Page 10 of A Dance Macabre

Wait.

The chatter quiets.

Breathe.

My heartbeat slows.

Strike.

I hook my elbow around the blonde’s throat, slapping my other hand over her mouth as I drag her further into the alley and behind a dumpster. She tries to fight against my hold, but I’m stronger.

I don’tneedthe privacy that this alleyway offers, it’s not as if anyone could stop me. It’s a preference. I like to keep the call of death intimate. Far from prying eyes.

I slam her into the brick wall, collaring her throat, my arm fully extended to keep her in place. Her eyes widen in alarm when she realizes who is staring back at her, a shocked, breathyMercyescaping her open mouth.

I smile and cock my head.

I might not be a narcissist like a Vainglory, but I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach during these short, sacred moments when my offerings recognize me.

I release my grip from her neck, but she doesn’t dare move, petrified and shaking like a leaf against the wall. Delicately, I smooth my hand over her head, making her flinch as I tuck a few strands behind her ear before caressing her face with the back of my hand.

I greedily take her in like a glutton at a feast. Tears streak her reddened cheeks, plump lips trembling. Slowly, I drag my thumb through the wet tracks on her white skin and lean over, my lips grazing her jaw as her whimpering breaths reach my ears. Unsheathing my dagger with my free hand, I press a soft kiss to her mouth.

“Mors omnia vincit,” I whisper against her lips.

Death awaits.

My blade is so sharp, that I barely need to exert any force before my dagger pierces her heart. It’s a swift kill. No need to extend her fate any longer.

Unceremoniously, I pull the dagger out of her bleeding chest and step back as she crumbles to the ground, her eyes dimming.

I study her, now slumped in her last fatal repose, and take a long sated breath, the usual aggravation muted to a low dull.

Taking a silk tissue out of my coat pocket, I clean the blade before returning it to the holster on my thigh. While walking outof the mouth of the alley, I feel a raindrop fall on my cheek. I peer skyward while a few more drops land on my face.

The timing almost feels deliberate.

Like the clouds are craving a similar release to the one I just experienced.

Crossing the street, I open the back door of the idling town car. Jeremial’s blue eyes study me through the rearview mirror but he says nothing as I settle in, waiting for me to speak.

“Have the body brought back to the Grounds,” I order. Checking my phone, I add, “But drive me to Pandaemonium first.”

7

MERCY

Pandaemonium’s rounded structure sits in the middle of Pravitia’s harbor and can only be reached by boat or through an underground tunnel. The Foley family is nothing if not dedicated to showmanship, the red and white striped casino designed to look like a circus tent.

However, despite the bright exterior and colorful lights, Pandaemonium has a way of leaving whoever sets their eyes on it feeling unsettled, like staring straight into an illusion.

The message is clear: No one and nothing can be trusted—not even the naked eye.

I usually wouldn’t partake in something as undignified as taking a dirty underground tunnel, but the downpour hasn’t lessened since it started half an hour ago.

Wrinkling my nose at the indecipherable but somewhat concerning smells wafting in the air, I briskly make my way deeper into the tunnel, my fur coat wrapped tightly around me. The flambeaus lining the walls stretch the shadows into something uncanny, like ghosts dancing to a silent requiem.

After a sharp turn, a robust door appears, the Foley sigil—a hand with a snake coiling around its fingers—branded on thesteel exterior. The large, square-headed individual guarding the entrance wordlessly lets me in with a curt nod. Ignoring him entirely, I step into a shock of bright lights and immediately don my dark sunglasses to avoid the vexing glare.

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