Finally, I let him go and he sucks in a greedy gulp of air.
“Be honest with me, Brom, for once,” I say, running my hands through my hair and tugging.“Please.”
“I see why you like it when I say please,” he eventually says.He looks away, rubbing his lips together.“I don’t know what to say.I don’t know what you want to hear.”
“The truth,” I plead.“All I care about is the truth.”
“Even when it hurts?”
“Especiallywhen it hurts,” I tell him.“Because that means it’s real.”
“Fine,” he says in a clipped voice.He walks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders, and for a moment, a brief moment, I’m afraid he means to hurt me.
But instead, he gives my shoulders a tight squeeze and looks me dead in the eyes.
“I killed the constable,” he says flatly.“I told the horseman to do it, and I saw it happen through my own eyes.”
I feel faint, but his hands keep me in place.“Why?”
“Because,” he says.“I didn’t like what the constable said to me.I didn’t like how he was treating you and Kat.I didn’t like him, period.And the horseman demanded a sacrifice, and that’s who I chose, Crane.That’s how this works.That’s how I’m able to keep him from hurting the ones I love.”
“Youcancontrol him,” I whisper, though my heart is stumbling over the fact that he used the wordlove.
He wiggles his jaw, hedging that.“I’m trying to.This is what I have so far.”
“Oh, Brom,” I say, my heart sinking.“You poor boy.”
“Don’t give me your pity,” he snaps.“I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want it.This is what has to be done.You want to exorcise him from me, but until that happens, I have to learn to live with him inside me.Sacrifices must be made, and I will do everything I can to never let it be either of you.”
I nod, putting my hand behind his head, the other on his neck.“I understand.All right?I understand.You did what you had to do.”
“I did,” he says.“And I don’t regret it.If someone had to die, I’m glad it was the constable.I have a black heart, Crane.I’m the devil’s pawn, a chess piece in his game.Nothing good has ever come from me, and nothing good ever will.”He gives his head a shake.“And now you’re looking at me as if you’re any different.”
I blink at him, my hands dropping away.“What are you talking about?”
“You think you get to take the moral high ground because you’re so composed, so in control, because your emotions could never get away from you like they do with me.”
“I—”
“You know my truth, Crane.But I know yours too.”
My molars press together, jaw flexing.“What truth?”I grind out.
He takes a step toward me, heat rolling off him, his face inches from mine, black eyes reflecting my anguished face.“You’re so used to your own ghosts, you don’t even see themanymore,” he says.“Vivienne Henry isn’t the only thing that haunts you.Your late wife does too.And in the middle of the night, she has a lot of interesting things to say about what you did.”
I suck in my breath, feeling the ground crumble beneath me.
“Namely,” he goes on, “that you murdered her.”
23
Crane
Three years ago
I come home after class to a dark house.It’s four in the afternoon, but the fog outside the windows, coupled with all the shutters being closed and not a single candle lit, means that it’s hard to see my hand in front of my face.
Marie must have a headache again, I think as I climb the stairs to the bedroom.I have other thoughts, but I do my best to keep them at bay.I try not to feel anything.Not resentment.Not pity.Not anger.I aim to keep my temperament neutral.
