed to her roots.

I drank my cock coffee2 and tried to hide my scowl. Wil noticed and raised his eyebrow but Honey, thankfully, did not. I managed to arrange my face into something more neutral by the time she looked at me, her whole face pink.

Whatever Phil had been about to say died on her lips when the heavy glass-inlaid doors to the coffee shop swung open and two police officers came in, their neon-yellow coats drenched by the drumming rain outside, their faces half hidden under black hats.

“Oh, shit,” Wil breathed.

My stomach twisted into a sailor’s knot; my first thought was they’d found out I was there the day the creature killed the florist. Who else? Who else had it slaughtered after I escaped? I should have told Honey. If no one else, I should have told her. Now she’d have to watch me be carted away for questioning, frogmarched out of the school to—

“Duncan Ford?” a deep, gruff voice called out, and my sickness intensified. I wiped my hands on my jeans as sweat beaded. Oh, god. They weren’t here for me—they were here for Duncan.

“Yeah?” Duncan asked, standing from the small table he’d been sitting at, hidden behind a MacBook. I hadn’t even noticed him. “Finally decided to investigate my cousin’s murder, have you?”

Of course they hadn’t. Nightmare would see to it that they never did.

“We need you to come down to the station,” the gruff man’s smaller partner said, pushing her hat back so she could give Duncan a serious stare. “We have some questions you need to answer.”

“Like what?” Duncan demanded, his shoulders straightening, chin cocked out. Defiant and angry, all because of me. My stomach soured further.

“Like why we found a murder weapon in your wardrobe,” the gruff officer replied, to the utter silence of the coffee shop. Even the low hiss of steaming milk and rattling crockery had gone quiet.

“What?” Duncan laughed breathily, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. You didn’t find anything in my wardrobe because I never killed anyone.”

Even I knew that wasn’t true.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the second officer said. She couldn’t have been taller than five-foot-three, but with that expression on her face, I wouldn’t fuck with her.

Chair feet screeched before I realised I’d stood. “I’ll come with you,” I offered Duncan.

Duncan shook his head, looking angry and tired but not confused. Did he know I’d planted the evidence, or did he assume it was Nightmare’s doing? It was Nightmare’s doing, I reminded myself. “I’ll be fine, Cat. Don’t get yourself questioned by these amateurs, too.”

I wilted under the woman’s stare, all my instincts screaming at me to sit back down. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” I replied, swallowing hard.

“Well, be a good friend and convince him to cooperate. No one wants to see you dragged out of here, son.”

“Fine,” Duncan bit out, storming across the room, his laptop forgotten. “But I’ll be calling my lawyer.”

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