“All part of the fun.” I smile at Josie a bit wolfishly. I can feel my canines. She doesn’t smile back. I turn to Petrov, hanging by his wrists like a sad sack. His front tooth’s dangling by the root, and he fucking stinks—he’s gone and pissed himself. Amateur hour.
In the CIA, they taught us how to hold it in even when you’re getting the shit kicked out of you. But this guy’s a pure novice. Low-hanging fruit. Just the first step in a bigger plan. “Right, Petrov?”
Last thing I need is for Josie to think the CEO of SynthoTech tortures sex traffickers at the annual corporate party. Even if, ah, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“Still gross,” Honor says, but I catch her wink for Strike. I wonder if she’s got half a mind to drop-kick Petrov square in the stones. She definitely would if Strike showed her his file and the pictures we’ve seen of Petrov’s victims. Some were just wee ones. Twelve, thirteen years old.
Josie grips her sparkly little bag as she surveys the whole grim scene—the blood, the lacerations, even the knife—and shrugs. I don’t know her that well, but there’s something different about her today. Reflexively, I give her the once-over from head to toe, stealth-like, the way I used to scan a perimeter, on high alert, ready for anything. But I’m never ready for just how stunning she is, luminous even, though tonight her eyes look troubled.
“You okay?” Honor asks Josie as she gives her hand a squeeze and they head toward the door. Both women are dressed to kill—Honor in black velvet like a vampire queen, Josie wrapped in layers of tissue-thin fabric, a mummy costume for a goddess.
“Yeah,” Josie says quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”
Now Honor turns back, her eyes daggers that land first on Strike, then me, then back on Strike.
“Later, boys,” Honor says, keeping her voice light and flirty.
I steal one last, long look at Josie, not even bothering to be subtle this time, but she’s too busy studying the floor. Funny thing about boar’s blood—it looks just like human, but for a split second, I’d swear she knows the difference.
There’s something about her. Like she’s got a sixth sense or some kind of spooky insight. Her all-knowing act rattles me, not that I’d admit it out loud. So, naturally, I just end up ripping on her astrology as nonsense instead, trying to knock her off that high horse.
That, and to watch her cheeks go pink, of course.
Three
Josie
We get out of there so fast my heel slips on the sticky, wet floor—how’d they get real blood for this party, anyhow? Did they rob a Red Cross? Honor catches my elbow, and we both start giggling nervously as we head down the dark hallway.
“Fucking Axe MacKenzie,” I breathe. “He scared the living shit out of me.”
“Oh, it was all so fake,” says Honor. “Scary, but fake.”
“Yeah.” I exhale. I press my palms against my cheeks, trying to cool the burning heat spreading across my face—an unfortunate side effect of any encounter with Axe. Why can’t the dude just be, I don’t know, normal for once? Or at least as normal as a smokin’-hot multimillionaire tech wunderkind with an ego the size of his bank account can manage to be.
“The energy of this place is strange. Do you feel it, too?” I ask. Honor shrugs.
“I don’t have your powers, oh young one,” Honor says. I’m only a year younger than Honor, but as my boss and a fiercely independent woman, she’s always felt like an authority figure. Once she told me she suspects I might have a touch of extrasensory perception. Which is hilarious, because I don’t think I haveESP—I just think I’m open to the universe’s weird possibilities, and sometimes that means I pick up on things others miss. It’s more like a learned skill than a superpower. Like finding the perfect minidress in the clearance section at T.J. Maxx.
“I’m serious! Maybe it’s because so many sad stories happened here. The pain is in the walls, you know?” Just saying it out loud, my arm hairs stand on end. It’s like muscle memory. I’ve spent a lifetime in hospitals—still do, thanks to endless health struggles—and every time I step into a doctor’s office, even for a checkup, I get this same prickly feeling.
“They used that room for actual lobotomies,” Honor says. “Though Strike and Axe didn’t have to be so extra.”
Extrais the understatement of the year. I can still hear echoes of that poor guy’s screaming, but whatever. Tech bros are into weird shit. Strike runs a feminist erotic-gaming empire, and Honor’s one of his best artists. Axe is doing something revolutionary with AI. No surprise, they’re horror fans.
“I’m glad I got to see the inside of this place in person finally—but it’s freaky to be here. Very different from seeing it on TV,” I say. We’re back out in the main party area, and the crowd is a slight comfort.
Honor agrees with a nod. “When we were kids, Gracie and I would hold our breath when we rode our bikes past this place. Like whatever was happening was contagious and we would catch it if we breathed in the air.” Her eyes look so sad, the way they always do when she talks about Gracie, her twin sister, who was murdered last year.
I don’t know much about Honor and Grace Stone’s lives before we met. When Honor hired me to help in their store, aptly called Grace & Honor, my impression was they’d had a tough childhood. Honor’s focus, her ability to find a way to thrive despite her grief,leaves me in constant awe. I know she’s not into tarot, but she reminds me of the Star card—her strength is in her resilience.
“My mom won’t even drive by this building. She always cuts across Oak Street to avoid Ravenswood.” I shiver, feeling that chill again. As Nonna would say, it’s like someone is walking over my grave. I wish this bandage dress had more yardage. I rub my arms to get warm.
“Let me grab you some water, Jos,” Honor says. “You look a little pale.”
“Yeah, thanks. They make fake blood way too real these days,” I joke. But it’s not the blood that bothers me. It’s something else. Regret about ending my engagement? Doubtful. Did I ever really love Bryan, or was he just my ticket out of Mom’s garage apartment? Leaving that diner, packing his things, all I felt was relief—like the choice whether to marry him was finally obvious.
Clearly, the doubts had been there all along; I just hadn’t been ready to face them.
