There was a flutter of feet on the stairs, and then DJ burst back into the room. He looked stricken.
“Did you not find it?” Kit asked, dread curling in his gut. It would be just his luck if, after everything, they couldn’t even locate something for the witches to use to trap Lawrence.
Shaun followed, holding up a small necklace. He sped over and dropped it into Kit’s hand. “We got it. DJ’s being dramatic about?—”
“The moths,” DJ wailed. “Moths. They’d infested the wardrobe. It was horrible.”
“Sorry?” Kit tried.
“Thank you for understanding my plight,” DJ said, wiping a fake tear from under his eye. “Their disgusting little flappy bodies make me want to die.”
“Big moths are kinda cute,” Shaun said. “They’re all furry and soft-looking, and their wings are pretty.”
“All right, freak,” DJ said. “I hope you and Mothman will be happy together.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to fuck the moths, Deej.”
Kit was too wrung out and raw for their usual brand of relentless humour. “Right. So, currently my boyfriend is unconscious on the floor, and we don’t know if Lawrence will be gone when he wakes up again. We should get going.”
Shaun and DJ looked abashed. “They’ll behave,” Rake said, spearing both of his subs with a look that was far too sexually charged for Kit to take seriously.
Kit sighed. “You can fuck out all this”—he waved a dismissive hand—“tensionwhen we get back to the cottage.”
“Where are the ghosts? And what are we going to do with him?” Shaun asked, looking at Quin’s prone body.
“I don’t know what happened to the ghosts,” Kit replied, then waited a beat to see if they might appear. When nothing stirred in the manor, he continued. “As for Quin, I brought the chains with me.” He’d stuck them in the boot and hoped he wouldn’t have to make any use of them.
“Chains?” Rake asked, sounding far too interested.
“Quin sometimes uses them when he shifts,” Kit explained. “Stops his beast from running amok. But until I know Lawrence isn’t in control of him…” he trailed off, eyes darting around. He’d lost sight of Xavier’s ring in the face-off, but it took only a second to spot it on the floor under the painting. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand, weighing his options. He wasn’t certain how Lawrence had removed it, but it seemed intact. Worth putting back on Quin, he reckoned.
With a careful hand, Kit slid the ring onto Quin’s pinky before standing up and dusting his clothes off.
“We’ll carry Quin outside,” Rake said, elbowing DJ from his state of inertia.
“Should we come in the car with you?” Shaun asked as DJ picked Quin up under the armpits, and Rake grabbed his legs.
Kit thought about it for a second. “Yeah. Just in case.”
They ended up buckling Quin behind where Shaun sat in the passenger seat, with Rake taking up the position beside him in the back. This left DJ to drive the other car alone, but given Kit could hear him singing along to a show tune the second he got in, he assumed DJ was happy enough. Nothing seemed to faze him, not even facing the vampire who’d murdered him.
As if to prove Kit’s point, DJ took off first, screaming out onto the dirt road and disappearing before Kit had even turned his own car on. Rake muttered something about DJ’s recklessness, and Kit tried not to think about what punishment DJ would be in for later.
Kit took one last look at the manor before reversing and turning the car. The building seemed stiller than before, like it was truly empty. But then the faint sound of tinkling, childlike laughter drifted through the air.
Kit drove to the rented cottage with a chill prickling at the back of his neck the entire way.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Quin
Quin’s eyes flew open.He jerked in panic when he saw nothing but darkness—a resolute blackness that stymied even his enhanced senses.
“Quin?” Kit’s voice. Quin relaxed, even as he became aware of the disconcerting weight of chains around his wrists. What he figured out from that detail, however, was that Lawrence had been in control. It came back to him faster this time, in fits and bursts of images, the assault of memories making his temple throb.
“It’s me,” Quin croaked. “Can you put on a light, please?” Kit clicked one on, and Quin blinked against its stabbing brightness. “Ow.”
“What hurts?” Kit asked, springing up from where he’d been seated in the small armchair in the corner of the room.
