Page 88 of The Reaper's Vice

“Seraphina, please!” she screams, shutting her eyes tight. “Please, have mercy!”

“Mercy?” A hollow laugh fills the air. “Did you show Maggie mercy?” I crouch low, pressing the tip of the dagger to the center of her forehead as she lets out a terrified wail. “Did you show her mercy when you fed her to the crows? When you made mewatch?” I push the blade further into her flesh, a cruel smile carving across my face as a pearl of red mars her perfect pale skin. “There is no mercy for monsters like you.” I drag the blade down the middle of her forehead, splitting the skin open as I go. A pained wail falls from her bloodied lips, but there’s not even a pinch of sympathy in my heart.

All I know—all I am—is hate.

I position the dagger vertically above her eye, stopping so the tip is a centimeter from her pupil. “You remember this game, don’t you? It was your favorite.”

Whimpering, the Madam nods her head imperceptibly.

“Good.” I adjust my grip, staring deep into her cruel green eyes. “First question… what was Maggie’s favorite color?”

Her mouth pops, and she sputters. “Wha—how would you expect me to know something like that? It’s not fair?—”

I shove the blade through her eye.

“Fuck!” she screams, her body convulsing against the newfound pain. “Fuck! Fuck!”

“Wrong answer. It was pink.” I press down on her chest while I hold the dagger in her eye. “Let’s hope you get the next one right.”

“Seraphina, please!” she wails, tears streaming from the corner of her good eye. “Seraphina, I’m sorry! Please, please, let me go! We can fix this!”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” An image of Maggie flashes in my mind. “Next question—and probably the last—so think hard. I’ll give you an easy one—something you couldn’tpossiblyget wrong. Not with all the years you spent with her.” I take a deep breath, steadying my hand as I prepare to ask the question.

“What was Maggie’s full name?”

Madam jerks, her breath coming hard and fast as she tries to recall Maggie’s name. With each second that passes, each moment she fails to remember, I grow angrier. More bloodthirsty.

“Come, now. Surely you remember the name of the girl you raised? The one you desecrated and fed to fucking crows.Surely,you remember.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “I’m sorry… I don’t—I don’t remember. She was just a girl. Just fodder for the real candidates. It was nothing personal.”

I shake my head, disgust filling my veins, burning me up from the inside. I tighten my grip until I think I’ll snap the handle of the dagger, never taking my eyes from her one good one.

“That’s funny. Becausethisdefinitely is.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, I shove the dagger deep. She convulses, shuddering as the blade pierces her brain tissue, and then she goes still. I sit back on my heels, heaving as I stare down at the lifeless body of the Madam.She’s gone. She’s really, truly gone.

The truth doesn’t make my chest any less hollow.

My vision fractures as I stand, the room tilting and swaying around me, and I have to steady a hand against the wall to keep myself upright. Red crowds my eyes as I stumble to the back of Madam’s chambers, entering the secret door set into the wall that leads to her personal alchemy room.

Three large barrels line the back wall of her alchemy room, bright red Flammable warnings stamped on the side. I stumble toward them, a plan forming in the depths of my mind. I grab a box of matches from the table and stuff them deep in my pocket, then using all my strength, I push the first barrel over. The pungent vapor of the benzene assaults me as it evaporates into the air, and I have to pull my shirt over my nose to stave off the worst of the smell.

I roll the barrel into the main room, leaving a thick trail of flammable liquid behind me. When it’s lighter, I'm able to lift it enough to coat the carpets and pour it over the dead bodies—saving Madam for last.

Gazing at my handiwork, I step backward out of the room, drawing the box of matches from my pocket. I light the match, watching the golden flame flutter and grow, sparks of energy reaching—clinging to the molecules of benzene that hang heavy in the air.

I blink, and it’s Maggie’s face I see in the fire. She’s smiling—and it’s a good smile. Apuresmile. One free of fear. Free of the hatred. Free of the rage that’s seeping into the marrow of my bones, infecting every part of me and twisting my insides into one angry mass of red.

I take one last look at my best friend, carving her expression into my memory so I will already remember what they took from me. What theydestroyed.

I flick the match across the room, and I burn it.

I burn it all.

I wake for the last time, tears streaming down my cheeks and the cold night air whipping against my skin. I look around the dark streets of Moriton, a chill creeping down my spine as I try to remember how in the fuck I got outside.

My memories play in my mind like a horror movie, jumping from scene to scene so violently and rapidly, I can’t make sense of them. But I do know one thing for sure.

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