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EIGHTY-TWO

XERO

Amethyst’s mother has more red flags than a communist rally and not because of all that screaming. After overhearing her dismissive treatment of the troll’s attack, I expected to find a shitload of dirt on the woman, but she didn’t have so much as a speeding ticket. That in itself was suspicious.

Not only did someone powerful cover up the murder of her music teacher, but the coroner’s report claimed it was a suicide. No scandal involving Cuthbert Lawson and a young girl could be found in the New Alderney Times, only Lawson’s meager obituary.

We checked the background of Melonie Crowley, whose records don’t portray her as a three-dimensional person until she moved to New Alderney to become a socialite. This is typical of people in witness protection or who have bought a new ID, but there are no further clues to her true identity.

I swing out of bed as Amethyst lets her into the house, and put on a hoodie and a pair of joggers. Even if the house’s deed is in Melonie’s name, it still feels like she’s encroaching on my territory.

Mrs. Crowley’s voice carries upstairs, with her complaints about Amethyst’s social media presence. When she mentions public sex, I slip on my mask and walk out of the bedroom .

Who filmed Amethyst and me, and where were they hiding? The only person I saw in the graveyard was Jynxson. He’s been with me from nearly the beginning and would never stab me in the back.

At the mother’s spiteful words, I walk out of the bedroom and continue through the upstairs landing to the top of the stairs. Melonie Crowley holds Amethyst in a full nelson and is driving her into the wall.

My nostrils flare. What kind of mother brutalizes her own daughter?

“That’s enough!” I charge down the stairs, ready to throttle the older woman.

Melonie staggers backward, leaving Amethyst slumped against the wall. She turns to the front door, trying to escape, but her fingerprints won’t activate the security lock.

I gather Amethyst in my arms. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she replies, still sounding shaken. Tears glisten in her eyes, and her creamy skin is flushed. I’ve never seen her look so miserable.

“Go to the kitchen while I have a word with your mother.”

Her eyes widen. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about her.”

“Xero,” she whispers.

“Go!”

When she doesn’t move, I walk her down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her gaze darts to the cupboard under the stairs, and she shudders.

“I won’t hurt her,” I murmur into her curls, “but nobody disrespects my girl.”

She breathes hard, her head bowing. “You’d better not.”

I press a kiss on her temple and guide her into a dining chair. “Just a few questions. Nothing more.”

After leaving Amethyst at the table, I turn to where Melonie Crowley still scrambles at the door. There’s a phone pressed to her ear, and she’s reciting Amethyst’s address.

“What are you doing, Mrs. Crowley?” I ask.

She whirls around, her eyes hardening. “I know who you are.”

I flash my teeth at her from behind the mask and continue stalking toward my prey. “Go on.”

“You’re the man from the video who assaulted my daughter.”

“Assaulted?” I raise a brow, but the expression is lost behind the black fabric. “A moment ago, you accused Amethyst of craving humiliation, degradation, and pain. Now, you’re calling me a rapist. Make up your mind.”

Her nostrils flare. “You don’t scare me.”

“Then you’re foolish.”

“I’ve already called the police.”

My hand whips out and snatches her throat. “Then I’d better make what I’m about to do quick.”

“Let go of me, you deviant—” I cut off her tirade and slam her in the wall with twice the amount of force she used against Amethyst.

Wincing, she cries out but still manages to jab me in the ribs. The punch barely makes an impact, but I’m impressed with her attempt to fight. She brings her knee between my legs, but I move out of range.

“Tell me why you allow your daughter to be overmedicated.”

Her eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”

I lift her off her feet, making her gasp. “Why doesn’t Amethyst remember anything from before the age of ten?”

She shakes her head.

“Don’t give me that car accident bullshit.”

“Who are you?” she rasps.

“I’m the one asking the questions.”

Melonie flops about, her nails digging into my fingers, trying to pry them off her neck. Her eyes bulge, and her face darkens to a deep shade of purple. There’s more to Amethyst’s past than a simple car accident, and based on her mother’s level of stubbornness, what she’s hiding has to be big.

Amethyst’s footsteps thunder down the hallway, and she grabs at my arm. “Stop it. You’re killing her.”

“Stay out of this.”

“You can’t go around hurting people for fun,” she screams.

“Watch me. ”

Sharp pain slices into my arm. My glare snaps to the source of the disturbance, and I find Amethyst holding a knife.

I release her mother’s neck, letting her crumple to the floor, and turn to glare at my naughty little ghost. “Why would you defend your long-time abuser?”

Amethyst backs away, using her little kitchen knife as a shield. “Get away from her.”

I flash her a grin. “Girls who attack their masters get punished.”

“T-Try it and I’ll carve out your eyes.”

Warmth fills my chest, and I suppress the urge to chuckle. I can’t mock my pretty little ghost’s attempts to be ferocious. It’s this kind of fire she’ll need to survive.

“You bastard,” screeches a voice from behind.

A weight lands on my back. It’s Melonie scaling me like a demented koala, trying to get me into a neck lock. Resisting the urge to throw her over my shoulder and onto the stairs, I slam us both backward into the wall.

“Stop!” Amethyst screams, charging at me with the knife.

“That’s not very nice, little ghost.” I grab her wrist and squeeze, making her drop her weapon. “But it’s a start. You need to activate that killer instinct all the time. Not just when someone’s life is under threat.”

Her gaze darts to the left, just as light footsteps disappear into the living room. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at Melonie’s pathetic attempt to gather a weapon.

She’ll probably return in a few moments brandishing a liquor bottle to smash over my head. I’ll disarm her and continue the interrogation, but I’m more interested in reigniting her daughter’s violent urges.

