Page 4 of Chaos Crown

Scott Cavendish was her mentor and supposed friend, and she cheered his fiery death. That answered the question of if sociopaths could make friends they gave a real care about.

No.

“Why do you think we know each other?” I asked. I took a step closer.

“That’s far enough.” Zoey swung the bow on me. “Hands on the ledge at all times. If you let go”—she flashed and loosed an arrow that struck Arsenio’s thigh—“so do I.”

“Arsenio!”

His muffled cries shredded my heart in two.

“Stop it,” I screamed. “You said you wouldn’t if we talked.”

She shrugged. “I’m just demonstrating the consequences. I noticed that when I do, I never have to repeat myself.”

“You don’t.” I strangled the metal. “You don’t have to demonstrate. I’m listening to you. I’m giving you what you want.

“Hold on, Arsenio.” I poured my pleas and comfort into my gaze. “I’ll get you down from there.”

“Ugh. Enough about him. We’re in the middle of a conversation, bitch. Don’t be rude.”

You’re going to see who’s the fucking bitch when I’m done.

“How do we know each other?” I forced through gritted teeth.

“Oh, that’s easy.” She beamed. “We hooked up after your grandma got herself killed.”

I reeled back.

“Yeah. You were pretty messed up over it. Wanted revenge like no one I’ve ever seen,” she said. “Scott came to you through work. He did the farm’s accounts for free. A favor for your grandmother because she brought his mom free produce when she was laid up with cancer and couldn’t get out of bed.”

“Oh my gosh,” I breathed. “Gran was the connection. Not Walker Lewis. How did I not know this? Why didn’t I remember him?”

“You didn’t meet till after she was killed. Why would you? I don’t know who the fuck my parents’ accountant is.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Scott got close to you, and you started talking a lot of crazy, violent stuff. He sent you the letters first—checking to make sure you were receptive to the help he was willing to offer. When you didn’t go running to the police, he told you who he was, and that he’d gladly help you sacrifice Andrew Clein in the name of your grandmother.”

“No,” I cried. “No!”

Pain pounded my temples.

I dropped to my knees, eyes squeezing shut as I cried out—from which pain, I couldn’t guess.

“You’re lying!”

“How would I know this if I was lying?” Zoey laughed. “The three—five—seven of us— I won’t tell you exactly how many of us there are. Because all that matters is you, me, and Cavendish had our own thing going on. You and I became friends.”

Temper leaked into her voice. “You taught me how to shoot an arrow. Not as good as you, but good enough. I taught you how to break a man’s arm in a single twist. That’s what you did to Andrew Clein first,” she hissed. “Broke his arm.”

“Stop it!”

Flashes bombarded my mind. Blurred faces, places, scenes that moved too quickly for me to grab one and make it real.

“We got so close, we started watching that time travel show you like. Every Saturday with a bowl of popcorn and homemade tacos. I called you Angel because the Weeping Angels are your favorite monster in the show. That’s who you were to me. My favorite monster.”

“No,” I sobbed. “It’s not true. None of this is true.”

“It is true!” she roared. “Snap out of this boring mental breakdown and wake up! We were friends. You know it. You remember.”

“No!”

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