Page 19

Cat

T he Stalker sighed. Heavily. Like I was a nuisance or a piece of shit he found on his designer shoe.

I glanced down; he was wearing blue plaid slippers, not fancy shoes.

And on second glance, his austere black clothes were actually sweatpants and a hoodie.

But that accent spoke of old money and wealth so great he took it for granted.

“What are the chances I can close the door and you’ll go away?

” he asked in that dead, rasping voice I last heard in Death’s garden when he attacked us.

When he gave Tor a single cut and leeched him of all strength.

That kind of power, that sheer level of threat, made me stiffen and throw the bastard a glare.

“Not a damn chance,” I replied, advancing on him and pleased when he backed up a step with another heavy sigh.

“Fine. But if Cruelty finds out, she’ll skin you alive. Although, by the looks of you, she already took an attempt at that.”

I snapped my teeth at him, my jaguar blazing through my bloodstream, but when he backed up and began to descend a short set of stairs, I pulled the door behind myself—leaving it open a crack because no fucking way was I getting trapped in here with a maniac—and followed him into the darkness.

“You could use some lighting down here,” I muttered, picking my way down the stairs carefully in the gloom. Dust was thick in the air, the oxygen thinner down here. It had a neglected feel, and an old, stagnant smell to match. “A sconce here, a stylish lantern there.”

He snorted. “I’d think your eyesight would have evolved by now. How sad.”

“Oh, fuck you.” I could really do without this asshole’s condescension.

“Sure, if you’re into necromancy.”

The hell…?

“How did you hurt Tor? Back in the garden. You scratched him and he lost all his strength. How?”

“I am the product of months of development and evolution. That ability was honed through every wave of subjects until Poppy was able to create me. Perfect in every way.”

Not that he was big-headed.

I curled my hands into tighter fists, following him into a dim tunnel when the stairs ended. “You were her lab rat. Nothing more. She might have pretended to care about you, she was good at that, but caring about someone means you don’t experiment on them.”

He whirled, advancing a step and sending my heart into overdrive. I held my ground, refusing to back up. Rage held him in a tight fist, coiling his fists, cocking his head at an arrogant angle. Poppy was certainly a sore spot. But he was delusional if he thought her affection was genuine.

“I fell for it, too,” I said, ignoring the stab of sympathy in my chest. “But she was lying. Her experiments were the most important thing to her.”

He scoffed, snapping forward another step like a striking cobra.

Frissons of warning crawled across my skin but I held still, trying to see under the shadow of his hood.

The plummy accent, the cockiness, the cadence of his words brought me right back to Ford.

He’d been one of us, a subject like Virgil and I.

A student?

“You don’t know anything.” His voice echoed off the close tunnel walls, giving the unsettling illusion that there was a whole army of Stalkers. “We were her finest work, her proudest achievement.”

“And yet we’re people, who should be loved as more than just a scientific achievement.”

“God, it must be nice to live in your rosy, na?ve little world.” His lip curled in a sneer and he moved back just as I was about to launch forward and rip his hood off. “People can be opportunistic and use you and still have genuine affection.”

“Who are you?” I demanded when he set off walking again, his body language rife with anger.

It was the fact he managed that rage that made me shudder.

The control. “And what is this place?” I added as I realised the tunnel stretched ahead as far as I could see.

Which admittedly wasn’t much. Had we traveled all the way beneath Darkmore by now?

“A priest hole,” he replied, his hostility not lessening one iota.

“They were common in houses built around the Elizabethan era, when Catholicism was illegal. Catholic families built these secret passageways so their priests could hide when priest hunters came knocking. It runs from one end of the manor to the other and then down into Darkwood village.”

Okay, this whole thing was bizarre, from the moon shining on a secret trail to a hidden door and finding the Stalker, dressed like a normal person and talking, albeit in an unsettling, raspy voice, like any other student at Ford.

But I drew the line at priest hunters. “You just made that up. Priest hunters? As if.”

“They existed. They used to round up priests, usually for money, like bounty hunters.”

“How do you know so much about that?” I asked suspiciously, trying to make out any details or identifying features of the tunnel.

I could only see darkness and the faint emergency lights that had obviously been installed after the reign of Elizabeth I.

A fire sconce or torch would have helped me see better, though.

I kept my eyes on the Stalker, partly because he unsettled me and I couldn’t predict his moves, partly because I didn’t want to smash into his back.

“I like history,” was his vague and surprising response.

Silence stretched out again, our footsteps rattling off the walls and not helping my nerves. “Do I know you? From Ford?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

His back rose and fell with a sigh. “Life would be much more peaceful if I could kill you.”

“Why don’t you?” I reached for my jaguar just in case. Cruelty’s tests had done one good thing; I had better control over my beast, and I was close to being able to call it at will.

“Cruelty would be less than impressed.”

Hm, that was interesting. When he spoke about Poppy, there was a manic reverence in his voice, but Cruelty earned his derision.

He didn’t like her one bit, and wasn’t loyal to her like he was to the mad scientist who fucked with my blood.

