Page 49 of All Hallows Masque

“He’s gonna come for you, you know? They all are.”

I swallowed, blinking until my vision cleared. I couldn’t see much beyond the iron maiden; there was little light to see by. The room looked big—bigger than I’d been expecting—but empty of everything except my coffin, the one across from mine and—

“Oh god,” I choked out, losing whatever calm I’d managed to claw hold of.

“Best not to look at the rotten corpses,” Pain urged, his voice gentling when he added, “Eyes on me, darling woe.”

“I still haven’t—decided if I like—that name,” I somehow said, though it felt like a fist wrapped around my throat and an anvil pressed on my chest.

“It’s the first nickname I’ve given someone in thirty years, so I hope so. Unless you count that one time I called Passion a dick-faced soggy lettuce.”

I rested my forehead against the cold iron, pressure in my chest. “What does that—even mean?”

“Not sure. He didn’t care for it much.”

“Wonder why.”

Pain laughed, a rusty, gravelly sound that reached past all my fear and shaking and bloomed a warmth in my chest. “Passion doesn’t care for much, to be honest. He’s not super friendly for a guy named after the hottest emotion.”

“Pretty sure—hottest emotion is rage.”

“You met him at Madness’s castle,” he told me, a thread of desperation in his voice. It occurred to me then that he needed to talk as badly as I needed to hear his voice, that this was the only thing tethering him. “Massive guy. Not the long-haired, snappy dresser. The guy that looks almost exactly like Lurch from Addams Family.”

“That’s what I thought,” I blurted with a rusty laugh. “I used to watch it with my dad.”

“Used to?”

“Before—before I killed someone.”

“He deserved it.” Vicious satisfaction sharpened Pain’s voice, along with something that made absolutely no sense. Pride.

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” he replied quickly. Too quickly.

“I’m too panicky to figure that out right now.”

“Cool. So you didn’t hear what I said earlier about stalking you. Perfect.”

“You—what?”

“Hm? I didn’t say anything.”

A snort burst out of me, a paltry smile tugging at my mouth. I sucked in a slow, jagged breath. “How do we get out of here?”

“Well. I have one single plan, and it’s not exactly sound.”

“I’m listening,” I said, and laughed bitterly. I couldn’t see anything except a dark room and an iron maiden. I couldn’t move more than a few inches. Couldn’t do anything but listen.1

“It all depends on how well you can use your magic.”

“I didn’t know I had magic,” I said with a nervous laugh. “The shadows… I felt you touch them.” It wasn’t a question, not quite, but I could still recall the exact feeling, like a sensual hand caressing my soul. A touch of intimacy and care.

“Yes,” Pain said in a quiet, roughened voice.

I tried to see him across the room, tried to glimpse green-hazel eyes, but there was too much space between us and not enough light. “How do I use them?” I asked, my voice coming out lower than I meant it to. “Tell me what to do.”

“That’s not my thing, I’m more of a you-order-me-around kinda guy.”

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