Page 3

Cat

C old trickled through me like icy water from a faulty tap. The part of myself I gave up to save Miz, that single drop of life that moved from my lips to his. It was like a cold spot inside me. An absence.

I didn’t have the nerve to ask what lacking that drop would do to me when my only companion was a smiling psychopath in a lace wedding gown.

Cruelty linked our elbows, and now she towed me through an aisle of low, manicured hedges towards a sprawling Georgian manor.

The sky was a depressing grey, crowded with clouds that threatened to douse the manor and the hill it perched upon in drizzle.

Not that you’d guess the dreariness by the pure glee on Cruelty’s face. No, not even glee. Happiness.

She essentially blackmailed me into being here, withholding information about how to save Misery until I agreed to follow her. And she thought we were besties? She practically skipped through the landscaped garden up to the front doors.

This place was beautiful, I had to admit, even if I was here against my will.

The stone was a soft champagne colour, with gabled roofs, and silvery windows stretching over three floors.

Columns of aged stone framed the front door, but it was the glass structure at the far end of the manor that drew my eye.

It looked like something that should have housed an exhibition of inventions in the 1800s—an arched glass and iron conservatory topped by a domed roof.

“What is this place?” I asked, craning my neck to see all the way to the roof as we approached, the hedges giving way to a manicured lawn.

Who kept the grounds on this place? I couldn’t imagine Cruelty going out with a lawnmower on a Sunday morning.

Did she have staff? I peered around the grounds but didn’t see anyone but us.

Actually, there wasn’t a single living soul as far as I could see: at the base of the hill, moorland gave way to a small village that sat eerily still.

Beyond it, another hill rose, a similar manor at its peak.

No movement at all beyond trees rustling in the wind.

“My home,” Cruelty replied brightly, her voice musical and sweet. It grated my nerves until I had to fight the urge to rip the lace hood off her dress and tear out fistfuls of her hair.

I forced a deep breath, managing my anger and my jaguar. My subject form wanted to leap out of my skin, wanted to shred her to pieces. But something told me this death god would be harder to kill than Nightmare. I knew, deep down, I’d only been able to kill Nightmare because Cruelty wanted me to.

“Welcome to Darkmore Manor. My palace!”

You’ll never survive in the palace. The Stalker’s words, crisp with derision, replayed in my head.

“Darkmore isn’t an ominous name at all,” I muttered under my breath. Not quietly enough judging by Cruelty’s high, tinkling laughter.

“If you think that’s bad, wait until you hear the name of that place.

” She pointed a long, elegant finger at the other manor.

“It’s called Deadwood Academy.” Cruelty faked a shudder, or maybe it was genuine horror.

Where I stood, Darkmore wasn’t any better than Deadwood, but I suppose it didn’t have the word dead in it.

“The village, Darkwood, was established by Fear,” Cruelty added, as if that explained everything.

I thought of the gods who’d come to help us at Death’s plea and wondered if any of them were Fear: the pink-haired, drawling goddess; the curly-haired man with the kind eyes and gentle voice; the small woman who reminded me of Edna from the Incredibles ; the giant whose monotone voice and bearing made me nervous; and the solemn, long-haired Native man whose voice was deeper than thunder.

Which of them was Fear? Or was Fear another—one of the gods who ignored Death’s call for help?

I was so distracted that I barely even noticed Cruelty had led me through the door and into a richly appointed entryway.

Old tiles chequered the floor in squares of black and white, interrupted only by a large Persian rug in a similar vermillion colour to the walls and the carpet that crawled up the dark stairs to the second floor.

It would have been dark if not for the stained glass doors we’d entered, the huge golden chandelier dangling threateningly above us, and the lamps that hunched over portraits of people in historical dress.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked, curious despite myself. What I really wanted to know was, How old are you? Was she as old as Death? Older?

Cruelty squeezed my wrist and finally released me, spinning on the spot to give me a beaming grin. “Do you like it? It’s my favourite acquisition in the mortal realm. I got Darkmore around twenty years ago, mostly to irk Fear. She’s my brother’s mortal enemy, you know.”

“You have a brother,” I said, vaguely remembering her mentioning him before. “Did you torture him like you tortured mine?”

I knew it wasn’t smart to provoke her. I was acutely aware that I was human and easily killed, and she was an indestructible god, but while I could mask my anger, my grief for Honey was so vast it could fill an ocean.

There was no building a dam to contain it, no hiding it.

I wanted to scream and howl and drive her head into the dark lion head at the end of the staircase banister.

Cruelty sighed and crossed the gleaming floor to grasp my hands, holding them firmly like we were old friends.

Like she hadn’t murdered both of my best friends.

Everything Nightmare did was at Cruelty’s command.

She was the reason Nightmare controlled Miz.

She was the reason he killed Byron. And Honey…

My whole body vibrated as Cruelty held onto me. She killed my best friend with her own hands. All so she could pretend to be her, to fuck with us. Why? To get a kick out of us all being oblivious?

“A sprinkle of suffering was necessary to make Poppy’s cavalry of creatures.

And they turned out so perfectly.” I froze in place when she released my left hand to touch my face.

1 “Look at you. You’re powerful now. Strong.

You can rip your enemies to pieces. All because of Poppy and a little suffering.

