Page 102 of The Devil

New husband.

Mother.

“What the hell are you talking about?” But I can’t think about those things now. It’s only Jet now. “Where is he? Where are they?” I ask, knowing where they are. Where they must be. My mind cruelly creating the images for me, two bodies descending into that black water, slowly sinking to the depths of it. How deep is it? How deep is this sea? It’s a stupid question. It doesn’t matter. Dead is dead. Don’t I know that well enough?

Jameson moves to touch the shreds of lace around my face, but when he does, I snap my teeth over his hand and bite so hard I taste the copper of blood before one of the soldiers painfully yanks me off. As soon as Jameson’s hand is free, he glances at it, then slaps me so hard my vision goes black and it’s a minute before the pain sets in. If the soldiers weren’t holding me, I’d be on the floor.

I blink, my head heavy, the side of my face throbbing, my lip hurting where I bit it.

He grips my jaw, curling his fingers into my cheeks and forces me to look up at him.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” I say before spitting blood at him. I’m not sure it’s his or my own.

His fingers dig harder, but I won’t let him see how much it hurts. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

The door opens behind him and the American whose name I can’t recall walks in followed by more soldiers.

“Be careful, Ms. Fairbairn. We are not gentle men,” Jameson hisses, a little spittle landing on my cheek.

“No, I never thought you were,” I say, trying not to think about that popping sound. About Jet out there on that water.

In that water.

Jet with a bullet in him.

No. He’s the Devil. He knows men like this. He kills men like this. He can’t be dead.

But we were so outnumbered. I saw the disappointment on his face when I told him I didn’t have the gun. I couldn’t get to it. I didn’t have a moment alone. They had planned for everything, these men. This Society. Did the watch even have anything to do with it?

A tear slides down my cheek and Jameson gives a satisfied grin. I guess he thinks he’s the reason for it. He thrusts me away like I’m a piece of old trash.

“Trouble, Jameson?” the American asks.

“Nothing I can’t handle. I’m surprised to see you here?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Your part is done.”

“Master Robertson has invited me to stand in as witness.”

Jameson studies him like he doesn’t believe him, but Senna gives him a narrow-eyed, arrogant grin before turning to me.

He looks me over. I can’t read his expression. “You’ve ruined the lace and made a mess of your face. Pity. But no matter. Let’s go. I think Robertson is anxious to get this done.”

“Go where” I dig my heels in even though I know these men will drag me kicking and screaming and even with a ballroom full of people, I know not even one would raise a finger to help me. “What the hell do you want with me?” I ask but my mind is still reeling with the thought that he’s gone. Jet’s gone because of me. Jet’s dead because of me. Does it even matter what they want? Don’t I deserve whatever it is? Whatever they’ll do to me?

Senna simply glances over his shoulder, barely stopping, and gestures for the soldiers to bring me. The two of them start moving, dragging me between them.

I think about how big the castle looked from the air and now, given the maze of corridors, all these secret spaces, I know I’ll never find my way out. This is where I’ll die.

My thoughts go to Daniel. My little brother who will never know what happened to his sister.

I fully expect to be taken back to the Great Hall so when someone opens a door that leads outside, I am surprised. Senna and Jameson barely miss a step as two men open umbrellas and hold them over their heads for the rain that’s turned to hail.

My bare feet crunch icy moss and jagged rocks as we cross a field. No umbrella for me. I glance back to the castle to see light from the windows of the Great Hall. I think I hear the quartet’s music and imagine all those people up there dancing, enjoying themselves. Unaware or uncaring about the murder of two men and, most likely, the other woman in red.

If anyone is looking outside, they’ll see us. I wonder what they’d make of our creepy procession up a hill that looks like the movie set of Wuthering Heights. Nothing at all, probably. Glad it’s not them, probably.

I’m freezing, my teeth chattering, and we keep moving. My dress, drenched now, catches on rocks and I leave a red-silk trail except there’s no one to follow it. No one left to look for me.

Finally, we reach a hill, and I know our destination because all along a curving path lanterns glow. Up at the top, is what at first I think is one of the cottages, but as we get closer, I see it’s a chapel. And it’s old. Not built to look old but well and truly ancient with crumbling stone and a cross on top of the roof that looks like it’s been blackened by lightning.