I remembered the whole wall full of vials, all dosed with the serum capable of changing our biology.

They were still there, in Ford’s grounds. That wasn’t ominous at all.

“Where are you leading me?” I asked warily. It better not be to my untimely demise, or I’d be so pissed off. “Are you taking me to Death?”

“Death?” He stopped and turned, a laugh filling the five steps between us. “Is that who you think she has? God, you’re stupid. You can’t even do this right.”

I shot forward before he could intercept me and drove my fist into his face, victory curving my lips into a smile when my hand connected with his nose, flesh and blood and solid.

It broke under my knuckles, blood gushing down his pale face, and I laughed, a dozen other Cats’ laughter echoing around the tunnel. Well, he wasn't a ghost.

My laughter died in a gasp when his head jerked back so hard his hood fell off. I stared at his face, so young and furious. Familiar. But the last time I saw him, his expression was frozen in a rictus grimace as Duncan yelled at him, shaking his shoulders and begging him to wake up.

“Orwell Ford,” I breathed, my eyes comically wide.

He looked the same as he did the few times I’d seen him alive—floppy brown hair, narrowed eyes, unremarkable features with an air of entitlement and elitism.

I remembered him shorter, less physically imposing.

No doubt that was Poppy’s work. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“You know what happened to me. I was Nightmare’s sacrifice.” His voice was nothing like I remembered it, raspier and darker, like he’d been yelling for hours. The same sneering tone, though. Bastard.

“And the others who died that night? Did they come back as … this?” I waved a hand at him, staring. Orwell Ford. Duncan’s cousin.

“No.” Pride lifted his head at a haughty tilt. “Only me.”

I drew my arm back and punched his shoulder this time; he let me. “Duncan is mourning you, you absolute bastard. He’s a fucking wreck, and all along you’ve been alive.” 2

The smirk fell off his face. “What would you know about Duncan?”

“He’s my friend. He—”

“Well, well, isn’t this cosy?” a sly female voice cut through my words, sending a shock of cold fear through me.

For a moment, Orwell’s eyes locked with mine and we shared a moment of panic.

He might have been my enemy but we were both at Cruelty’s mercy, and he could have attacked me on sight.

Instead he’d been leading me to … who? If not Death, who?

I had a split second to decide how to handle this, to compose myself before I turned to face Cruelty. I wasn’t a great actress, and anxiety always got in my way, but I tried my best to brighten my eyes, widening them a little, pulling my lips into a smile.

“There you are,” I said, turning to hook her elbow with mine the way she often did.

“I wondered when you were going to find us. I was celebrating my birthday in the conservatory when I found a trail of markings on the floor. It led me to a door, and I found this guy.” I waved a hand at Orwell, the Stalker, letting some of my distaste shine through.

“He was telling me about the history of the tunnel and priest holes. He’s a bit of a dick, but he knows a lot of history.

Can you believe there’s a tunnel under Darkmore? ”

Cruelty glared at Orwell. She stepped closer to me, her head high and … was that smugness in her eyes? “If you were trying to steal my best friend, you failed.” Ah, she was territorial over her favourite toy. That explained the look.

“You really shouldn’t be down here, Kitty.” The look she turned on me made my stomach flip, especially when she smiled. It was a lethal, acidic smile. “Let’s get you back to your room, shall we?”

If I thought guilt-tripping her about not knowing my birthday would have any effect, I was proven very wrong. She yanked me closer and turned us firmly away from Orwell.

“If I see you anywhere near my Kitty again,” she threw over her shoulder, “I’ll call off our little arrangement.”

Orwell sighed heavily and let us walk away.

Cruelty patted my arm, a secretive smile making her eyes glitter even in the dim light as she said, “I have a gift for you. A birthday treat.”

I summoned enthusiasm and smiled. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Nonsense. You’re my best gal, of course I’d get you a gift.”

I knew she was bribing me to stay away from Orwell, to be her friend and only hers, but I didn’t let that show as she turned her hand over and a ripple of shadow faded, leaving a black velvet jewellery box in her palm.

I wanted to look back to see if Orwell was still hanging around, to demand who he’d been taking me to, but I had to fake enthusiasm for this gift or the fragile plaster over Cruelty’s temper would rip off.

Goosebumps crawled up my arms as I accepted the box and carefully opened it, the velvet deceptive soft against my fingertips.

My breath caught at the sight of a moulded silver choker.

It was a chain of copper roses and… “It’s beautiful,” I said genuinely. “Thank you.”

Cruelty beamed. “I’ll help you put it on!”

I didn’t protest as she removed the necklace from the velvet, and helped settle it around my throat. It wasn’t a complete circle, so both ends curved around the front of my neck, trailing roses across my skin.

“It looks amazing on you, as I knew it would.” She snapped the box shut and linked our arms again. “Now, let’s get you back to bed, shall we?”

I kept the smile on my face as we veered back through the tunnel, and I refused to think about the fact this was the goddess who killed Honey.