“I never saw for myself what he did to traitors, but there were rumours, whisperings on the grapevine of what would become of someone who’d crossed him. And like with all rumours, there always has to be an element of truth.”
My stomach drops to my toes. I can’t look at Ed or I’ll crumple in the chair.
“What did you hear?” I swallow hard.
“Angel, you don’t have to—” Valdemar leans forwards as he speaks, but I don’t let him finish.
“Don’t patronise me. I’m not some delicate wallflower. I’m here for the truth. You said that yourself. So give it to me. All of it.”
His eyes pool, a sadness seeping into the depths of his pupils like those of a consultant before he tells his patients they only have hours to live. “The rumours were that he would skin people, then cattle-prod the open wounds or pour acid onto the skin and watch it bubble. He would infect people with a disease Dr Tem-Pest had cooked up in his lab, aptly named The Red Death, that would make his victims dizzy and experience sharp pains before bleeding profusely from their pores.” Valdemar’s voice goes quiet, like he had more things to add to the list but can tell that I don’t want to hear anymore.
There is no air in this room. My head spins, the room sways, and Ed’s outline shimmers.
“Fuck.” My throat closes because I know exactly how the next part of this plays out. “He saw his death, didn’t he? Ed saw what that fucker was going to do to him,” I guess.
“He wasn’t the only one.”
Confused, I stare at Valdemar.
“In times of great stress, the brain works in strange ways. As I walked into the room, I saw Ed being manhandled, realised this whole thing was a set-up, and then, through our bond, I saw exactly what Ed saw,” he explains. “As soon as I saw his vision, the look in his eyes, and the nod he gave me, it ripped me in two and broke me in ways no one should ever have to endure.”
My tongue swells, and I feel like I can’t swallow. I may not be able to see the vision as my brother or Valdemar did, but I know that whatever he’s about to tell me is going to haunt me for the rest of my days.
But I have to know.
“What did you see?” I dare to ask.
Valdemar pauses as if gearing himself up or waiting for me to change my mind. Eventually, he speaks, his voice low and smooth, as if he’s trying to soften the blow of each word. “I saw Ed being bricked up behind a wall, alive, and screaming for someone to kill him.”
Gripping the edge of the table, I almost fold in on myself.
“That’s why he asked me to shoot him. He knew what awaited him, what agony he would have to endure, knew the arduous death that would claim him slowly with pallid breath and invisible hands.”
A cry claws its way up my windpipe. I manage to swallow it.
“Wait a minute.” Pressing my hand to my forehead, I point at Valdemar. “You said he was never able to stop his visions from happening, that no matter what he did, they happened anyway. Are you telling me this was the only time my brother managed to cheat fate? Please tell me it was, or I swear to God….” I glance at Ed, wishing he would open his mouth and tell me something, anything.
But just like my mother, he is silent.
I look back at Valdemar, knowing I’m not going to want to hear what comes next.
“Ed always said his vision would happen regardless of his interventions. Fate is like that. But we learned, over the years, that he could influence minor parts of the scene—blur the details, so to speak.” Valdemar pauses and eyes me carefully before continuing. “The only way we cheated was that Ed was dead before they bricked his body up.”
“No.” Sucking back tears, I wrap my arms around my waist. “We cremated him. My dad had to identify his body. I put my hand on his coffin. I kissed it before they took him away. It’s not possible.”
Loss swells inside me, anger, fear at what Valdemar is about to say.
“It’s with the greatest sadness that I tell you the box you burned was empty, as your brother’s dead body had already been taken from the morgue by Fortunato’s men and placed within the walls of his mansion along with all the other unfortunate souls who crossed him. Ed was to be made an example for the rest of Fortunato’s followers that even in death, you didn’t escape his wrath. The only comfort we can take from this is that he wasn’t alive when it happened like Fortunato intended him to be. Ed succeeded in that part.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“No.”A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away quickly as my eyes lift to the ghostly figure of my brother.
My brother who saw his death.
My brother who begged to be shot rather than bricked up alive behind a wall.
My brother who, after his death, was placed there anyway to rot in an empty cavity, his body slowly devoured by the rodents.
