Page 97 of An Inheritance of Monsters

And he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself.

He held her hair in a rope, tugging her head back so far the back of her skull touched her shoulders, his lips pulled back over his teeth in a silent snarl.

The look on his face was so ferocious that the absurdity of everything else faded away: his jeans bagged around his knees, coat flapping around them.

He looked like he wanted to kill her.

But as he slammed into her with a particularly hard thrust, making Sierra cry out and wince, he grabbed her and turned her around, lifting her onto the table and thrusting home again.

The toothy snarl had vanished, and Sierra wrapped her arms around his neck.

I backed away, not wanting to intrude any more, although something about the whole thing disturbed me.

Sierra had always despised Carson. Not for personal reasons, but she often referred to him as a slimeball when we were discussingDeadspace.

And he was a direct competitor.

Maybe I wasn’t leavingSpirit Squadin good hands like I’d believed. IfSpirit SquadandDeadspacemerged… they’d make a lot more money.

And the truth of the show would be bastardized for good.

I strode down the hall, trying to block out the faint creaks and Sierra’s cries, and as I was passing the hall leading to Mrs. Marsh’s rooms, something caught my eye.

A tendril of darkness, snaking over the floor at the far end—right by her room.

I paused, fists balled at my sides.

There were absolutely no good reasons to go down there. Not a single one.

I’d already seen enough of things I shouldn’t have seen for the night.

But the shadow seemed to beckon, twisting and curling… and before I could tell myself no, my feet were following it.

It crept around my feet as I walked, a dark snake that played between my steps… and finally darted off, slipping under a door.

The one room we were absolutely not permitted to enter.

I licked my lips, feeling horribly guilty… and raised my hand to knock.

If she were here, I’d come up with an excuse or question on the fly… like how long would it be until the power was restored?

No one answered, but the door opened an inch, as though it hadn’t been closed all the way—and light flooded out into the hall.

From numerous red-shaded lamps, all electric, and all working.

Although the guilt of breaking my host’s rules was still gnawing at me, I couldn’t help but take a single step in. How the hell did Mrs. Marsh have power in this room, but nowhere else?

She hadn’t mentioned a generator at all when the storm had knocked the power out.

The shadow tendril reappeared, creeping across a beautiful woven carpet and winding its way up the carved leg of a wooden dressing table.

There was something flat and beige lying there, and against my better judgment, I took a few quick steps towards it.

It was a manila folder, with the wordsGeneCo Ancestryprintedin large black letters across the front. I frowned, touching the logo, and flipped the folder open.

The shadow tendril, which had twined around my fingers in excitement, vanished into thin air.

A black and white picture of Sophie Marsh stared up at me, grainy from being reprinted on paper. Her name and date of birth were listed, along with her family members.

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