Page 35 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

August

It had taken us six days to reach Dover, two of those spent sheltering from a red rainstorm in an abandoned clothing factory long since stripped of anything useful.

Three biters had to be evicted first. Keaton took two down with a clean crossbow shot between the eyes while I almost cleaved the third’s head from its shoulders.

Even knowing the factory stopover was solely for his sake, Keaton’s frustration grew with every hour we stayed.

With nothing else to do, we fell back on sex to pass the time—which wasn’t exactly a hardship.

At least exhausting him kept him from bouncing off the walls, even if it couldn’t stop that faraway look from creeping back into his eyes.

I didn’t push him on anything, sticking to our agreement of ‘after,’ and in return there were no more awkward silences or arguments. I reminded him more than once that William Anderson wasn’t going anywhere, that he’d still be in Dover when we reached it.

And now we had, arriving in Dover just as day set about the serious business of turning into night. I stashed my bike in a brick outbuilding half a mile out, figuring there were more incognito ways of arriving in a place that might have scouts than with the roar of an engine.

From there, we’d continued on foot to the beach and easily dealt with a few lone biters with little fanfare.

The lap of red-tinged waves over the sand and the incessant calls of gulls circling overhead barely registered as I stared at the thing on the beach that shouldn’t have been there: a large wooden stake. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at it.

Keaton didn’t answer. He only had eyes for one thing.

I followed his gaze to the white cliffs. Perched on top, silhouetted against the fading gold of the sky, was a castle. Ancient stone walls glowed amber in the last light of the sun, the entire structure radiating a kind of grim majesty.

“I’m revising what I said before.” I took Keaton’s low grunt as an invitation to elaborate. “When I said a castle wasn’t enough incentive to lure people away from their homes. Because I’ve got to admit, as homes go, it’s pretty impressive.”

Keaton said nothing. He’d been quiet all day, but not this quiet. “So what’s the plan exactly? I’m assuming there is one.”

His eyes didn’t leave the castle. “Kill the bastard.”

“That’s not a plan. That’s an end goal. How do you intend to get to that point?

” When Keaton didn’t answer, I pulled him around to face me.

“I’m serious. Because if you think you can just stroll right up to the door armed to the back teeth, you’re insane.

You won’t last two minutes. It’s a castle.

They were literally built to keep people out, therefore, one ex-soldier so full of hate he can barely think will be no match for them.

You won’t even make it to the door before they take you down. ”

Something flickered in Keaton’s expression. I pressed harder. “You promised me you’d do this the right way. Charging in isn’t the right way. That ends with you dead before you get anywhere near William Anderson.”

“What then?” His voice sounded raw, like forcing the words out hurt.

“I don’t know yet. If I’d known you didn’t have a plan, I would have dreamed up some scenarios. But I’ll think of something.”

“This is not your battle. It’s mine.”

“It’s ours,” I countered. “I want that after, and I’m used to getting what I want.” I’d hoped my arrogance might make Keaton smile. It didn’t. Not even a twitch of one. I turned back to the castle, hoping for some inspiration, and instead found something else. “What’s that?”

At the base of the castle, lights flickered where there had been none before. They multiplied, moving slowly down a path toward the beach. A procession.

“We hide,” I said, already steering Keaton toward the thick bushes edging the sand. He resisted at first, but I tugged harder until he followed.

His eyes glittered. “If he’s coming here, that’s my chance.”

“We wait,” I hissed, shoving him down on the ground.

Irritation rose at Keaton’s constant inability to see past William Anderson’s demise at his hands.

I knew he wasn’t doing it deliberately, that he’d admitted it was like having bees in his head, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

“We observe. We think. Then we decide what actions, if any, are appropriate. Try acting like a soldier instead of a—”

“A what?”

“A suicidal idiot.”

“Nice.” The thread of amusement in Keaton’s voice told me I’d gotten through to him.

We lapsed into silence, the minutes ticking by.

We heard the chanting first. When the group appeared, their formation was obvious.

Three at the front, three at the back, all robed in black.

Logic told me they were guards. In the center, flanked by two more, were a woman in white, and a man in a dark red robe.

All but the woman and the red-robed man carried flaming torches—the source of the lights we’d seen.