“Well, I know you’re capable of far worse,” she says through panting breaths. “My mom might have her problems, but she doesn’t deserve your brand of sadism.”

A gust of wind blows in from behind, drawing my attention away from Amethyst. As I turn back toward the living room, she screams, “Mom, run!”

Shit.

Breaking into a run, I burst through the door to find Melonie escaping through the living room window. By the time I vault across the wooden floor, she’s already slithered out into the street.

I whirl around and charge back to the hallway. Amethyst is already racing out through the front door in her silk gown, chasing down her escaping mother and stopping her from disappearing into her vehicle. Mrs. Crowley jerks her arm away and sticks a finger into Amethyst’s face. The pair screech at each other like a pair of savage birds, filling the street with the sound of their chaos.

Neighbors from across the road stand in their doorways, watching the mother-daughter showdown. I skulk behind the door, debating whether I should rush out and scoop up my little ghost.

Blood drips from my arm onto the floor, making me grimace. One downside of allowing myself to get arrested last time was getting my DNA into the system. Tyler has already deleted it from the FBI’s central database, but there’s no guarantee that other parties haven’t made copies or backups.

So, I seethe behind the door, silently urging my little ghost to return.

As if sensing my malicious intent, she turns back to the door and grimaces.

“Amethyst?” Heavy footsteps approach from the house next door, belonging to the flirtatious priest. “Is everything alright?”

“Tell him,” Melonie hisses. “Confess your sins.”

Amethyst turns to the priest and rubs the back of her head. “It’s nothing. Just a family squabble.”

His brow furrows, and he glances from mother to daughter. “Are you sure? If there’s anything I can do to help?—”

“Someone needs to talk sense into this girl,” Melonie snaps. “Before it’s too late and she gets herself killed.”

The priest stands befuddled, looking like he wants to pull Amethyst into a hug. We researched Reverend Thomas Dinsdale the moment he appeared on the radar, and he’s clean.

His background is unremarkable, from his two-parent family in a middle-class neighborhood to the athletic scholarship he received to study theology at New Alderney University.

After he earned a Master's degree in Divinity, the church fast- tracked him into the priesthood, where he served as an associate pastor at St. Clement’s Church before being appointed to St. Anne’s in the cemetery. His denomination allows priests to marry, but there’s no sign of a girlfriend. And he doesn’t seem interested in men.

“Let’s talk about this inside.” Reverend Thomas ushers them toward Mrs. Baker’s house.

I grind my teeth, resisting the urge to storm out and grab my little ghost. At the first sight of a six-foot-six man in black, concealing his features behind a mask, one of the assholes will call the police. Especially with Melonie screaming that I assaulted her daughter.

Amethyst backs toward the house. “No, thank you,” she says to the priest. “We don’t need any help.”

“You’re sure?” the reverend asks, his gaze lingering on her gown’s neckline.

I step forward, wanting to garrote the pathetic opportunist with his collar. Amethyst is mine.

Melonie strides to her turquoise Aston Martin. “Forty-eight hours. That’s how long you have to vacate my house before I list it for auction.”

“You can’t do this, Mom.”

“I should have institutionalized you a long time ago.”

Amethyst charges at her mother, still holding the knife.

“Get away from me, you psychopath.” Melonie dives into her car.

The street fills with shocked gasps, and adrenaline kicks me in the gut. Ignoring all caution, I rush out through the door, grab Amethyst by the waist, and lift her off her feet.

“Let go of me, you asshole!” she screeches.

Before Reverend Thomas or any other of Parisii Drive’s busybodies can interfere, I’ve already carried her into the hallway and slammed the door shut.

Amethyst slashes at my face as I set her down, but I grab her wrist before the blade strikes.

“You filmed us!” she screams. “Then you posted the footage online.”

“I didn’t. ”

“Stop lying.” She swipes a clawed hand at my eyes, which I also catch.

Rage twists her pretty features, and she thrashes in my grip, trying to free her arms. When that doesn’t work, she rams her head into my midsection.

“I hate you,” she yells. “You’re ruining my life.”

“Let it all out, little ghost,” I say.

She stomps on my foot with no impact. “How could you do this to me? First, you skulk around my house, pretending to be a ghost, then you put body parts under my pillow, then you delete my manuscript, and now you’re making revenge porn?”

Her only saving grace is that she hasn’t mentioned all the men I killed in her name.

“It wasn’t me,” I say.

“Who else would want to dress up as the Grim Reaper and ruin my life?”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

I pull her wrists together to restrain her with one hand and lift her chin. She glares up at me, her eyes tearing up with pent-up anger.

“Hate me if you want, little ghost. It doesn’t change the fact that you belong to me, and I take care of what’s mine. Someone else shot that footage, and it wasn’t me. Before you ask, my people wouldn’t do something that would get them killed.”

“Then who?—”

“Think, Amethyst,” I snarl. “Who was responsible for making you late for our wedding?”

Her features fall, and she stares up at me through wide eyes. “The person who sent that photo?”

I nod.

Her gaze darts to the door. “You don’t think…”

“That your mother could have sent it?” I ask. “You tell me. Is she capable of doing something so spiteful?”

Amethyst bows her head. “No… Maybe… I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. But one thing is for certain. She didn’t make that decision to sell the house on the spur of the moment.”

Real estate prices in this suburb are now at an all-time high. Mrs. Crowley could release a hell of a lot of equity if she sold number 13. That’s a shitty motive, but people have done a lot worse for far less.

I now have a compelling new lead. The next time I interrogate Melonie Crowley, I’ll make sure Amethyst doesn’t get in the way.