Your brother will be fine; he’s strong like you. ”

“That’s not the point,” I managed to grind out through clenched teeth.

I twisted my face away, but she didn’t drop her hand and fear spread through me like a disease, slowing my reaction times, slowing my mind.

Killing my rage. That fear grew, until cold wrapped around my spine like a cold-blooded serpent.

Sweat pricked my brow, every bit as icy.

I wanted to burst out of the door and run across the moors, screaming for help. “You hurt him. He’s scarred and a—”

“Monster?” she guessed how I was going to finish, her irritation melting to sympathy.

“It must be scary to watch your brother turn into a huge, blood-hungry beast and hunt down your friends, your teachers. I’d be horrified if that happened to my brother.

” Bright, glittering laughter shattered the next moment, her face splitting in a grin.

“Lord, my brother would be an awful monster. Truly horrific. I think he’d devour the whole world.

Luckily for you, I have no intentions of making any more of Poppy’s perfect creatures. ”

Through the dredge of fear, I seized onto those words. She was behind the experiments, the kidnapping, the mutilations and murders. She knew everything, had masterminded it. “Do you have any of the serum she used to change us? Do you have an antidote?”

A furrow formed on Cruelty’s brow, crinkling her watery blue eyes. “There’s no antidote for perfection, Kitty.”

The name made me grit my teeth. I heard this same rhetoric from my deranged professor, and I wasn’t keen to hear it again.

I wanted—actually, I didn’t know what I wanted.

I wanted to go home to Miz, Tor, Death, and Madde, but the gates to the domain had collapsed into mist and there was no way back.

So I’d stay, just for a few days, until I’d figured out what her scheme was. Everything Nightmare had done came from her; I had no doubt Cruelty was scheming something dark and evil. Something worse than anything we’d endured yet.

Where do you think you got all your ideas?

That’s what she said that night in the garden. Nightmare had been fixated on Death, finding fucked-up ways to weaken him, which meant that was Cruelty’s aim. And like fuck would I let her hurt my husband.

So I swallowed my rage, choked down every barbed argument I wanted to throw in her face even if I tasted blood, and said, “I don’t want to kill anyone else.”

“Why not?” She snorted, releasing me and taking a step back. “It’s fun.”

Fun? All the people I killed gave me nightmares, and haunted every waking moment. Darya, Poppy, Nightmare. The latter was the only one I didn’t regret. I didn’t like to think about Poppy and everything she’d done, but she was still my professor no matter how insane she was. She’d been kind to me.

“I don’t like to kill,” I managed to say after an awkward silence fell over the foyer.

“Well.” Cruelty pirouetted to my side and linked our elbows, infernal heat bleeding into my chilled body. “Luckily, you have me for all that fun stuff. Are you hungry?”

“I—” What the fuck? “I just found out my best friend is dead, and my husband would be dead if I hadn’t given up a drop of my own life. I don’t think I can ever eat again.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m your best friend and, dead though I might be, I’m not going anywhere.

” Cruelty patted my arm, towing me across the smooth floor and into a short hallway.

She ignored my resistance and my dumbstruck expression as she led me through a dark-wood doorway into a kitchen decorated in dark, velvety shades of green.

The stormy sky shone dreary light through a big, arched window in the same style as the conservatory’s glass and iron design.

I didn’t know what kitchen I’d expected Cruelty to have, or if I’d expected her to have one at all, but this fit her perfectly.

Dark, a little ominous, but beautiful. Deep green cupboards, exposed brick walls, with appliances and shelves in a gleaming gold to offset all the darkness.

Pots of herbs overflowed the windowsill, crowded the shelves above the oven, and even sprawled across the marble-topped island that Cruelty led me towards.

They reminded me of the bright riot of plants in Madde’s home, and pain seized my heart in my chest, making every breath painful.

I wanted to go home.

But Miz was still alive because of Cruelty, so I’d pay the price. What if she could revoke her help, somehow undo what I’d done so he truly died?

She deposited me on a stool by the island and bustled around the kitchen towards the fridge, moving with a spring in her step.

She was truly crazy, because she seemed genuinely happy to have me here.

God, she really thought we were friends, as if she hadn’t killed or traumatised nearly everyone I loved.

Only my younger brother Tannie and my parents had been spared.

I’d lost two best friends because of this bitch and whatever ambition she hid with bright smiles and musical laughter.

I’d left my men behind again because of her.

Not forever, I told myself. Just for a few days, to see what she really wants.

Because she did want something, and I would be right here to stop her.

With what power? With what strength? I ignored my inner voice, shutting it up with the memory of killing Poppy. It haunted me hourly; I might as well use the memory as proof that I was capable, I could defend myself, and I could keep my husbands safe.

Cruelty turned from the fridge with Tupperware in each hand and a giddy smile on her face. “Prawn cocktail or beef bourguignon? Oh! I know! Let’s have fondue!”

“Sure,” I managed to say with only mild snarling and teeth baring. “Fondue sounds great.”

If nothing else, I could stab her with the fondue fork.

I’ll make her pay for every time she hurt you. I sent the words through the ether, through the mist, to Madde, Miz, Death, and Tor. To Virgil. To Honey and Byron beyond the grave. I’d get vengeance for everyone she’d wronged.

Cruelty thought we were friends. I was her undoing. I was her death.