The other girls pile in on the group hug, squashing me and Gideon in the middle of their circle of love.
“I’m sorry that I hid myself from you all for so long,” I mumble.
“We get it, Arabella,” Celeste says. “Being ourselves can be dangerous. And scary.”
“Exactly. I know I can be…”
“Abrasive?” Isis supplies.
“Caustic?” Mina suggests.
“I prefer ‘fiercely independent’,” says Dora.
“All of those things. But I want you to know that I’ve never had friends like you. Real friends. And I’m grateful for you all, even if I don’t always show it.” I glare at Komal as she inches closer to the house. “And no, you still cannot borrow my clothes.”
They pull me inside and settle me on a sofa in the second living room – the one that’s not covered in blood – and someone puts the kettle on and Celeste complains about the lack of ingredients in my pantry and Dora pulls me into her shoulder and Winnie starts directingpeople to clean up the mess and Maisie and Komal shoo a very satisfied Cleo VII back into her enclosure and it’s not until Beth places a glass of blood in my hands and they all settle in around me that I realise someone is missing.
“Where’s Gideon?”
53
Gideon
Winnie:Gideon, where did you go? Arabella’s looking for you. She’s upset.
IDRAG MYSELF BACK TO MY ROOMand collapse on the sofa, tossing my phone beside me without checking any of the messages currently blowing it up.
I’ve done my job. I’ve taken care of everything. I recalled the security team from their “night off” to take care of Sinead’s body and drag Astor down to the cells. I sent Lilac over to Arabella’s house with potions to close over her wounds. And I’ve ordered a media blackout that absolutely no one will adhere to.
Gossip will spread through Sanctus faster than a conversation between Rory and Lorelai Gilmore – not a topical reference, I know, but Alaric was a big fan of the show for a while, and when Alaric is a fan of something, you’re a fan too,or else– and every second that goes by without PR damage control will mean more ammunition for the Conclave to use against me. But I can’t bring myself to care.
Arabella’s safe.
I rub at the itchy spot on my neck where Astor’s bite has already healed over. I peel off my ruined shirt and toss it in the rubbish bin.I go to my closet, but there’s nothing in there. Most of my clothing has been sent to the London penthouse, and Sinead neglected my week’s laundry in favour of betraying me.
I find a shirt in the clean laundry bin and bring it out into the living room with the ironing board. I need to dosomethingwith my hands or Iwillsprint back to Arabella’s house, snatch her from the arms of her friends, and shag her on every available surface until she begs for mercy in a fun way.
But this time, I’m keeping my promise.
I’m staying away from her.
I’ve already ruined her life several times over. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me in it again. And with her owning a majority share in Sanctus now, there’s not much point staying.
I plug in the iron and pace across the floor until it heats up, trying to force out the images of a bloody and broken Arabella by mentally running through the list of what I need to accomplish before I leave Sanctus. I’m just starting to iron when the elevator doors slide open.
I look up in surprise. No one else can get up here apart from Sinead, and—
I throw up my hands to defend myself, but I’m not fast enough. A small, hard device hits me in the face. That’s followed by a pillow, and a hail of abuse so poetic that Shakespeare should be taking notes.
Arabella looms over me, brandishing the cushion from my sofa in one hand and dragging the bloody but not-quite-dead body of Astor in the other.
“Howdareyou sit there like the smug king of your domain?” she yells, drawing back her arm for another blow.
“Technically, I’m standing. How did you get up here?”
She whomps me over the head again. “The same way I got up here last time. Moriarty. And I ask the questions. Not you. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m ironing.”
