They all saw me.
I used to be able to follow people for hours without them ever noticing.
What’s different?
Me.
I’m different.
That’s what has been nagging at me all afternoon. Not worry over Celene or the thought that I won’t be able to pull the plan off. It’s the fact that I’m not invisible any more. The events of the past week have bent me out of shape somehow. Rendered me corporeal. I was a shadow for so long, I didn’t think it was possible to be any other way.
But here I am, talking to people, smiling and doing a job. A real job.
I’m not the Rumer I used to be.
This isn’t good.
The next room takes me to the front of the house. Dusk is settling and lamps have been lit along the drive. Cars glide towards the house. I go to the window and peer down, careful to tuck myself just behind the curtain. The guests are arriving. A woman wearing a cleavage-flashing dress kisses Mrs Vinter’s hand at the door, then peels her lips back in a predatory smile at her son.
I wonder how many of the guests are here solely to convince Vinter to marry them. Men and women. I’m fairly certain the women will all go home disappointed.
I’m about to move on when a man emerges from one of the cars. He hobbles slightly as he approaches the entrance but I’d recognise that big frame anywhere.
‘Julian.’
What’s he doing here? I left him tied to a chair in the tower block. Rose must’ve rescued him, but Rose is working for Mara. Is Julian another of Mara’s puppets? Is he here for the Crook Spear?
I lean in closer to the window. A faint bruise runs along his jaw, a shadow left by Bolt’s fist. We beat him up pretty badly; though not as badly as Ellis the Nicotine Man. I wonder if Mara’s retired my mother’s old accomplice. I think of the way the hammer felt against his bones with a mixture of horror and excitement.
Just before Julian reaches the entrance, his gaze flickers up at me.
Quickly, I shrink back behind the curtain, my pulse racing. Did he see me? I’m pretty sure I moved in time but my palms have started sweating and I can’t think straight. Is he here for me? Or maybe he’s one of Vinter’s suitors. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.
There’s no way Julian would know I’d be here. Even I didn’t know until yesterday. Unless Mara’s guessed I’ve joined forces with my mother. I clench my fist, remembering the shard slicing into my palm as I held it over Mara’s throat. If Celene had turned up two seconds later, I’d have succeeded in killing him and I wouldn’t be here, searching a mansion for a mystical gun.
The gun.
As Julian is greeted at the door by the Vinters, I go to the landing. A hum of voices comes from the ground floor as the guests congregate. I wonder how long it’ll be until Celene arrives. If she makes it. An image of her determined face flickers in my mind and I know she will.
I head down the landing, creeping swiftly towards the door on the other side. As I go, I peer through the banister rails at the lobby below, blood thundering in my ears. There’s Julian, champagne glass already in one hand, the other hand in his pocket. He looks lonely. His head starts to turn but I’m already through the door, clicking it shut and leaning into it.
How did I ever do this? All that time I spent shadowing people and not once did it feel like this.
Because I didn’t care.
The cases I worked weren’t personal. There’s so much more riding on this than with any of the cheating businessmen I trailed.
I turn and my chest swells.
Cabinets fill the room, each holding expensive-looking artefacts. I prowl between them, ignoring the ceramics, swords and jewels. The gun has to be here somewhere.
When I reach the back of the collection, I rock to a standstill. The cabinet in front of me is filled with guns. Ten of them, all pointing in the same direction, like a school of killer fish. One of them has to be the Crook Spear but I have no idea which. They’re all different shapes and sizes.
I press close to the glass, scrutinising each one, remembering the drawing on the wall in cabin one. The sorceress holding the firearm. The image wasn’t clear; the gun an indistinct blur of brushstrokes.
Little placards rest below each of the weapons. Every one is inscribed with a country of origin. France. Norway. Japan.
Morocco.
My pulse quickens. Only one of the guns is from Morocco. Red and gold designs swirl over the dark wood and the metal is tarnished with age. It’s elegant but nowhere near as ornate as the others.
