Page 95 of Blackwicket

I was preparing to answer when a new, horrible thought bloomed.

“Where’s Jack?” I blurted.

“He’s with my wife,” Ramsey puffed, out of breath from the brisk pace we’d taken across the drive.

“Far from High Tide,” Thea assured, still flustered by the information I’d shared.

“Well,” I said, bitter. “That’s one person we don’t have to worry about Victor taking with him to death.”

I tried to enter the car, but Thea took hold of me, fingers tight on my arm, pleading.

“If Victor’s agenda is to decimate Nightglass, we should let him do it,” she implored.

“Didn’t you hear me? He’s not planning on making it out alive, Thea.”

“A man should die if he wants to die.”

“Idon’t want him to,” I shouted, pulling from her grasp. “He’s choosing this because he’s angry, he thinks this is the only choice. Like Fiona.”

The appeal spoke to Thea’s love for my sister and, truthfully, to mine as well. Regardless of Fiona’s past decisions, I chose to believe they stemmed from despair, an attempt to regain some control and shield her loved ones from enduring the same pain she’d faced. She’d chosen to protect those she loved by doing horrible things. Victor was no different. Neither was I.

After a stretch of silence in which Ramsey stood with his head bowed, knowing this exchange required privacy he couldn’t give, Thea spoke, her tone nearly tender.

“You’re too old to be a silly romantic, Eleanora.”

Her delivery of this declaration was subdued, making it sound more impatient than rebuking. Like a sister admonishing a naïve younger sibling, whose rosy view of the world was irritating but precious.

“We’re grown women,” she said. “And I know that look. Victor got under your skirt, and now you’re letting him get under your skin too. You’re a goddamn fool.”

Despite her arguments, she walked around to the opposite door and climbed inside the car, the veneer of a pragmatic woman restored. She glared at Ramsey and me, waiting in the cold.

“Why are you just standing there? We’re late for High Tide,” she snapped.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The streets were hauntingly quiet as we made our way toward Nightglass Estate, a place I’d never once set foot in, and never expected to. Just as Victor had said, the remaining tourists were fearful, barely a handful daring to be out, walking in small clusters, their faces grim.

We were silent, each of us unsettled by the uncertainty of the night ahead. I glanced at Thea, who sat huddled on her side of the car, bracing herself for the impending impact of High Tide. I examined the bruised skin beneath her eye as the light from the street lamps passed by.

“Who hit you?” I asked, delicate with my tone.

“If I tell you, will you murder them like you did that man in Devin?”

“I never meant for that to happen.”

“Are you sure?”

In truth, I seldom thought about my motivations for what I’d done to Brock. When I’d presented the cursed cufflinks to him with a flirtatious smile, he’d spent the next few minutes listing all the lewd things he intended to do to me behind Wendy’s back, even while the marks of his violence on her body were healing. I hadn’t worried about him dying. I hadn’t cared if he did.

Though I often reassured myself I’d never intended to cause his death, I’d been aware of the possibility from the beginning.To make it worse, I’d celebrated the results even as Wendy pointed the authority in my direction.

Thea sighed as though she’d thought as much.

“I don’t need that kind of courtesy, Eleanora,” she said. Chastened, I grew silent, aware of the person I was, acknowledging I lacked the remorse to regret my decision. We were nearing the estate when Thea added, with a touch of emotion, “Thank you for offering.”

We pulled up to Nightglass Estate, its circle drive paved with smooth stone, crowded with vehicles, signifying that despite the threat of something lurking in the dark, this High Tide was not one to miss.

Ramsey made a low oath, directing our attention to a woman who waited in the cold, waving for Ramsey to stop. I recognized her by her silver hair and snowdrop earrings. She wore the same icy blue dress she had on the day we’d met on the street outside Galton’s, where she’d offered to take the curse and warned me not to let the Brom have their way.