Time stretches as Eddie looks over at me. ‘I know. And I’ll make you a necklace out of Roman’s fingers as a wedding present.
He lifts the knife as I crawl toward him, desperate to make him stop.
There’s a whistle in the air, and then a wet, gargling sound. Eddie’s knife falls to the floor as his hands grip his throat. There’s a blade wedged in his throat, red bubbling around the metal.
For a second, no one moves.
Until Eliza emerges from the shadows. She looks pristine as she steps over the broken glass and spilt champagne, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.
Even I shudder at her poise as Eddie staggers against the bannister. Eliza doesn’t miss a step as she takes a few stairs, standing immediately behind Eddie, whose mouth flaps soundlessly.
An acrid wave of vomit hits my throat, and I swallow it down.
Sweet as can be, Eliza reaches around Eddie and yanks her knife from his throat, sending an arc of red gushing out over the floor.
He collapses, twitching. And then not.
Even Coffin goes quiet.
I slump to the floor, heart hammering so hard it hurts. Roman looks even worse than I feel. His first body.
Hopefully, theonlydead body he’ll ever need to see.
Eliza exhales slowly as she twirls her bloodied knife between her fingers.
‘God,’ she says. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for fucking years. What anasshole.’
THIRTY
ROMAN
Eddie is dead.
His throat gapes ugly and red, and I have no doubt that there is zero chance that he’s going to rear up like a monster in a horror movie.
I don’t feel sorry that he’s dead.
It was him or us.
‘Thank you,’ I say with a groan as I drag myself to my feet. There’s not a bit of me that doesn’t ache.
I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a champion boxer. And lost. Miserably.
Which, to be fair, isn’t far off.
Eddie’s blood has started to pool around him, in an arc of dark, gleaming red. I keep waiting for him to move. For this all to have been some kind of joke. For Eliza to say gotcha and reveal it’s all some hidden-camera show trickery.
She doesn’t.
Maggie is grey. Like someone’s drained the colour straight out of her. There’s blood on her lip and her dress.
I want to go to her. To. Wrap her in my arms and tell her this will all be okay. But how can it be?
In stark contrast, Eliza looks absolutely fine. Like this was just a little inconvenience in an otherwise excellent party.
She crouches beside Eddie, turning him over and analysing his neck with interest.
‘A clean cut for such a long throw, if I do say so myself.’