‘Jackpot,’ I whisper.
Hastily, I check the cabinet for an alarm. There isn’t one.
‘You’re far too trusting, Vinter.’
Listening to the buzz of voices beneath my feet, I try to gauge if anybody will hear the glass smashing. It’s impossible to tell and I don’t have a choice anyway, so I turn, crook my elbow, and jab it at the pane. Hairline cracks spread through it and I jab again. It shatters loudly but the buzz of the party doesn’t waver.
There’s nothing but air between me and the Crook Spear.
Carefully I reach in and lift it from its holder.
I half expect the floorboards to tremble or a ghostly wind to stir.
It’s surprisingly heavy as I turn it over in my hands. I inspect the chamber, which only contains two bullets.
Mara was right about something.
One bullet to kill, one to render somebody unkillable.
This is the gun my mother used to murder Mara’s father. Now I’m going to use it to complete the circle. I can’t help trembling. The gun looks so unremarkable but it’s hiding a dark secret. It’s cursed, too.
It doesn’t react to me, though. I thought maybe it’d be like two magnets coming together. I’d feel some kind of pull or charge. My hair would go static and I’d experience mystical visions, glimpse the farthest reaches of the universe, watch the birth of stars and the death of gods. Instead, I just want to get this over with.
The spider in my mind is restless.
My heard jerks to one side.
A noise from the landing.
I throw myself at another door and make it through just as I hear the main door click open. Not daring to breathe, I listen as somebody quietly enters the room. It could be a guard doing the rounds. Or Julian. Or maybe Mara’s arrived and he’s gone straight for the goods. That seems unlikely. The party’s only just started. You’d think he’d wait a polite amount of time before ransacking the place, unlike me.
Footsteps resound on the floorboards and I’m pretty certain whoever it is has just strolled up to the gun cabinet.
I swallow the lump in my throat, waiting for a shout as they discover the smashed glass, or an alarm being triggered. Instead, the footsteps approach the door I’m hiding behind.
Panic builds in my chest. There’s no way I can explain why I’m up here. Or why I’m cradling an old gun in my good hand.
Somebody’s right on the other side of the door and I know they’re going to come through and find me.
I grab the handle just in time. Somebody tries to push it down and I grit my teeth as I squeeze it up, forcing it not to move. It digs into my bandaged palm and I’m immediately sweating, pain spearing my flesh. I wedge the Crook Spear under the handle.
If the intruder thinks the door’s locked he’ll give up. He has to.
The handle rattles and I don’t think I can hold it for much longer. Then the pressure eases and footsteps ring over the floor. I release the handle, my hand cramping with pain, checking the Crook Spear. It doesn’t look like it’s been damaged.
‘Rumer?’
My heart’s in my throat as I whirl towards the voice.
Celene stands in a doorway across the room, little more than a shadowy cutout.
How many goddamn doors does this place have?
‘What are you doing up here?’ I hiss.
‘I could ask you the same question.’
As I stare at her, I realise we’re in a li
brary. Books chequer the walls and a couple of leather sofas huddle in the darkness in the centre of the floor. The only light comes in through the door with my mother.
‘I got confused,’ I say, hiding the gun behind my thigh. ‘I was looking for you and–’
‘Give it up, Rumer.’ Her voice is a low rumble and I try not to let it get to me. ‘The gun isn’t your concern. If you come with me now, you won’t get hurt.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I drop the act. There’s no point. Celene stands in the rectangle of light, a blade of darkness in a black suit, the blazer concealing her shoulder wound. When I left her in the Dead Room, she was bent over, half dead herself. Was it all an act? Now she’s holding herself with the arrogance of a prize fighter ready to hurl herself into the ring.
‘Is Mara here?’ I ask, partly because I’m interested and partly because I need time to think about how I’m going to play this.
Celene steps into the library. ‘He will be soon.’
Good. Then we can finally get this party started.
‘You have the gun?’ Her gaze drops to my hidden hand and I bring the Crook Spear into the light, saying nothing.
