Page 9 of All Hallows Game

“Ignore him, he’s a piece of shit,” he said, catching my eye.

I glanced from him to Fashion Magazine, whose golden, superior beauty came too close to Alastor for me to like him. Plus, I’d heard him speak enough times to know his sort. Better than everyone else, judgemental, quick to condemn. If cancel culture was a person, it’d be him. Maybe I should rename him.

“Good to know,” I said, and got the hell out of there before my skin crawling encouraged my darkness and I hurt anyone else. Alastor deserved it, but what happened when my darkness aimed itself at someone who didn’t deserve it? I flexed my hands, my knuckles stinging as I unlocked my door and let myself inside.

It wasn’t a relief to be in the room. After moving twice, it didn’t feel mine. I hadn’t bothered to personalise it; it was the same blank white canvas as when I got it, but the single concession I’d made was the duck plushie Miz got me, sitting on the chest of drawers opposite my bed. When weakness crushed my heart, I took it to bed with me and held it close to my heart.

I wanted my numbness back. The plaster had ripped off my pain when I argued with Death, letting everything flood my chest until it felt like the pressure would crack my ribs. I dressed robotically, pulling on soft leggings and dragging the first shirt I found over my head. When I realised it was a shirt Byron had given me, a sob ripped from my lips, filling the silent room.

I looked at that stupid shirt through blurry eyes and remembered giving Byron a look that questioned his sanity. It had a giant cartoon popcorn bucket on it with the slogan YOU POP MY CORN. Because the only thing I love more than you is popcorn, he explained.

My face crumpled, and I ignored my throbbing shoulder to curl up on the bed, pressing the phone that contained my only lifeline to Virgil against my chest.

The phone…

My breath caught, and I wrestled my sobs under control. Nightmare had given me a phone, and while I wasn’t a tech genius I knew there must be something on here I could use to track her, to find where the photo had been taken and track it to my brother. I wouldn’t have to follow her orders. I wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else.

But the only person I knew who could navigate a phone like that was Torment. He’d blocked the numbers hounding me, shutting out the creepy silence on the other end, and made it so no one else could call me, either. If he could do that, he could find where the photo of Virgil was taken.

I flung myself off the bed and grabbed my jacket, ignoring the way my shoulder ached, and my hands shook, my knuckles bleeding. I didn't acknowledge the way my heart leapt at the thought of seeing Tor again.

Trying and failing to quash my hope, I slipped out of Lawrence Hall towards the domain of Death.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CAT

Death said I could enter his domain anywhere, but it was habit to return to the moors road that wound from Ford on the hilltop to the village of Ford’s End that clung to the mountain itself.

I shivered when a fresh gust of wind threw snow at my face, forcing it down the collar of my coat to chill the delicate skin of my throat. Excitement and determination had propelled me out of my room, but as I grew closer to the place where I’d first met the death gods, the three of them riding out of the fog like phantoms on terrifying shadow horseback, nervousness hit. My stomach whirled like a washing machine, so bad that I flattened my hand to my belly to keep it under control.

What would I say to Tor when I found him? I couldn’t explain who the photo was of; Nightmare was graphic in her clarity about what would happen if I told them. But I could tell him I’d stolen the phone from her, that she was the one who took the photo and it could be traced to her. How I’d say all that without blurting out the fact that I lied, and missed him, and my heart hurt worse than it ever had… I didn’t know.

“Figure it out when you get there,” I coached myself, sucking in a deep breath of cold, biting air. Snowflakes had caught in my hair, turning even the pink streaks white, the moors around me like a winter wonderland. I waited for a shift and shimmer in the landscape, waited to see the gates to Death’s castle, or the low sprawl of the city at the base of the castle. But the moors remained unchanged.

What if I couldn’t call the gates since I was no longer his bride?

I pressed my hand harder to my stomach and closed my eyes, picturing Death, his storm-grey eyes always warm with affection and soft with a level of compassion I hadn’t believed was real until we met. I pictured the castle, imposing and towering, made of solid black stone with towers and spires and bridges linking them, the front doors beckoning me closer. I took a step on instinct, my eyes still closed.

Hope made my breath hitch when the biting chill softened, snow no longer hitting my face, and instead of the earthy scent of the moors I smelled cloves and firewood and iron. A lump formed in my throat. I’d forgotten the smell of this place, forgotten the shiver of magic in the air, the warmth.

I almost didn’t want to open my eyes. Didn’t want to give up the fantasy of me being in the castle where Tor, Miz, and Death had loved me, where Nightmare had never been able to touch me. I should have known she’d find a way to take that from me. Even if she couldn’t step foot here, she’d found a way in through Miz, through my own mind, and taken it from me.

I forced my eyes open, equally relieved and pained to see the atrium rising above me, a vast imperial staircase in front of me leading to both wings of the castle, all of it hewn from dark stone but still somehow warm. Welcoming. I had to swallow the lump in my throat.

Silence hung over the castle; I strained my ears for voices, for any sign of movement. When I found nothing, I turned left and followed the familiar route to the sitting room where they first brought me. My chest ached when I remembered how sweet Death and Tor were, when I realised how terrified Miz must have been to come so close to Nightmare. He was the only one who’d been up front and honest with me that day, and I’d been glad of it.

Now, I didn’t care what he said to me. I just missed him. I needed to hear his voice. But the sitting room was empty, its sofas both welcoming and unwelcome with none of my husbands lounging on them. Not my husbands anymore, I reminded myself, the accompanying twinge of pain now familiar.

“Hello?” I called out, trying not to look too hard at the painting above the fireplace, so beautifully accurate, their likenesses captured perfectly. They were together and happy long before I was cursed, and they’d be together and happy now they were rid of me. Once Death finally admitted he didn’t truly want me, none of them would have a single reason to speak to me again.

But I needed Tor’s help. I slipped the phone Nightmare gave me out of my coat pocket and turned on the spot, listening for any response to my call.

Silence.

My shoulders slumped. But I didn’t give up until I’d searched every room in the castle, the ghosts of memories following me through each one. There was the kitchen where Death had insisted on hand-feeding me bites of breakfast. There was the bedroom where Miz had introduced me to Peach. There was the place Tor had pulled me into his arms and told me everything was going to be okay.

But it wasn’t. The castle was empty, the gods were nowhere to be found, and they were gods who no doubt knew I was here. Death certainly knew; it was his domain, and his magic saturated the air. Which meant they were avoiding me.

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