Page 65 of Kill the Beast
“You werereallydrunk. I was afraid you’d slip and snap your neck if you got up looking for the bathroom in the dark, so I stayed in here in case you needed help,” she lied.
“That wasn’t necessary,” he said. “I recover from alcohol quicker than most people.”
“Yeah. I forgot. Good metabolism.” He certainly didn’t seem hungover at all, despite how drunk he had been. “What are you doing?” she asked as he started putting his folded clothes into his pack.
“We need to be out of here in an hour.”
“Shit. I’d better get my things.” She paused on the threshold between her room and his. “Thanks for the fancy room, Al.”
His gave her a thin smile. “Everyone could use a little pampering before they die.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“AH,”ALDERIC SAIDas they entered the Buxton Fields Memorial Park. “Grave dirt from one of the most recent victims. Good thinking.”
Lyssa didn’t respond. She crossed the lawn, forgoing the winding walking paths to make straight for her brother’s grave.
“Edmund Cadogan the second,” Alderic read aloud from the headstone, and Lyssa gritted her teeth, biting back a sharp retort.His name was Eddie.It wasn’t Alderic’s fault that he didn’t know, and he didn’t deserve her anger.
As she sank to her knees in the grass and took the little garden trowel and ceramic jar out of her pack, both of them etched with Ragnhild’s spells, Alderic brushed his fingers over the carved dates below Eddie’s name, his expression heavy with sadness. “He was so young, wasn’t he?”
“Most of them were.” She heaved a sigh, and ran one hand over the grass—the hand with her oath cut into her palm. “I’m sorry,” she muttered to her brother. “This is for a good cause, I promise.”
“I’m sure he would understand,” Alderic said, reaching down to squeeze her shoulder. She tensed, but didn’t pull away from him, and when he took his hand away, she was almost sorry it was gone.
The two of them looked up at the sky. Night was just taking hold, and the only light came from the gas lamps spaced at intervals along the walking paths. Normally the old man who tended to the park would have shooed everyone off the grounds by now, so that he could close and lock the gates, but Alderic had paid him handsomely to give them an extra hour.
“Okay,” Lyssa said, lifting the trowel. “Here we go.” Her handwas shaking. For some reason the idea of digging into Eddie’s grave—even a little, even for this—made her feel sick to her stomach. But she had no other choice. This dirt would be his killer’s undoing. A good cause, indeed. And Alderic was right. Eddie would understand.
She plunged the trowel into the grass and scooped out some dirt, shoving it into the spelled jar.
“What are you doing?” a sharp voice said from behind her. Lyssa stiffened, and turned to find her father striding quickly across the lawn toward them.
“Shit,” she said at the same time Alderic muttered, “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“Why are you even here?” Lyssa said. “I thought I told you never to speak to me again.”
“I happened to be walking by and noticed that the gate was still open,” her father said, his eyes sweeping over her—he seemed to be taking in the trowel, the hole in the grass, the jar beside Lyssa, and whatever he thought was happening, it made his face cloud over with anger. “A Resurrectionist, Lyssa? Really? You know they’ll hang you for that.”
“I’m not a body-snatcher,” she spat. “They robfreshgraves, you idiot.” But he wasn’t listening.
“All of the graves in Warham you could have chosen, and you decided to dig up your own brother? What iswrongwith you?”
“Brother?” Alderic said, looking between them. He sounded alarmed. “But… but I thought your last name was Carnifex.”
“It is now,” Lyssa snapped. She turned back to her task. Jammed the trowel into the grass again and dug out more dirt.
“Stop doing that,” her father said, and when she ignored him, shoving one final scoop into the jar before closing the lid, he grabbed her roughly by the arm, trying to haul her away from the grave. “I saidstop!”
Instinct kicked in the moment he touched her. Her mind went red and she slashed out viciously with the trowel. The sharp metal point bit into flesh and her father gasped, thudding to the grass.
Lyssa scrambled to her feet, breathing hard, the trowel still clutched in one hand. Guilt twisted in her belly at the sight of her father sprawled on the ground, blood welling between his fingers as he tried to put pressure on the gash in his thigh. He would need stitches—a lot of them, and soon—but it looked like she had missed the artery, at least.
For all the times she had imagined hurting him, it didn’t feel the way she thought it would. Especially not with Alderic standing there, looking at her like she was a monster.
“You stabbed him,” he breathed.