“Do you think that’s him?” Keaton’s voice was spiky with venom.

“I don’t know.” It was a lie. The red robe was supposed to set him apart. Who else could it be? “Wait,” I repeated.

The procession continued onto the beach. They formed a circle around the wooden stake, its purpose becoming clear when they bound the girl to it. She didn’t resist, her head bowed.

The man in red held his arms aloft, chin tipped up.

The chanting cut off, the sudden silence worse than the noise.

And with a sick twist in my gut, I realized he reminded me of myself—of the way I’d commanded crowds when I peddled the suppressants.

All that was missing was the lightning. Keaton had been right about me being the recruiter.

And I wasn’t a fan of the mirror being held up.

Keaton’s whisper was harsh. “It’s him.”

I didn’t answer.

The man’s voice rolled over the sand. “My children, we know why we are here. We have a sinner in our midst.”

The girl ducked her head, a slight tinge of red seeping into her otherwise pale cheeks. “We have rules for a reason, and Madeleine has chosen not to follow them and instead welcome corruption into her heart. Do we stand for that?”

“No, Beloved Father, we do not.”

It was so in sync, they must have practised it a thousand times. Keaton was like a statue next to me, his muscles locked and rigid.

“But we are magnanimous, are we not?”

“We are generous to a fault, Beloved Father.”

Smiling, he lifted the girl’s chin with a finger so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “The rain will cleanse you. And then the Lord will decide if you are to be forgiven and welcomed back into the fold, or if you will become one of earth’s dark servants.”

I’d heard many alternative names for the biters over the years, but that was a new one. Who the fuck were they meant to be serving exactly? The god of eating brains.

“Do you understand why this must be done?” he asked, his tone chillingly gentle. Her nod was so enthusiastic that had she not been tied to the stake, I might have worried she’d fall over. “Use words, my child.”

“I understand.” She was crying, but she was smiling too, like she couldn’t work out how she was supposed to feel. “I am ready. And should God find me lacking, I will accept His judgment.”

“You are brave, my child.”

Then he kissed her. Long. Lingering. Too intimate.

When he pulled back, she smiled beatifically up at him, eyes still shining with tears. “Thank you, Father.”

I wasn’t particularly judgmental given my occupation, but something about the kiss, her calling him father, and that he was old enough to be her actual father set my teeth on edge.

It had a far greater effect on Keaton, though, enough for him to surge to his feet. I dragged him down and, when he fought, threw myself on top of him, pinning him by the wrists.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed, relying on the wind to carry the sound of my voice away from the beach.

Keaton glared up at me, and I knew he wasn’t really seeing me, that I was nothing but an obstacle to the need burning in his blood. And for once, that need had absolutely nothing to do with lust. “That’s what he did to my sister.”

“I know. I worked that out myself.” The chanting had started up again. This time, knowing it would drown out our conversation, I was relieved. “But you can’t just charge in there. We’ve talked about this.”

“He’s. Right. Fucking. There.”

“He is,” I agreed, doing my best to placate him even as my heart pounded in my chest. Keaton had a distinct size advantage.

If he really wanted to dislodge me, he could, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

I could pull my knife, but things had changed so much between us I really didn’t want to do that.

“What will happen if you set foot on that beach?”

“The bastard will end up with a knife in his heart.”

“You think?” I said, not bothering to keep the mockery out of my voice. “Are you going to claim next that you haven’t noticed all the guards are armed? You won’t get anywhere near him before they take you down.”

“I have to try.”

“No. You don’t. You need to listen to someone who can still think straight. I can’t keep having the same conversation repeatedly. You promised me you’d be smart. If you walk onto that beach, I’ll follow, and they’ll take me down as well. Do you want that?”

“You can stay here.”

“I could, but I won’t.”

His muscles finally slackened beneath me. “So we just let him walk away?”

“For now. We play the long game. First, we talk to the girl. Maybe she knew your sister.” Keaton stared dully up at me, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “If I let you up, are you going to behave? Or are you going to drag me down with you?”

“I’ll behave.”

I got off him slowly, Keaton dragging himself up to a sitting position, but not attempting to stand. The beach was empty except for the girl, the procession already retracing its steps back up the cliff path.

“I can probably take him out with my crossbow.”