“Noted.” Antony jumps down into the hole and throws dirt out like it’s nothing.
I slump down in the snow next to Antony’s travel bag. With my eyes on Antony’s back, I reach over and dig my hand inside the flap. My fingers rustle through his things, skimming the sheath of his knife, several folded shirts, a paperback, and the edge of a small leather case.
What’s this?
Antony remains focused on the hole. I dare a glance down at the case in my hands as the zipper slides through my fingers. Contacts, cleaning solution, a pair of reading glasses folded away into a pocket.
He’s not lying, then.
I’m almost disappointed.
“Stop fucking about, Dark Horse, and help me get him in the hole.”
Shit.I drop the case back into the bag with a start just as Antony whirls around to glare at me. I don’t think he sees.
Antony frowns. “You’re as useless as the Emo King today.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I grab the corner of the sleeping bag and help Antony drag the corpse into the hole and pile the dirt back on top. As we work, my mind turns over everything I know about this guy, which isn’t much even though I’ve been secretly fighting at the Colosseum for years.
When Antony said he’d been having trouble with his eyes, I didn’t believe him. It seemed too convenient that he allowed Mackenzie to escape. Claudia won’t question his loyalty, so it’s up to me to do it, but he checks out. Which leaves me with a big question mark. If Antony isn’t helping Mackenzie in Emerald Beach, then who is?
12
Claudia
Achill settles in my veins that has nothing to do with the biting cold slamming into the castle.
Brentwood was right – rich bitch valley girl Mackenzie Malloy is a murderess. It would be hypocritical of me to judge, but I feel I now know the true measure of our enemy. I won’t underestimate her again.
While Antony and Noah bury the body, we explore the rest of the tower, picking through Mackenzie’s things for clues and taking any incriminating documents with us. She’s made quite a home for herself, patching the open windows with wooden boards and bits of glass, adding IKEA furniture and layers of warm blankets. The old fireplace in the tower has clearly been in recent use. I pick through boxes and ratty suitcases spilling over with designer clothing, while George examines the articles taped to the walls.
“This is fucked.” Antony returns from body disposal and stalks around the room, his fingers resting on the knife he wore concealed on his belt. He’d wanted to buy a gun before we came out here, but I said it was a stupid idea. Now I’m not so sure. There’s an unsettling presence here – he feels it too.
I touch my wrist to feel the reassuring weight of my blade. I shift my foot forward to the other one in my boot. I didn’t bring my own knives with me on the flight. I’m not stupid. We borrowed these from Mackenzie’s lair. She won’t miss them. They’re chef blades, but they’d gut someone in a pinch.
Eli stands back from the bookshelf, his brow furrowed. “These are all paperbacks. No hidden compartments. No diary.”
His shoulders sag. I drop the Gucci dress in my hands and fly to him. I know this must be a lot for him to take in. I’m surprised when his lips crush mine. The kiss knocks the wind out of me, but I return it with enthusiasm. Eli’s whole body trembles – he can’t breathe in this room, and kissing me gives him oxygen.
I don’t want to pull away, but I need to know he’s okay. “Is seeing me in this room making it worse?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t see her in your eyes any longer. You don’t look the same to me. But seeing her living like this, with the body downstairs… it’s hard to reconcile that with the angry, spoiled princess I used to know. I don’t understand any of it.”
“She’s been following us for some time.” Noah appears at my side, holding a stack of black passports. We’ve found at least twenty so far, all different aliases, different nationalities, but all bearing an image of my face and ice eyes. “She probably has a laptop she’s taken with her, but I’ve found a stack of printouts of social media posts about Mackenzie’s return, class schedules for all of us. There are articles about your father and the Triumvirate, too. And… photographs of you.”
“What kind of photographs?”
“Ones taken through the windows of Malloy Manor.”
She can’t have taken those photos from Germany.“Who’s been sending intel to her?”
“Brutus?” Eli raises an eyebrow. I nod. It’s the most logical explanation.
“Look.” George holds up some printed pages from an internet chatroom. “These are all reported sightings of the Malloy Manor ghost.”
I grab the pages from her and scan through the entries, which date right back to around the time I first moved into Malloy Manor.These are the people who hung around outside the gates.One of the neighbors even wrote about the noise complaints.
Mackenzie’s been following it all.
