Too late.
Their footsteps reach me before they do. My favourite percussion ensemble.
Nightshade: my silent storm. Honeymonster: boot-heavy impatience. Bones: casual murder. Ghost: a literal ghost. Snow: guilt on legs. And of course, at the back, is Daddy Hatchet: silent-footed and unnerving, pretending like he didn’t already hunt me down and fuck me senseless.
They turn the corner.
They stop.
Six men freeze like I’m an optical illusion they prayed into existence. And a seventh, less welcome sight, falls into view behind them a second later. Valentine.
I narrow my eyes at him. Not my favourite staff member from the asylum, but not the worst. There’s a story there, one I can’t wait to hear, but first, I have one to tell.
I grin, wide and manic, and give them my best pageant-wave. “Hi boys! Who’s ready for a field trip? It’s show and tell today!”
Nightshade is the first to recover, though I can practicallyhearthe cognitive dissonance grinding in his skull.
“Kayla,” he breathes, voice cracked open, “What— Where?—”
“Oh hush, I’m fine,” I say, spinning once to present the blood, the corridor, the general atmosphere of excellent decision-making. “Would you like the guided tour? I’ve prepared highlights.”
Ghost makes a strangled noise. “Guided…what?”
“Well,” I say brightly, “first stop: the wood chipper. Technically it’s industrial composting equipment. But Ray really brought out its potential.”
Honey chokes. “You— you what?—?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” I sigh. “He started it. With his hands. On me. Consequences are contagious.”
Nightshade steps closer in a slow, reverent drift, like he’s approaching a feral animal he desperately wants to pet.
“You smell like blood,” he whispers.
I beam. “I worked hard.”
His gaze drops to my stomach. Every molecule in him sharpens.
“And the baby?”
“Oh, the parasite’s still thriving,” I say, touching his wrist with a lazy little tap. “They seemed to enjoy the evening’s activities. Very responsive.”
Ghost mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
Bones snorts back, “I think Jesus opted out.”
Hatchet smirks and mouths something that I’m deciding meansholy fuck, marry me. I’m taking it and running with it. This could be fun.
“Buy me dinner first, handsome.” I wink.
Valentine looks physically ill.
“Anyway!” I clap once. “After the wood chipper, we have my flower garden. You’ll love it. The roses are doing so well since I stopped the staff from watering them like drunk toddlers and decided to water them with blood. They love the extra nutrients and minerals.”
Bones stares. “This place looks like a homicide aquarium and you want us to see your plants?”
“Yes,” I say. “I pruned them. With intention.”
Ghost tilts his head. “How many people are dead?”
