Page 95 of The Devil

“Wasn’t planning to.”

I force myself to straighten, to look out the window into the dark distance. The mask I saw is anonymous enough. Gunmetal black, stern expression with a slit for a mouth. The nose is exaggeratedly large with holes for the wearer to breathe. Eyes are hidden behind dark glass so the wearer can see out, but I could never see in. Cruel and terrible. I always wondered if it was to hide the wearer’s identity or to terrify me.

There could have been dozens of that mask made. Hundreds, even.

But there was one thing I recall and that’s the thing that has sweat trickling down my spine. The red print like that of a thumb, like an anointing, in the center of the forehead. Made by my grandfather as if in blessing.

I understand why he chose the men he did. It was for their blackmail potential. That’s all. It was about money for him. Never mind what it did to me. How it nearly destroyed me.

But hell, doesn’t everything come down to money in this world?

I force myself to stand taller. To shake off the memories. I killed him. Killed him and one of his chosen perverts and I’m here. Still alive. Still standing. Me. Not him. He is ash and dust.

That hellhole in the cellar no longer exists. The room was sealed. The Blackstones no longer own the property, house or land. It belongs to The Society and last I heard, it’s quickly becoming a ruin. Any hell I relive only exists in my head and any power it has over me I give it and I refuse to feed it. I fucking refuse.

Some mother fucker is playing games tonight. A game that tells me at least one person here knows what happened.

There’s one man who comes to mind. One man whose presence takes me right back in time.

Councilor Senna.

When The Society got involved, he was the councilor who took control of our particular situation. Normally, three councilors oversee every case. In ours, it was only Senna. Did I think it was strange at the time? Or was I too traumatized to think at all?

Back then, it was a relief. Only one man would hear my shame.

Sev and I were asked to step aside. The Society not only took the bodies for disposal, but they went through everything Grandfather owned and destroyed all of it. It was like he never even existed when they were done.

Now I wonder what they found among his possessions.

Now I think we were naïve to think they’d destroy it all. No. They’d have held on to something. Something that could be used to silence us should anything like what is happening now happen.

“It’s Senna,” I say.

Sev doesn’t verbalize a response, but I get the feeling he’s come to the same conclusion. “Are you sure you saw it? Maybe you were mistaken. It’s a masquerade ball.”

“I’m not wrong. Not mistaken. Senna’s a liar. Would you put it past him to fuck with me like this?”

Sev shifts his gaze away. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill the bastard.”

“Not here, you’re not. He’s protected here, Jet. It’d be signing our death warrants. And by our, I mean you, me and Amal.”

I grit my teeth. He’s right. I need to get them off the island before I do it. I don’t tell Sev that part. “Let’s go. I want to get Amal.”

“Just a minute. I’ve been seeing this everywhere. What the fuck is it?” he asks. He turns on the flashlight of his phone to study something on the wall.

I step closer. My eyes have adjusted enough to see we’re in some sort of old library. The ceiling is high, although not as high as the Great Hall. This particular room looks old, like it’s original to the castle and I realize it’s not only cooler because I opened the window, but it hasn’t been modernized at all. The only source of heating is the fireplace inside which no fire burns.

Sev makes a whistling sound, stepping backward to pan his phone’s flashlight over it to take in the full scope of the design on the wall.

“What?” I ask absently following his gaze. It looks like a huge sort of family tree almost, although I know it can’t be. It’s not even a tree although wood is carved to look like something else I recall having seen throughout the castle.

And somewhere else.

It’s that realization that has my blood turning cold.

I recall what I thought insignificant doodles on the edges of the pages I read of Amal’s mother’s diary. And inside them a name.