Page 10

LOST LITTLE LAMB

Isolde

Something rattles my bones when I wake up at midnight, a sound startling me from my dreamless sleep. A nameless dread engulfs me as I try to figure out what woke me up. Casper’s lying beside me, his light snores filling the space, bringing a sense of comfort.

Eyebrows furrowed, I stare at him. He’s on his back, mouth open, arms slumped to his side while he sleeps peacefully. It’s in moments like these that I remember why I’m still with him—the peace, the safety. Despite all he’s done, I still care about him.

The room is unexpectedly cold, bringing with it a sharp shiver of discomfort as I realize my bedroom window is wide open, and my bra is unclasped. Scowling down at my chest, I quickly fix it and stare at Casper. Did he unclip it while I was asleep?

Snow trickles in through the window sill, the sound of trees whistling in the wind resonating through the room.

A gut feeling tells me that’s not what woke me up.

Casper’s snores quieten, and the sudden silence feels oppressive. Any sound would startle me, like watching a horror movie, knowing there will be a jump scare, and still getting frightened.

Something catches my attention in my peripheral vision.

A flicker of white fluttering by the glass pane, tucked between the windowsill and the open frame, by what looks to be a small stone.

On silent feet, I get up from bed, the cold instantly traveling up my heels to the top of my head and casting a violent shiver over me.

Casper turns in bed, noticing my absence even in his sleep, and mumbles before opening his eyes.

“Get back to bed, baby.”

I ignore him and continue toward the windowsill, noticing the piece of paper there.

It’s only when I reach out a hand to grab it that I realize my entire body is overtaken by tremors.

As soon as I have a hold of it, I slam the window shut and twist the lock into place, the click far too loud in the silent night.

Then, I just stand there, staring out into the stillness, at the world outside with not a single soul awake at this ungodly hour.

Steeling myself, I glance down at the envelope in my hand. The number ‘2’ is written in black ink on the front page. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I glance at the clock, noticing it’s ten minutes after midnight. Meaning it’s only forty-eight hours left until my twenty-fourth birthday.

The mere thought of that leaves me physically ill.

Noticing something is amiss, Casper instantly sits up in bed and rubs the sleep off his eyes. “What is it?”

I rip open the envelope, only hearing blood rushing endlessly in my ears, counting down to my doom.

And drop the letter as soon as I read it.

You’re invited to a masquerade party at Mayhem Castle.

February 20th, 8 p.m. sharp.

Arrive in your finest dress.

Xo,

Red

No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

It fucking’t can’t!

My knees grow weak, and I rush outside the bedroom into my small bathroom, falling onto the floor right before the toilet.

I push open the lid, expelling the bile rising in my stomach, poised as vomit.

I’m lucky I haven’t had much to eat, because I’d be throwing it all up.

Falling back, leaning my back against the wall, my body is weak, cold sweat wracking over me.

Mayhem Castle.

The castle in the middle of Vexglade’s forest, where no civilization resides. I’d forgotten about that place, only visited once, and it was enough to give me the chilling creeps to avoid it altogether.

That castle was the only thing left in their will, their only property before I sent them to jail.

I fall over the toilet again and vomit my guts up. All weak and so fucking exhausted of this entire mess. Terrified out of my goddamn mind.

“I think you should go,” Casper says from outside the bathroom while leaning against the doorframe, voice deep and husky with sleep. He holds the envelope in his hands, scanning it over. “It could be fun. Who knows?”

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, feeling the sour sensation in my stomach again. He notices my state of mind, and yet he has the audacity to say that.

Wasn’t he the one who literally got mad at me for receiving an envelope much like this? What is he playing at?

“I’m just saying. You don’t know who you’re up against. I will be a phone call away if you need me.”

That’s it, he must be insane. “I’m not fucking going.”

He merely shrugs his shoulders, staring me over with a hint of distinct disgust. My face is pale, my lips dry as I wipe away the vomit with a towel that I throw in the laundry basket as soon as I’m done. Well, fuck him.

I slump against the cold floor, because this invitation? It only means one thing.

It confirms my worst fears.

The twins are back, and they’re definitely out to get me.