‘I asked you to leave it,’ Celene says.
‘I have a tragic history of failing to follow orders.’
‘This isn’t a game, Rumer.’
‘Of course it is, and you don’t get to set the rules. Mara wants the gun, I want Bolt’s freedom. What do you want?’
Celene stops behind the leather sofa on the other side of the library, gripping its back with both hands. Is she imagining crushing my throat? Is she restraining herself?
Come on, mother. Show me your true face.
‘I’ve made my feelings clear,’ she says softly, a note of danger in her voice. ‘Mara has to be stopped. As soon as he’s in our custody, I’m done with this life. I’m leaving it behind for good.’
I snort. ‘Like it’s that easy.’
‘Rumer–’
‘No! You’re living in a fucking fantasy world if you think you can just move on. People don’t change. You’re a killer. You’ll always be a killer.’
‘Give me the gun.’
The spider in my mind thrashes as Celene comes out from behind the sofa.
‘Stay out of my way or I’ll put a bullet in you,’ I growl.
‘Give me the gun and Mara will leave you alone. I promise.’
‘I don’t need your protection. I’ve survived this far without it.’ I raise the gun. ‘I’m not kidding. Stop.’
Celene doesn’t stop. Her expression’s serene as ever, a blank page, as if I haven’t got the Crook Spear pointed right at her. The part of me that’s her, the shard between my ribs, vibrates, urges me to do it. Pull the trigger. There’s one shot left before the Crook Spear loads up the magic bullet. Why not use it on my mother? There would be a kind of poetic justice in that.
She’s halfway across the library when Bolt’s voice speaks in my ear.
If you had to kill her, could you do it?
My mother speaks in my other ear; the things she said in the Dead Room.
I’ll never escape my past, not until it chases me down and buries me in the dirt.
I’m her past. So is the gun in my grip. We’re a cosmic force and I feel the curse fizzing inside me, frothing through every sinew, burning and blistering, hardening my skin into armour.
‘Please, Rumer. Don’t.’
The sound of my name on her lips sets furious sparks spitting in my chest.
The words snap out. ‘You lost the right to order me around years ago.’
‘I know, but Rumer, I don’t think you realise… I’m the only one who understands you.’
‘You don’t. You can’t.’
She’s halfway across the room and the Crook Spear follows her. My hand isn’t my own any more; it has a mind of its own.
‘I do.’ Her grey eyes are unblinking bullet holes. ‘I know more about you than you could ever imagine, because we’re the same. We have the same mind. It’s the reason I knew you’d be up here stealing the gun, why I’ve been able to track you down every time you’ve disappeared.’
‘Stop.’
‘I’m you and you’re me.’ She’s speaking so softly it’s like she’s murmuring an incantation. A spell to subdue me. After everything, she’s still trying to control me. She’s Eris, the Greek goddess of war and strife and, though we’re a pair, inextricably linked, she has powers I’ll never understand.
‘The only part of me that’s anything like you is the part that kills.’
‘You’ve never killed anybody,’ Celene murmurs. Troll. Frances. George. Dominic.
Their names pump through my veins, a never-ending torture, and she can’t possibly understand.
‘You made sure I could never have anything, anybody,’ I say.
‘I want you to be happy.’
‘You want me to be alone! You made it so I’ll always be alone. If anybody ever gets close to me…’
She’s so close now they’d have trouble identifying her if I pulled the trigger. Then she’s reaching out, laying a hand on the Crook Spear, and my jaw hurts I’m gritting my teeth so hard.
Time’s up.
‘Screw this,’ I spit.
I wrench the gun away from her, then swing it, clocking her in the face. She falters, white hair concealing whatever damage I’ve caused. She glares at me and her expression is torn between anger and something else. Fear? Remorse?
‘You don’t want to do this,’ she says.
