A vision of Phoenix across the pool table emerged in my mind.
Skull crushed. Wide empty eyes. Lying there. Bloody and dead.
“Listen to me. If I moved him, there’s no telling what actually happened or how the story could twist around. This is Kane we’re talking about. The high priest’s only son. Do you honestly believe Augustine’s not willing to do everything he can to keep Kane out of the Wicker Man?”
Cyrus had a plan, and this was perhaps the wisest choice.
“You’re going to tell themeverything?” I didn’t know why this surprised me. Cyrus was an honest man who obeyed the laws of the Order, but it wasn’t just anyone who killed Phoenix. It was Kane, and Cyrus always had a soft spot for him.
Cyrus looked at me quizzically. “I’ve always done the right thing. Why would this be any different?”
“Because he’s your best friend.” And two fears hit me right then.
Cyrus Cantini, the one who the crypt declared was my perfect mate, would hand me over, too, if he ever found out I’d killed someone. The second fear, and the most detrimental, was that if Kane was sentenced to death, I would never be able to use him to save Mom.
“What do you think will happen to the next person who pisses off Kane? What if it’s you?” Cyrus asked, his voice rising. “There’s no covering this up, Adora. Not this time. We can’t take a chance.”
“Does Kane know what’s about to happen?”
Cyrus swiped the pad of his thumb across his lip as he thought about what to say next. “Kane was so out of it. I don’t think he knows what he did.” A sigh, and then, “Sometimes I’m terrified it’s not the monsters that will one day burn down Weeping Hollow. It’s us, and the monsters we fear are only our shadows.”
Viola,Augustine, Clarence, and Agatha sat in this sequence behind the expansive table on the raised platform. Mina Mae wasn’t here, and Fable had only come because she wanted to make sure the Order knew the truth about what had happened to Phoenix Wildes. Despite all efforts, she’d refused to shower or change her clothes. The rest of the chamber was empty, save for Kane sitting in the second row.
He looked up when we entered the chamber, dark bags under a horrified gaze. He’d changed into khaki pants and an ivory sweater, the color making him appear saintly, as beloved as Cyrus. No evidence of murder stained his skin, but his expression was shredded by confusion and exhaustion. As if the Shadows had left the streets and lurked under his eyes, twenty years were thrown on him overnight.
Small chatter died among the Order, and all four pairs of eyes turned to us as we took our seats. It was happening. Kane could be yanked from my grasp, and the need to stop this meeting from happening bubbled inside me. I shifted in my seat, wishing the words would not escape Cyrus’s mouth.“What is the purpose of this meeting?”Augustine would ask, and in my mind,Cyrus stands and looks sideways as he gnaws on his lip, as he tends to do, to find the nerve.
“Kane killed—” he starts to say, and “I object!” I stop him, even though he doesn’t finish. Even though the Order hasn’t yet sentenced him to anything. “Kane Pruitt’s blood belongs to me!”I say, rather villainously.
My imagination evaporated when Augustine addressed the room.
Cyrus stood, fixing his belt, his pants hanging low on his waist. Then he lowered his head and looked sideways at me, biting his bottom lip with his teeth. My gaze went skyward before meeting his.
The silence in the room was haunting and demanded an answer.
The shake of my head was subtle, hoping only he understood the thoughts I was trying to push into his ears.
“Don’t do this,”I wanted to whisper, but I didn’t. He was my other half. If he was undeniably in love with me, and we were fated for each other, he should know me and what I was thinking. Right?
“Last night, there was an altercation at Voodoos,” it all but fell out of him.
I closed my eyes on impact.
An altercation, I thought.
I would hardly call it an altercation.
An altercation involved more than one person in a disagreement.
This was an execution.
“Come out with it, Cyrus,” Augustine urged.
“Last night, Phoenix—”
The door to the chambercreaked, stealing our attention.
Julian Blackwell walked in, in his black coat, expression sharp and making eye contact with each of us as he strolled across the front of the room.
