Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I nod slowly, and she gives me a knowing smile.
After a pause, Duffy’s expression shifts. “Grieving Hans must make all the planning really tough right now.”
“Planning?”
She studies my face carefully, looking confused. “All the planning it takes to move?”
“Move?”
Duffy’s face goes pale. “Oh. Oh shit. You have no idea?” She sets down the bottle carefully. “Saylor, please tell me you’re joking.”
“Duffy, what the hell are you talking about?”
“The rumor mill is that you’re leaving town. Moving away. At least that’s what was told at the funeral.”
“What the absolute fuck?” The words tear out of my throat loud enough that several people at nearby tables look over.
Duffy winces sympathetically. “I take it you weren’t consulted about the move?”
“This is insane. This is completely fucking insane. He’s kicking me out,” I whisper, more to myself than to Duffy.
I stand up so fast my barstool tips backward, clattering against the floor. “I have to go.”
“Saylor, wait—”
But I’m already moving and heading for the door. The fury that had burned off during the painting session roars back to life, twice as hot as before.
Kicked to the curb with no notice.
Without my knowledge, without my consent, without even the courtesy of a conversation.
The wind chimes crash together violently as I storm off the porch, their metallic song turning discordant and angry, matching the rhythm of my heart as I head back into Grimlock’s twisted streets.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Blue
The front door slams so hard it rattles the chandelier. I’m halfway through explaining to Jay why having Saylor be sent away is the only logical solution when the sound of her fury echoes through every floor of Maison Rouge. Her footsteps pound up the grand staircase, each one a declaration of war.
“Blue!” A momentary pause. “Where the hell are you?”
Jay raises his eyebrows. “I’m guessing she found out about your plans.”
“Seems likely.” I down the rest of my whiskey and head for the door. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“Oh, it’s definitely over,” Jay calls after me. “Good luck surviving the next ten minutes.”
I find Saylor in the main hall with red-stained hands clenched into fists. Her dark hair is wild from the evening wind, her cheeks flushed with anger.
She’s never been more beautiful.
“What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?” Each word comes out like a bullet.
“Saylor—”
“No! I’m talking now.” She starts pacing across the polished floor, her fury filling the space like wildfire. “What person kicks someone out without even telling them? What psychopath tells other people and not the person actually moving? If you wanted me out, you should have said something! Why did I have to hear about this from Duffy? What kind of person are you?”
“Someone who’s trying to keep you alive.”
She stops pacing to stare at me. “By kicking me out with no notice and no place to go? How does that work exactly?”
“I have a place for you to go. A plan.”
“A plan? Oh my God, you’re serious.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You actually have been planning this? For how long? And is there some reason you didn’t let me in on this?”
“I have my reasons.”
She resumes pacing, her anger building steam again. “And if I say no to your plan? What’s next? Maybe I’ll just end up like the other seven women—a pretty picture on the wall and then a skull upstairs!”
The words explode out of her, and I can see the real fear behind her fury.
“If I don’t obey the mighty Blue, you’ll add me to your collection upstairs?”
“Do you really believe that?” I step closer, studying her face. “Do you honestly think I want to hurt you?”
Her certainty wavers for just a moment. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Then ask me what you really want to know.”
“The skulls!” The words burst from her like a dam breaking. “I’ve been trying not to bring it up because of Hans, but Jesus Christ, Blue. There are seven skulls in your house!”
“I know.”
“You know? That’s all you have to say? You know?” She gestures wildly at the portraits above us. “Margaret, Eleanor, Vivian, Catherine, Sophia—they’re all up there as skulls while their portraits smile down at us like some twisted fairy tale.”
“Yes.”
“And I saw Cordelia at the Dryad’s Dance. Alive. Breathing. Crying. But her skull is upstairs with a nameplate. How is that possible?”
I wait for her to finish, letting her fury burn itself out. She needs to say all of this, and I need to hear it.
“Look, I know you kill people,” she continues. “I’ve never judged you for that. Hell, I’ve joined you. But keeping their bones upstairs with name tags? What kind of person does that? What did they do to deserve death? Were they threats? Were they criminals? Or did they just ask too many questions?”
“Are you finished?”
“No! I’m not finished! Because this isn’t just about murder, Blue. This is about trust. This is about all your damn secrets, about what you’re planning for me, about—”