Page 92 of Freeing Hook

“Is it so wrong that I don’t want to kill someone?” I say.

“Not wrong. But not exactly productive either, given our plan.”

“You won’t kill him if he’s innocent,” I say. “Will you?”

Astor doesn’t answer. My stomach twists over. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should have kept my idea to myself. I feel as if I’m going to be sick and reach for the side of the rowboat in preparation to lose the contents of my stomach.

When Astor sees me lean for support against the siding, his hand lands on the back of mine. “He’s guilty, Darling.”

When I turn back to look at Astor, I imagine my face has drained entirely of color. “How do you know?”

“Because,” he says, “aren’t we all?”

“I’m not sure that’s comforting,” I say, though I don’t throw up over the side of the boat. My stomach oddly settled, I lower myself back into the damp wooden seat and row.

When we reach the shore,we tie our boat to a dock and creep across the pier, trailing the man from a distance. We follow him until we reach a shabby brothel on the far side of town. It’s called the Caged Swan.

Astor looks at me knowingly, perching his hand right above my shoulder, resting it against the corner of the building as he leans over me to peer around the corner. He’s close enough I can feel the heat of his chest against my back, but not its weight.

“At your command, Darling,” he says.

My throat tightens up, anger and regret and guilt mingling to make a sour mixture. Like pickle juice mixed into coffee. “Just be quick about it,” I say, knowing full well that what Astor will have to do to this man to produce a wraith will be nothing of the sort.

The man is no longera blurry silhouette by the time Astor drags him limp into the alley where I’m hiding. It took only a few moments for Astor to approach our prey from behind and incapacitate him, landing a carefully aimed blow to his temple. The man’s body had crumpled like a dying spider.

Astor lays him at my feet, and I can’t help but trace his every feature. The soft curve of his nose, the slackness of his jaw. Even in the dim moonlight, I can glimpse stubble. He must have shaved just this morning.

He didn’t know it would be the last time he ever did that.

“Darling? Where’s that mind of yours headed?”

I work my jaw, staring down at the unconscious man. “Why is it difficult this time?”

Astor sighs, then kneels beside the body, looking up at me. He almost looks innocent from this angle. I’d laugh at the idea if I weren’t about to commit murder. “Taking a life—it’s different when you’ve planned it. Carves at a different part of your soul. Deeper down.”

“I thought taking the first life carved out everything I had,” I say numbly. “I’m surprised there’s anything left.”

Astor’s face softens. “You have more left to you than most, I fear.” After a moment, he says, “There’s a barred window around the back of the brothel if you’d like to peek in. What you’ll see inside will make you feel better about this.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to use someone else’s misery to make me feel better about my own choices. Whatever’s happening in there,” I say, nodding toward the Caged Swan, “they didn’t choose that. I’m choosing this.”

“Darling,” Astor says, as the man begins to stir in front of us, “I won’t think less of you if you close your eyes.”

For a moment, I desire nothing more than to turn away, bury my ears in my hands, and wring my eyes shut. But then I think of the Sister, what she did to Peter when she took away his pain. She stole away his ability for his actions to affect him. By removing the emotional consequences, she transformed him into something wicked.

Something that would hurt the ones he loved to get what he wants.

“Thank you, but no,” I whisper. “I want to remember what my choices cost.”

Astor blinks, and for the first time, I glimpse something like doubt encroach upon his haunted features.

If his expression means anything, he doesn’t tarry to explain it. He just nods, swallows, then turns back to the man.

Dagger in hand, he holds it over the man’s leg. I imagine him sawing away at it, but he hesitates just as his blade rests on the man’s knee.

“Darling,” he says without looking at me, “I’d really rather you not stay to watch this.”

Steeling myself, I wrap my arms around my waist. “I can handle it,” I force myself to say, even though I might pass out themoment this man’s screams are muffled by the gag Astor stuffed into his throat.

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