Page 17 of All Hallows Masque (Sick and Twisted #4)

Cat

I couldn’t go back to sleep. I sat in the middle of the four-poster bed and stared at the sky through the window. The same dark expanse, the same stars, the same bright, luminous moon.

But it wasn’t real. It was just a dream.

Still, I crept out of my room and down the hall to where a mullioned window looked out over the moors. Searching the unruly grass and dramatic hills for a lone figure, for my husband standing in the dark, waiting for me.

Nothing.

I went back to my room, folded my knees to my chest on the padded window seat, and watched the sky until Tuesday dawned with a splash of lilac and orange light.

I fell asleep some time between stressing about what Cruelty was doing to Death and obsessing over the way Honey died alone in her room, just so Cruelty could take her place.

When I jerked awake, it was early morning and the grounds of Darkmore were lit in dreary shades of grey and blue.

It was going to rain. It always bloody rained.

The topiaries would love it though, and so would the garden around the side of the manor, full of bright flowers, defiant and colourful against the dreary backdrop of the moor.

Because I was looking at the garden, I saw the movement instantly. He was wearing a dark green waxed jacket unlike his usual jet-black coat, his top hat switched for a battered cap. Doyle.

I asked Cruelty about him, but her reply was vague.

I borrowed them from Nightmare since they were such useful little minions. The porter left most of those fun, threatening notes that spooked the students. I think he even left a few for you, Kitty, but try not to hold that against him.

I thought Byron and Phil were the ones who threatened us, along with the rest of Nightmare’s followers.

I hadn’t considered it would be one of the staff.

Or that he’d turn up here, with a shovel resting on his shoulder.

I thought back to the hazy memory I had of him and his brother shovelling dirt into a hole.

I’d dismissed it then, but I couldn’t ignore it now.

Had they buried someone? What about this morning?

I shoved off the window seat and dressed quickly, not stopping even to shower as I raced out of the room and downstairs, running along a green corridor bathed in watery sunlight, and out into the grounds at the back of the house.

Doyle wasn’t here, but I’d seen the direction he headed—the sturdy brick structure beside the manor where, presumably, garden tools were kept.

For all I knew, bodies could be hung on meat hooks there.

The thought sent a chill down my spine, but I was angry and sleep-deprived and that didn’t make for sensible decisions.

It had begun to drizzle, and cold set into my body as I strode across the lawn into the barn, spotting Doyle instantly.

He was in the act of hanging up the shovel on a row of hooks along the wall.

No bodies hung from them, but the rake was especially rusty.

Was that dried blood, or was I being paranoid?

“Who did you bury this time?” I demanded, my dream giving me strength and anger, even if it wasn’t real.

I was terrified and stressed and wracked with panic, but if I believed the delusion was real, that meant Misery was safe.

I couldn’t think about my other men right now, but Miz was unhurt.

The memory of his arms around me and his voice in my ear made me invincible.

My anxiety would normally have choked my voice and ripped all the air from my lungs, but it never formed.

Doyle turned slowly, giving me a wary look.

No surprise. He knew who’d spoken, obviously knew I was staying here with Cruelty even if our paths never crossed.

I’d barely spoken to him at Ford, only a handful of times.

It was enough to give me the creeps, to make me walk the long way around to avoid passing him. Now, I was the one confronting him.

I glared from him to the shovel he hung up. A row of stuffed deer and wolf heads adorned the walls above the garden tools, peering down at us with glassy, pleading eyes. Had Doyle killed them, stuffed them, and hung them on the walls, or had my new best friend done that?

“I saw you. I watched from my window as you and your brother buried someone. So who did you kill this time?”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t have a remarkable face—plain, clean shaven, and ordinary—but he was so physically intimidating for a man in his sixties that even the blank, vaguely confused look on his face seemed sinister.

When he crossed the concrete floor towards me, all my baby hairs stood on end, my jaguar coming to life inside me with a snarl.

“I didn’t bury anyone,” he said, his rough, gravel voice as confused as his face. “I was planting more roses for the mistress. The last rose bush was trampled.”

Ah. Yeah, my creature might have done that during one of Cruelty’s tests. “You might not have buried someone today, but I know what I saw. It was a grave.”

