Nightweaver #1

Chapter Nine

“Stay here,” Will whispers, easing through the conservatory door. But I’m not one for taking orders, and I refuse to stay behind.

Blood drums in my ears. Whom did that scream belong to? Please , I pray to the Stars, don’t let it be someone I love . And though I try to push away the thought, if only to maintain the illusion of calm, I wonder—whom did the laughter belong to?

What did it belong to?

“A Gore,” Will’s hushed voice answers as if he read my mind. “I should have known.”

I remember what Dorothy told me of the different types of Underlings: Sylks possess. Gores consume .

I follow Will’s moonlit shadow, my tread light, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. That laughter… both guttural and high-pitched, as if two voices joined in unison. It grated against my senses like sandpaper, leaving them raw. I flinch every time Caligo shifts his stance, hold my breath every time a twig snaps underfoot.

“Why did it…?” I scan the pool of mud for the knapsack. My stomach flips, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep from groaning. It’s gone. How could it be gone? Panic rises in my chest, but I fight to keep it at bay. It must have been an animal. It had to be.

Will pulls himself onto Caligo’s saddle, offering me a hand. “A Gore laughs only after it’s fed.”

I take his hand, pulling myself up behind him. “Does that mean…?” I can’t bring myself to finish my sentence. I hold on to Will unabashedly, drawing as close to him as the saddle will allow. Thankfully, he doesn’t answer. He gives Caligo a swift kick, and wind whips at my face as we tear through the orchard and down the lawn, toward Bludgrave Manor.

In the few seconds before we round the front of the house, I don’t know whether I wish Caligo would run faster or stop entirely. Will’s family has gathered at the steps. Flanked by the guards Gylda and Hugh, Lady Isabelle clutches a grave Lord Bludgrave, sobs racking her body. Henry holds Dorothy unconscious in his arms, smoothing the hair from her face with particular care. Mother and Father are there, too; only Albert and Elsie are absent from our crew, along with Annie, Sybil, and the rest of the staff.

I smell the blood before I see it.

I didn’t pay much attention to the fountain at the center of the drive until now. The statue—a winged woman with long, wavy hair—stands with one foot atop a pile of rocks. In one hand, her sword is raised in triumph, and in the other, she carries a goblet, tipped sideways as if it were poised to spill. Her anguished face is turned downward, intent on the water as it empties from the goblet and filters back into the basin.

Only, the water is thick and crimson, and two human heads are impaled on her sword. Mr. and Mrs. Hackney, their faces taut with horror, their eyes missing from their skulls, and their bodies nowhere to be seen— eaten , I realize with a heave of nausea.

Will leaps from Caligo. I jump down without thinking, landing hard on my hands and knees. I scramble to my feet and race toward Margaret. Jack stands beside her, clutching her hand as if she were the only thing keeping him from drifting away.

“What happened?” I manage to speak, but I barely hear my own voice.

Charlie, Margaret, and Lewis share the same solemn expression. We’ve seen much worse than this in battle. Why, then, do they seem so shaken?

Lewis glances at me, his face full of confusion, but he doesn’t say a word.

“There was a scream,” Father explains. “And then…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Knocking—Mr. Hackney—it sounded like—”

“Like he was pleading for help.” Mother places a gentle hand on Father’s arm. “Dorothy answered.” She motions at the fountain. “But this is all that was left.”

“And you saw nothing?” Will asks Hugh, a man of about Charlie’s age.

The guard shakes his head, his ebony skin reflecting the moonlight with a dazzling silver sheen. He glances at Gylda. Her long blond hair is pulled into a tight braid much like my own, and her face is twisted in a bitter expression. “We heard the screams,” he says in an accent I don’t recognize, his voice deep. “But we failed to reach them in time. Forgive us, my lord.”

The two guards drop to one knee, their heads bowed.

“There is no need for forgiveness,” Will says, gesturing for them to rise. “You’ve done your duty. This attack was beyond your control. Whoever did this knew how to bypass our wards.”

Henry snorts. He glares up at me, seething with hate. “You!”

Charlie pushes me behind him, his shoulders squared, but Will jumps to my defense.

“She was with me,” he growls. “Father, surely you must know this was a Gore and not—”

“Of course I know that!” Lord Bludgrave snaps, his face ruddy in the lantern light. “But in all my years, I’ve never seen a Gore do this .” He points at the heads, but as Will and I draw near the fountain, I realize why even my own family looked at me so strangely.

Carved into Mr. Hackney’s and Mrs. Hackney’s foreheads, two words ooze fresh blood into empty black sockets.

HELLO

ASTER