Page 139 of Brutal Prince

Indi

Islide the last tray of shortbread into the oven. Marigold is snoring quietly, head in her arms on the countertop. I set the oven timer, push a strand of hair from my face, and bite back a sigh of relief.

Quarter to midnight.

Hey, it’s not a party if it’s over before midnight, right? If anything, I’ll just be fashionably late.

Wearing what, exactly? My school clothes? A pair of baggy jeans and my hoody?

I creep down the hall and consider the stairs for a moment before grabbing the rail. Then my eyes track down the hallway again.

The brief thought that my mother may have left behind something suitable for the party tonight has been pestering me since I tried that locked door hours ago.

Locked, Indi.

But every locked door has a key, right? I just need to find it…

I creep up the stairs and hurry down the hall to Marigold’s room. The door creaks a little as I push it open, then I’m inside.

Yup, just as I thought — it’s as lifeless and dull as the rest of the house. It seems like the only room in this place that ever had any spirit was my mother’s — and that’s been a tomb longer than she’s been dead.

I scout around for a few minutes, but I come up empty. Marigold doesn’t have a drawer of trinkets, or a jewelry box, or any reasonable, logical place to hide a key.

Which means it’s probably on her person.

I let out a sigh, and start opening her closets. But after tugging out the fifth shapeless, beige dress, I give up.

On her person…

I stand at the entrance to the kitchen, pushing my bottom lip against my teeth with a thumb so I can nibble it real good.

Worst case scenario? Marigold wakes up and thinks I was about to molest her. Honestly, she probably considers me a no-good deviant to some extent already.

But what if she doesn’t wake up?

I go up to her and slide my hand in the pocket of her housecoat, but there’s nothing in there except some lint and a damp tissue. I grimace and move to the other pocket.

My searching fingertips are met with the cold, jagged edge of a key.

Yes!

As I draw the key from her pocket, it catches on something and tugs at her coat.

Marigold wakes with a snort.

I drop to my knees behind her chair, not daring to breathe.

“Indi?”

The chair scrapes back, and I’m barely nimble enough to scamper back before it can slam into my face.

Marigold walks around the kitchen island, and I wait until she’s standing in front of the oven before dashing out of the kitchen. I stand beside the hallway phone for a second to catch my breath, and then wait till the count of ten before easing up the stairs. They all squeak, of course, but I’m hoping the sound won’t carry far enough for Marigold to hear. Especially since she’s started mumbling about shortbread and the oven door and I don’t know what other nonsense.

I slip into my room, close the door, and take a deep breath.

That’s when I see my phone’s light flickering. I hurry over and unlock it.

Addy.

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