Doyle shrugged, the waxed fabric of his coat making a shh sound that only inflamed my anger. I wanted to throttle him, to throw him against the wall and force honesty from him. The violence rushed through me without warning. “I just do what the mistress tells me.”

“And your mistress is Cruelty, not Nightmare?” I pressed.

He nodded, his hat bobbing on his head. My stomach flipped when he came even closer, towering over me with that impassive, confused expression. “I don’t ask questions, I just do as my mistress bids me to.”

“Who was it?”

“No one important. A cleaner whose loyalties were compromised by madness.”

“By madness,” I echoed. “Or Madness?”

“Is there a difference?” He was looking at me intently now, and warning shivered over my skin, goosebumps tumbling down my body. “Stop snooping, or you’ll join her in the garden.”

The threat hit me so hard the breath rushed from my lungs, but my jaguar roared. I shoved Doyle back, my mouth open on an answering threat but my hands drove all the way through his shoulders and out the other side.

I stumbled back until I stood in the doorway, Doyle faintly smiling where he stood by the wall. “You’re one of them,” I realised. “The cultists. The bastards who brought Nightmare back, who started this whole fucking curse.”

“Like I said.” Doyle met my eyes. “I do whatever my mistress bids me to.”

A beam of sunlight slashed through a dingy window, falling over Doyle’s feet, and then he was gone. Fuck. He was really a ghost. Fuck!

I dragged shaky hands down my face, spinning to make sure he hadn’t snuck up behind me. Or any other ghosts for that matter. “Shit,” I whispered.

A cleaner whose loyalties were compromised by madness.

Madde told me he had spies in Nightmare’s followers, but did he have someone here, too? The cleaner Cruelty complained had taken an extended leave of absence. Because she had her spectral fucking servant kill the woman. Jesus. My hand shook, all my anger and strength sapped from me.

Anxiety, sensing weakness and opportunity, struck hard enough to cut off my air, squeezing my chest until it hurt.

I couldn’t stay here. I had to get out, just for a few hours, to remember how to breathe. I wanted to go home, to the domain, but I’d settle for the familiar halls of Ford right now.

I didn’t think about where I’d go; I just ran.

I made it as far as the fountain at the back of the house.

My heart pounded. I was prepared for Cruelty to leap into my path, or for shadows to burst from the lawn and catch me before I could reach the gate at the side of the house.

Instead, water drenched my whole body as red liquid burst from the fountain.

The sound of roaring water was deafening as it gushed, pouring over the grass, over my body, slicking my hair to my skull.

I shrieked in surprise, jerking out of the spray. There was a moment where shock burst through me like a meteor shower. And then the water began to eat at my skin, to burn, to scald. My shriek became a scream as the pain scraped across all my nerves, sinking into my arms, my legs, my neck, my face.

“You shouldn’t have tried to run, Kitty.”

I flinched hard at the cool purr of Cruelty’s voice, lifting my head to stare at her with tears in my eyes.

I’d ended up on the ground, but I had no memory of getting there.

I shook my head fast, my screams cut into jagged, pleading sobs.

Fury knotted her brow, turning her eyes a deeper shade of blue.

Her mouth pressed into a flat, foreboding line as she glowered down at me.

“Just … exercising,” I managed to choke out.

The fountain stopped, the loud crash of its spray cutting off instantly. “Oops.” She crouched in front of me, brushing a drenched lock of hair from my eyes, the white strands stained red. “I thought you were trying to run away from me.”

“No,” I rasped, tears flowing down my cheeks. It was like an acid burn on all my exposed skin, and I couldn’t bear it. “Wouldn’t.”

“Never fear.” Cruelty squeezed my shoulder, her expression kind now, all her rage wiped away. “I have a tonic that’ll clear this up in no time. Follow me, Kitty.”

Crying, I stumbled to my feet, holding my arms gingerly at my sides. They were burned raw, red all over. My face must have been the same. I was lucky my hair hadn’t begun to fall out.

I couldn’t try to run again, not even for an hour of breathing space, not even for a minute. She’d kill me before I stepped a single foot off of Darkmore’s property.