Page 30 of All Hallows Masque

“Death?” He stopped and turned, a laugh filling the five steps between us. “Is that who you think she has? God, you’re stupid. You can’t even dothisright.”

I shot forward before he could intercept me and drove my fist into his face, victory curving my lips into a smile when my hand connected with his nose, flesh and blood andsolid.It broke under my knuckles, blood gushing down his pale face, and I laughed, a dozen other Cats’ laughter echoing around the tunnel. Well, he wasn't a ghost.

My laughter died in a gasp when his head jerked back so hard his hood fell off. I stared at his face, so young and furious. Familiar. But the last time I saw him, his expression was frozen in a rictus grimace as Duncan yelled at him, shaking his shoulders and begging him to wake up.

“Orwell Ford,” I breathed, my eyes comically wide. He looked the same as he did the few times I’d seen him alive—floppy brown hair, narrowed eyes, unremarkable features with an air of entitlement and elitism. I remembered him shorter, less physically imposing. No doubt that was Poppy’s work. “What thefuckhappened to you?”

“You know what happened to me. I was Nightmare’s sacrifice.” His voice was nothing like I remembered it, raspier and darker, like he’d been yelling for hours. The same sneering tone, though. Bastard.

“And the others who died that night? Did they come back as … this?” I waved a hand at him,staring.Orwell Ford. Duncan’s cousin.

“No.” Pride lifted his head at a haughty tilt. “Only me.”

I drew my arm back and punched his shoulder this time; he let me. “Duncan ismourningyou, you absolute bastard. He’s a fucking wreck, and all along you’ve been alive.”2

The smirk fell off his face. “What would you know about Duncan?”

“He’s my friend. He—”

“Well, well, isn’tthiscosy?” a sly female voice cut through my words, sending a shock of cold fear through me. For a moment, Orwell’s eyes locked with mine and we shared a moment of panic. He might have been my enemy but we were both at Cruelty’s mercy, and he could have attacked me on sight. Instead he’d been leading me to … who? If not Death,who?

I had a split second to decide how to handle this, to compose myself before I turned to face Cruelty. I wasn’t a great actress, and anxiety always got in my way, but I tried my best to brighten my eyes, widening them a little, pulling my lips into a smile.

“There you are,” I said, turning to hook her elbow with mine the way she often did. “I wondered when you were going to find us. I was celebrating my birthday in the conservatory when I found a trail of markings on the floor. It led me to a door, and I found this guy.” I waved a hand at Orwell,the Stalker,letting some of my distaste shine through. “He was telling me about the history of the tunnel and priest holes. He’s a bit of a dick, but he knows a lot of history. Can you believe there’s a tunnel under Darkmore?”

Cruelty glared at Orwell. She stepped closer to me, her head high and … was that smugness in her eyes? “If you were trying to steal my best friend, you failed.” Ah, she was territorial over her favourite toy. That explained the look.

“You really shouldn’t be down here, Kitty.” The look she turned on me made my stomach flip, especially when she smiled. It was a lethal, acidic smile. “Let’s get you back to your room, shall we?”

If I thought guilt-tripping her about not knowing my birthday would have any effect, I was proven very wrong. She yanked me closer and turned us firmly away from Orwell.

“If I see you anywhere near my Kitty again,” she threw over her shoulder, “I’ll call off our little arrangement.”

Orwell sighed heavily and let us walk away.

Cruelty patted my arm, a secretive smile making her eyes glitter even in the dim light as she said, “I have a gift for you. A birthday treat.”

I summoned enthusiasm and smiled. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Nonsense. You’re my best gal, of course I’d get you a gift.”

I knew she was bribing me to stay away from Orwell, to be her friend andonlyhers, but I didn’t let that show as she turned her hand over and a ripple of shadow faded, leaving a black velvet jewellery box in her palm.

I wanted to look back to see if Orwell was still hanging around, to demand who he’d been taking me to, but I had to fake enthusiasm for this gift or the fragile plaster over Cruelty’s temper would rip off. Goosebumps crawled up my arms as I accepted the box and carefully opened it, the velvet deceptive soft against my fingertips. My breath caught at the sight of a moulded silver choker. It was a chain of copper roses and… “It’s beautiful,” I said genuinely. “Thank you.”

Cruelty beamed. “I’ll help you put it on!”

I didn’t protest as she removed the necklace from the velvet, and helped settle it around my throat. It wasn’t a complete circle, so both ends curved around the front of my neck, trailing roses across my skin.

“It looks amazing on you, as I knew it would.” She snapped the box shut and linked our arms again. “Now, let’s get you back to bed, shall we?”

I kept the smile on my face as we veered back through the tunnel, and I refused to think about the fact this was the goddess who killed Honey.

19

Cat

Ispent the rest of the week trying to sneak back to the secret path and the door in the conservatory but Cruelty glued herself to me from dawn to midnight. I submitted to best friend activities,1 and let her curl my hair to her heart’s delight, forcing myself to laugh and smile as we wore matching face masks and watched Halloween. I suggested something lighter and more girl’s night-y but she scoffed and said this had everything we loved—screams and blood and murder. I didn’t bother to argue.

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