I’ve never wanted to do anything more. I throw myself at her and we crash to the floor. The party’s a dull murmur beneath us but I only see her crumpled beneath me. I pin her to the floor with my knees and I raise the gun, not knowing if I want to shoot her or hit her again. Before I can decide, she bats my hand away with surprising force and the gun spins across the floorboards, disappearing under a table.
‘Rumer, listen–’
I can’t listen to any more of her lies. Her words scratch under my skin, drawing blood as they take root and all I want is to shut her up. Make her feel just a little bit of what I’ve felt since she abandoned me. Left me to become whatever it is I’ve become.
Not a shadow. Not a woman.
A nothing.
My fist strikes her jaw and for once it’s my fist. Not hers, not the fizzing, oozing blackness driving me. I want to hit her again and again and again, see her bleed.
I grab her shoulder, the injured one, and she bares her teeth, bucking beneath me. I try to hold her down, but then she pummels my gut and I can’t breathe.
There she is. There’s Celene Cross.
She shoves me off her and I fumble to my feet, but then my skull’s crashing into wood and my mother’s got me up against the bookcase, my good hand twisted behind my back.
‘Rumer, stop.’
‘Showing your true colours,’ I pant.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Why stop now?’
I take the only route available – I drop to the floor, sliding free and kicking her legs out from under her. Celene lands awkwardly, only just stopping her head smashing into the floor. I’m on her in an instant, burying my fist in her face. She grunts and I catch the scream in my throat as hot pain blazes through my left hand.
She’s crushing it, digging her fingers through the bandages, reopening the wound.
I go to punch her again but she catches my fist, shoving me off. I back off, nursing my injured hand, watching as she pries herself up off the floor.
We stand staring at each other, panting, clutching our injuries, and I can finally see her. The blank page has screwed up, revealing shadows and seams. The bullets of her eyes are dirty steel aimed right at me.
‘Do you want Mara to get away?’ she asks.
‘I knew you were in there somewhere. Had to come out eventually.’
Is that what people really see when they look at me? This demented banshee? All hard edges and smothering darkness? A mur
derous scarecrow?
‘Rumer. This isn’t the place to talk about this. We should talk, but not here. Afterwards.’
‘If you get out of this alive.’
‘You can threaten me all–’
‘You’re the one who said it. Half the world wants you dead. More, probably. Only way you’re getting out of this is in a body bag.’
It’s like I’ve slapped her again. The wild light dims, her hackles lower.
‘I’ve got to try.’
‘Why?’ I demand. ‘What’s Mara really got on you? What are you so afraid of losing?’
I flinch as she moves away from the bookcase, but she’s not going for me or the gun, which is still under the table. She walks stiffly to the sofa and leans against it, checking her shoulder under her blazer.
‘If I can’t redeem myself, I might as well let you shoot me here,’ she says.
A floorboard creaks behind me and I whirl around just as Vinter comes in from the landing. I seize the moment, throwing myself at the table and closing my fingers around the Crook Spear.
‘What’s going on?’ Vinter asks, but I’m already across the room, tearing open the door and hurling myself into the collection.
‘Rumer!’ Celene yells, but I don’t listen, rushing onto the landing. I edge over to the stairs and peer through the banister rails. Gowns and suits glide in tides like exotic creatures. I wonder how many spies Mara has here. Lily? Sophie? I can’t afford to waste any more time.
If I walk down the main stairs, there’s no question I’ll be seen, and I want to avoid a run-in with Sophie. If she’s even half as good at her job as she pretends, she’ll have noticed one of her staff members is missing.
I hurry to the other side of the landing, going through the parlour and descending the servants’ stairs. It’s a short walk back to the atrium.
I enter the atrium and run straight into somebody.
‘Rumer?’
Shit shit shit .
Julian’s shocked expression must mirror my own. He’s cradling a half-drunk glass of champagne and he seems to have aged a decade in a week. His face is lined and now I’m up close, the shadow on his jawline is even more obvious. Guilt worms momentarily through my abdomen, but then I remember he could be here for Mara and I tighten my grip on the Crook Spear, which I hide behind my back.
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