Page 110 of Live To Tell

Sidling along the wall, we find and pass through an open door into a small office-like room with a kitchen attached, where notices are attached to cream painted brick. The smell of rubbery balls and stale sweat isn't the nicest, but something’s worse—we can't see Annabelle.

As I'm the last to enter, the door slams behind me and I spin back around. Annabelle leans against the wood, looking between the three of us with undisguised fury.

“Are you trying to get me killed?” she snaps, her accent clipped and refined, unlike the local one.

“By who?” asks Violet. “Vik? Or is he dead?”

Her brown eyes go wide. “Wow.”

“Speak to us about Madison and Vik and we'll leave,” says Violet.

Annabelle steps forward, the woman tall enough to look down on Violet. “No. You leave. Now. I've handed over what I have.”

Violet's lips thin at her response. “I shall leave when I'm ready.”

The woman's eyes narrow before she turns to go—not that she gets far since the door handle becomes too hot to touch. I look between Violet and Rowan. Which one did that? Annabelle swears and rubs the palm of her right hand with the other thumb.

“Speak to us about Madison and Vik and you can leave,” corrects Violet.

Annabelle glares at each of us. “I don't live in witch society anymore,” she says through gritted teeth. “I want my family left out of that world. I want to keep things that way.”

“And we shan’t bother you again after today,” says Violet. “If you want to catch Madison’s killer, speak to us.”

Annabelle leans against the door again. “I'm only doing this for Maddy because I now know that your family—” she points at Violet “—have some chance of catching the bastard.”

“I will,” she says. “Despite a reputation to the contrary, I'm anti-violence and murder. Well, anti-murder involving innocent people.”

“Such as girls bullied by abusive, controlling assholes?” asks Annabelle, then shakes her head. “I’m sure you got that much from the letter he wrote her.”

“Yes, thanks for giving the papers to us,” puts in Rowan. “That helps.”

As does his more diplomatic words and tone because Annabelle’s riled by Violet, cheeks pinker by the second.

“What was Vik threatening to do?” asks Violet. “Is Madison dead?”

“Yes. And I’m glad she is.”

Annabelle’s words steal Violet’s, and Rowan steps between the two in case Violet reacts badly. “Were you complicit?” he asks.

“Ha. As if I’d show you that evidence if I helped kill my best friend.”

“Then why say you’re happy your friend died?” asks Violet through clenched teeth.

Rowan steps to his left as Annabelle pushes him. I bloody hope she doesn’t push Violet—in any way. The woman crosses her arms and peers down.

“You’re Violet Blackwood. The necromancer’s daughter.”

“That’s a fact that rarely needs establishing.”

“What do you think about necromancy, Violet? Do you practice the magic?” she continues.

I tense and exchange a look with Rowan, whose eyes dart between the pair. The guy's skilled in stepping in to interrupt Violet saying the wrong thing, but in this case we've no idea why Annabelle asked the question.

“I've only succeeded in reanimating animals,” she says coolly.

“Succeeded. You've tried a human?”

Violet looks her dead in the eye. “Not yet.”

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