Page 75 of All Hallows Game

I didn’t know how I’d get through today, but I’d do it even if I had to drag myself through by my fingernails.

I just stared at my phone when I lowered it, the call ended. My head was horribly silent, my chest full of pain. It made everything worse to talk about it, to hear Honey putting clues together, to think of her being ensnared by Nightmare like Byron was. That only led to one destination—here, in Death’s domain. I still hadn’t found Byron’s spirit. I didn’t have the nerve to ask if he was here, but deep down I knew the answer to that. Nightmare had stolen his soul like she’d stolen so many others; he never arrived here. I’d never see him again, not even as a ghost.

My stomach twisted, my breakfast suddenly unsteady in my gut. I didn’t want to go to the memorial. I didn’t want to do anything except scream and cry and stare into space.

“We’ll go with you,” Death offered gently.

I shook my head, exhausted down to my bones. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll go with you,” he repeated firmly, kissing the top of my head.

I didn’t have the energy to argue.

CHAPTER FORTY

MISERY

Ishuddered the moment I walked into Cat’s room at Ford, snapping my arm out to block her entry. Whatever good mood I’d had—mostly fuelled by the scratch marks my girl had left on my ass—suffered a quick and cruel death.

“Miz?” She frowned, listless and sad the way she’d been since we watched the video call with her brother.

“Stay here,” I said, stroking a quick touch down her arm and giving Death and Tor a quick glance to keep her out in the hallway while I investigated the signature that made my skin crawl. Nightmare had been here, had touched Cat’s things, another invasion of privacy.

My heart beat faster as I scanned the room, looking for anything out of place, sending out a fine gauze of darkness—the only bit of magic I had left—

I recoiled from the windowsill, my power snapping back into me so hard it was like being hit by a stretched rubber band. I gritted my teeth, winded.

“Miz?” Tor demanded, low and growly like he was already planning the murder of whatever had hurt me.

“I’m fine,” I bit out, breathing through the pain, advancing another step. My eyes landed on the brightly painted matryoshka doll in the perfect centre of Cat’s windowsill and another shiver went through me, so strong I nearly threw up. “That’s not yours is it, Cat?” I asked, pointing to the offending doll.

“Oh, god,” she breathed. “No. That wasn’t there when I left.”

I nodded, my long ponytail brushing my back, making me twitch like it was a threat I needed to eliminate. Nightmare’s signature was here, she’d been in Cat’s room, had left a ‘gift’ for her, but she couldn’t turn me into a weapon anymore. I’d cut off my power. All I had left were dregs. She couldn’t use the twisted, parasitic connection we had anymore.

The Russian doll was like Nightmare, like she’d been all those years ago—beautiful and alluring. Enough to draw me in, to make me smile. She’d charmed me with jokes and clever anecdotes about us standing out amongst the rich upper class who owned Ford’s End. We’d bonded over our common strangeness but there was more we had in common—a love of art and music, an appreciation for beautiful women, a fine taste in wine and food, but it was our mutual love of animals that hooked me. We became friends fast and all at once. Two weeks and we were spending hours talking each day, a platonic but deep connection formed. I told her about Tor and Death and how much I loved them. She told me about the love she’d lost years ago and never recovered from.

It was a beautiful thing, that companionship, and she used it to hide the vileness beneath. Used me to take her revenge on Death. The only comfort I had was that she failed.

I took steady steps towards Cat’s windowsill, bright winter sun shining on the vibrant colours of the wooden doll. It was a head tall, and painted with a woman’s beautiful face—dark hair, emerald green eyes, a patient smile that radiated kindness and contentment. My hands shook. I jumped when Death wrapped his arms around me from behind, a kiss landing on my shoulder.

I wished it was Nightmare’s face painted on the doll, wished it wasn’t Guinevere Ford’s. The woman who’d been more a mother to me than my own biological mother, who’d made me feel loved and safe and welcome when I’d felt out of place even in my own mind, the Woe so strong I’d almost succumbed to it.

“Guinevere,” I croaked, pain beating behind my ribs.

She was the first to die. Baldric found her in bed, her eyes milky, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, her body stiff. The physician said her heart had given out. A natural death. No one heard the strong thump of magic in the night.

“Wait,” Death rushed out when I reached for the doll. Shadows streamed from his hands as he touched it before me, his power so much more potent than mine, strong enough to make my breath catch. “I can’t find any booby traps but be careful.”

I nodded, flinching when movement came from my left and right—Tor and Cat standing on either side of us.

“Miz?” she whispered. “Are you alright?”

“Trying to be,” I replied with a tight smile, the best I could manage. Her eyes filled with the soft light of understanding, like I’d given voice to her own mental state. She was trying—she was a fighter, and she refused to give up, even on me, even if I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

I’d been ready to give up a week ago, ready to succumb to weakness and depression. But I was fighting, too. I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I still had people to fight for, people worth living for. I still wasn’t ready to forgive myself, and I knew I wasn’t safe to be around even with my power bound, but—I was trying. I was fighting, just like my Cat.

I reached for the Russian doll, the painted wood cold on my fingertips. All three of them stiffened around me, ready to rip the thing out of my hands if anything bad happened, but there were no traps, no magic like Death said.

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