Page 1 of Hunt the Dusk
Chapter 1
Henry Gray’s house was a three-story gray stone in the better part of New Town. It had its own drive but wasn’t gated, although there was a signpost that saidGraystone Manoron the track leading up to the house.
It was a beautiful house with tall windows and a wraparound porch, and for a moment, as we drove up, I imagined Agatha sitting in a rocker on that porch, a mug of coffee in her hand as she looked out at the view.
But Agatha would never live here.
She’d never sit on that porch or walk the halls of the home so carefully chosen by her and her fiancé, because sweet, hopeful, trusting Agatha was dead. And it was all my fault.
My hubris killed her. I’d believed I had Ezekiel under control, and he’d allowed my delusion, shattering it at the Midnight Ball with a massacre that took forty lives. Forty young women with their lives ahead of them, forty including my friend Agatha.
I’d promised to keep her safe. To watch out for her, and I’d failed.
Ordell brought Betsy, his house on wheels, to a halt a little way from the house. “You don’t have to do this. Hemlock or I can?—”
“No.” I closed my eyes for a beat but snapped them open when an image of a terrified Agatha screaming soundlessly for me to save her bloomed against my eyelids. “I need to do this. I owe her that much.”
Hemlock met my eyes in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable as usual. “We’re coming with you,” he said.
I didn’t have the energy to argue with him, just wanting to get this done. “Fine. But let me do the talking.”
I popped the door and hopped out, sucking in a lungful of crisp morning air before trudging toward the house. The guys followed, their boots crunching on gravel a few steps behind me.
I’d barely reached the porch when the door opened and Henry stepped out. He was in his PJs, a robe hastily thrown on. His dark hair was mussed, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his eyes were bloodshot. His gaze skipped from me to the guys behind me then back again, and his mouth trembled before he pressed it into a straight line and inhaled through his nose.
“Where is she?”
The lump that had taken residence in my throat swelled, and for a moment the words refused to come, but when they did, every line I’d rehearsed went out the window. “I’m…I’m sorry.”
His chest rose and fell faster. “No…”
“It happened fast. I didn’t know, I…I didn’t, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop him.” My vision blurred. I blinked back tears and lifted my chin. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“No!” He took a step back and grabbed at the doorframe. “You’re lying. You’re…This is a joke.”
I shook my head, unable to speak past the constriction in my throat.
“We’ve taken Agatha to Penrith Mortuary,” Ordell said because I was unable to. “They’re expecting you.”
His eyes welled, and his mouth wobbled. “She can’t be…no. She can’t be gone.” Rage lit up his dark eyes. “You promised to watch out for her.” He drew a deep breath. “You…You promised her she’d be safe.”
“I know. I didn’t realize what he’d planned. I?—”
“You’re his fucking watcher! You should have known!” He took a menacing step toward me, and Ordell moved to meet him.
“You’re angry,” he said. “I understand that. But what happened isnotOrina’s fault.”
Henry’s throat bobbed, his mouth working as if he was gathering his wits, his words, his sense, and then his expression smoothed out like glass. “Was it quick?” A single tear tracked down his cheek.
Was having your throat torn out quick? How long had she taken to bleed out? Had he drained her? The moment was a mess in my mind.
“Yes,” Hemlock answered for me. “It was quick.”
“Thank you for coming to tell me in person,” Henry said, his voice cracking on the words. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed.”
He stepped back into his house and closed the door.
I released a whimper, my knees going weak, but Ordell’s arm was around me in a blink, supporting me as I bit back a sob.
