Page 42

FORTY-TWO

AMETHYST

Agony pulses through my temples, forcing me out of a dreamless sleep. Sunlight sears through my eyelids, which feel like they’ve been glued shut. I groan, trying to push my way through a sludge of semi-consciousness.

The surface beneath my face feels familiar, even though I don’t remember Myra driving me back home. Hell, I barely recall what happened after the end of the book fair.

Xero was right about my medication. What’s the point of taking those pills when they do nothing to stop the hallucinations and instead give me blackouts?

A yawn pushes its way through my dry throat. I force my eyes open, only to flinch at the bright light. Blinking back the glare, I dredge my mind back and try to piece together the fragments.

I remember feeling like a celebrity at the book fair, as well as an impostor. Everyone was so excited about the Xero book, and I barely got the chance to pitch any new ideas.

“That’s not what’s important,” I rasp.

What the hell happened?

The man cosplaying the devil invited Myra and me to discuss an audiobook. We went to his limo and met… What was his fucking name? The hangman? Whatever.

I grope about for my phone, trying to sift through a bunch of irrelevant memories. There was alcohol, a limo ride, and a glimpse of the casino. Beyond that, everything else is a blur.

When I can’t find my phone, I roll onto my side and squint at the nightstand. I find my earrings, the bedside lamp, and Xero’s dildo. There’s also a small bottle containing a urine-colored liquid with a label that says, DRINK ME.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” I lean down the side of the bed to see if I dropped the phone on the floor, but all I see is the charger cable, and no sign of my phone.

Did I leave it in Myra’s car?

“Ugh!” I flop back on the bed, and I catch a glimpse of metal.

When I turn toward the other side of the bed, there’s a knife poking out of a shredded pillow. Beneath it is a note.

Dread rolls around my insides like a boulder and settles in my churning stomach. Is Xero the cause of what happened last night?

Sucking in a sharp breath, I reach out and pull the paper free, careful not to loosen any more feathers. I hold the note up to the light and squint to focus on Xero’s spidery handwriting.

It says,

You are a danger to yourself and are hereby grounded.

X

P.S. Be a good girl and drink your hangover remedy.

Grounded?

I sit bolt upright. The pain receptors inside my skull screech with protest, but I ignore them, scramble off the bed, and land in an awkward crouch.

“Fuck.” Head spinning, I drag my carcass upright and inch forward, only for something to catch around my neck. It’s my leather choker, only the buckle at the back is attached to a metal leash.

“What the hell?”

I turn around, finding the chain tethering me to a hook attached to the wooden bedpost. My heart races, and I breathe hard through flared nostrils. How dare Xero try to keep me tethered like a dog?

With a snarl, I unbuckle the choker, letting it and the chain fall to the floor with a thud. I glance down at my body, finding myself wearing a cream camisole and matching shorts.

My brow furrows. Is he dressing me up like a doll now?

Trying not to freak out, I run downstairs to the front door, finding it locked. My hands curl into fists and I swallow back a scream.

It’s a double cylinder deadbolt, which requires a key to open it on both sides. That way, if an intruder snuck in through the window, he couldn't easily unlock the door with the usual knob.

I thought it was a great security measure until now. That black-hearted bastard just locked me in my own home. Doesn’t he realize I can climb out of the window? I walk to the living room and yank open the heavy curtains.

The road is still busier than usual, with marked and unmarked police cars occupying empty parking spots. My fingers close around the window handle, but it’s jammed.

When one of the police detectives from the other day exits Relaney’s house, I duck away and hide behind the curtain.

The doorbell rings, and I freeze. He probably has follow-up questions about Chappy’s murder. If I tell him I can’t open the door because I’m locked in, that will only arouse his suspicions.

As if I need the extra attention.

A thud sounds from the back of my house, turning my attention toward the kitchen. I remain frozen, not daring to creak the floorboards. The detective will return to number 11 once he realizes I’m not home.

Ten minutes pass until I decide to investigate the sound. After snatching the half empty bottle of Armagnac to wield as a club, I creep out of the living room and down the hallway.

When I reach the kitchen, each wooden cabinet has been flung open, their contents strewn across the counter. Most of them were out of date, but did he really have to scatter my food? Even the refrigerator door hangs open with my last remaining bottle of holy water gone.

Shit .

How am I going to protect myself from Xero’s wrath?

This is a distraction. He wants me too busy cleaning up his mess to focus on escape. After closing the refrigerator, I turn my attention away from the cluttered counters and try the back door.

I’m not even shocked when it’s jammed.

Did he do something to me in my sleep? I turn to the sex contract on the kitchen table to find a new note in that infernal handwriting:

If you want your freedom, you must earn it tonight.

The last three words are underlined twice in what looks to be blood. I put the note aside and check the sex contract to find what else he’s underlined.

Collaring

Facials

Fear play

Humiliation

Raising a shoulder, I mutter, “You forget that I’m a hermit. Keeping me locked up is more frustrating than frightening.”

I set down the contract and make my way up the stairs with the Armagnac. Xero might have taken my phone, but I can always email Myra or Mom. They both have keys to my house. If Mom can’t stand the sight of me, she can push the key through the letterbox so I can let myself out.

As I reach the top of the stairs, a memory slides into place. The hangman went with us to the casino and had a face that looked like he’d been dropped from a great height.

Shaking off that thought, I continue toward my study, where I left my laptop to charge. What happened next, and how the hell did I get home?

I sit at my desk, fire up my computer, and open the email client. After typing out a quick message to Myra, I click send. An error message pops up that says:

OFFLINE MODE ACTIVATED.

“What?”

I check the outbox, finding my email unsent. The footer says NETWORK OFFLINE. My jaw tightens. Maybe he’s just disconnected me from the internet. I glance at the menu bar at the top right of the screen and click the Wi-Fi icon, finding a bunch of secure networks that aren’t mine.

He’s turned off my internet, so I can’t communicate with the outside world.

Ducking beneath my desk, I check for my router, but it’s gone.

“Shit.”

The cable company set up my internet connection, and my troubleshooting skills don’t extend beyond turning the router off and back on again.

Is Xero trying to replicate his conditions on death row? Rising off my seat, I leave in search of the spare handset I left in my nightstand.

I enter my room, looking for signs that it’s been hit by a malevolent ghost, but everything is just as I left it. Sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating my black sheets and the collar and chain still attached to the bed.

Heart pounding, I approach the nightstand and open the drawer. The phone I left there is still intact, so I connect it to the charger.

But when I search for the SIM card, it’s gone.

“Fuck you, Xero,” I mutter.

There’s no reply, no rebuke or retribution, because Xero’s powers are at their weakest during the day. He’s waiting for nightfall, when he can strike at me from the shadows. And he’s locked me up, so I can’t get help or holy water.

Anger wells up in my chest, burning through the mounting dread. I square my shoulders, curl my fists, and storm into the bathroom. I can’t let him control my life.

If he’s planning something humiliating for me tonight, then I’ll be ready for him. But first, I need a fucking bath.