“So many terrible things he’s done with those hands,” I speak quietly, leaning back more comfortably in my chair, watching her.
She’s nodding along, humming as she retakes her glass, swirling the lime green swizzle stick around and around in the last of the liquid inside.
“Evil, vile things,” I continue, “cutting and chopping and burying.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums.
“It’s just awful, he doesn’t really look the type, do you know what I mean?” I ask her.
“Oh, definitely,” she chuckles, “that smile,” she smirks at me as she says it, licking over her teeth as if there’s a coating on them she’s trying to get off. “Very deceiving, huh?” she laughs again, her head wobbling a little too much on her shoulders.
“Mmhmm,” I mimic, a high pitched mocking to my tone.
A frown seems to start on her face as she finishes the last of her drink, before she quickly clears her expression, places the empty glass back down,justmissing the edge of the table, the glass shattering as it hits the black and white tiled floor beneath our feet. Her legs flop uncrossed, her hand lifting to her face, heavily thudding down into her lap before she manages to reach her cheek.
“So deceiving,” I smile now, her eyes widening, her body just a heavy limp mass in the seat. “So innocent looking.”
I take a sip of my own drink, something sweet and non-alcoholic, just as Amaranthine had said it would be. I look up at Imogen, seeing her mouth open, her tongue dormant, her eyes glassy.
“So quiet, so meek, so easy to push around, to walk all over.”
I stand, coming around the short glass table between our two seats. Fear punishes the air like the toxin that was in her drink,and it makes me smile as I bend low, my face almost meeting hers, I smile.
“Oh, Imogen.” I pout, sighing as I cock my head, watching a lone tear track its way down her cheek. “It’s like you didn’t know.” I drag my lips across her cheek, my mouth just kissing the shell of her ear, my voice not much more than a whisper as I speak my final words to her, “I’m the fucking spider.”
Chapter 21
BILLY
Intestines hang in a catenary curve like tinsel from the mezzanine railings above.
I’m momentarily glued to the spot as Bram and I enter together through the front door, peering up at the mass of body parts decorating the main foyer like it’s a gory Halloween themed Christmas.
Blood drips from above, cutting through the cautionary silence like a hammer hitting a coffin nail, theplink, plink, plinksound of it slow and steady.
Neck craned back, I walk forward, leaving Bram at my back, my entire focus on the grizzly decor above our heads.
Bones dangle from the intestines, tied around the organ on one end with a length of dark hair. There is tissue and fat and globules of smelly gunk splattering the polished black and white tiles beneath our feet, my boots sticking with some resistance as I make my way further into the manor.
The cold draft at my back disappears as the heavy door bangs closed, the sound of it echoing, but I don’t look, my attentionsolely fixed on the severed head of Imogen thrown carelessly on top of the gold crystal chandelier.
That’s when my heart starts to hammer. My blood runs cold, skin razing with goosebumps, I turn rapidly back to Bram, finding Gore in his place instead, Bram standing behind him with both Tolly and Rune.
“Billy,” Gore starts, his voice such a deep rumble, it always makes me feel calm, safe, like my older brother is still my protector even though I don’t need him to be that anymore.
“Where is she?” there’s a tremble in my voice that I wish wasn’t there, something I haven’t heard in myself for so many long years.
Fear.
“Bill-”
“Where has he taken her?” I’m already tearing off my jacket, rolling up my shirt sleeves, storming past my brothers and Rune. “To the dungeons, I suppose,” I say it with a scoff meant to hide my anxiety, this heavy feeling a boulder sinking in my chest, skin and bone torn open, the rock plunged inside, weighing heavier and heavier on my heart as it’s all stitched back closed. “Fuckin-”
“Penelope’s in the Sanctuary.” It’s Tolliver’s voice that cuts through, the youngest of us all, the most sensitive, despite all his efforts to keep that part of himself hidden.
It’s his tone that makes me pause, shaky fingers going still on the small round button on my cuff, the cotton fabric feeling as stiff as a corpse as I continue to fold it up to my elbow.
Nobody gets taken to the Sanctuary.
