Chapter 56
56
What do people usually offer?”
Viktor’s eyes slide to me. “I’m not permitted to say.”
I roll my eyes. “Right. The whole bursting-into-holy-fire thing. Do you actually believe that?”
He frowns, clearly upset I’d even ask.
Fair enough. He’s probably been brainwashed. A whole line of Viktor Seniors indoctrinated as sex-toy-witness-things. Pretty barbaric.
This may be my one chance to get some answers out of him, since the Belladonnas cannot pry. “Do you get paid for all you do?” I ask.
“Serving the Melniburgs is all the payment I need. It is the world’s greatest honor.”
Okay. Uh. Wow. So, he’s literally a slave.
“Have you been off this island?”
He grits his teeth, resistant to answer. With enough silence, he shakes his head, gaze downcast to the floor.
“You’d be a hit outside,” I say. “You have that European white man appeal. A bit like Alexander Skarsg?rd.”
“Alexander Skarsg?rd?”
“ Tarzan ? Big Little Lies ?”
He tips his head, confused.
I gape. “Don’t you watch TV here? Movies?”
“Only what Miss Melniburg permits. The Olympics, sometimes. We love the Olympics.” No wonder he keeps going on about the Olympics.
“What about Succession ? You must have watched Succession .”
“What’s Succession ?”
Holy crap. “Only the greatest show—” I sigh. No point in explaining this to him. There are more important things at hand. “What about Chloe? Can you tell me what she offered?”
He glances at me. “I must keep it all a secret—”
“I know, I know. Ball of holy fire or whatever. But she’s dead, so technically, she can’t tell me even if she wanted to. And I’m her sister—twin! I think she’d want me to know.”
His mouth presses into a thin line.
I tilt my head cutely. “Please? I really don’t think this will bend the rules. I’m basically Chloe, anyway. I’ll give you permission.” I tap his shin with my foot.
He squirms and I almost feel bad making a grown man fidget and sweat. But whatever. It’s not like this Eto thing is real. He’s not going to burst into holy fire. And I really want to know Chloe’s sacrifice—need to know. I have this feeling that once I get the answer, everything will click into place.
How can I pry information out of him when his mind is barbed with holy rules?
He’s a bit simpleminded, his deprivation and lack of knowledge by design, but he’s human. He must have desires. The less you have, the more you want; I know this well. Could I use this to my benefit? I might as well try. There’s nothing to lose.
“What if I make you an offer?” I ask.
His eyes widen. “M-me?”
“How about this: in exchange for telling me what Chloe sacrificed, I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Anything?”
“Yeah, like goals, aspirations, an object. Anything.” I’m setting a high bar for myself, but it’s not like I plan on fulfilling this promise. Once I get this over with, I doubt I’ll be seeing him again. A lie or two won’t change much for me.
He ponders this hard, biting his nails. It’s almost sweet, really, his excitement. “An Olympic medal?”
God. He’s so easy. I might even be able to fulfill his wish. There are probably a few replicas floating around eBay. I doubt he’d be able to tell.
“I’ll do you one better,” I say. “I can get you a gold medal.”
He jumps closer to me. “What? Really?”
“Yes! I promise I’ll get you a gold medal if you tell me what Chloe sacrificed, and if I don’t, Eto can strike me down with holy fire. Swear on this heart.”
He considers this seriously, making a lap around my chair and staring at Nikolai, as if asking for permission, moaning and groaning all the while.
“Her adoptive parents,” he answers finally, squinting, clearly afraid he’ll explode. And when he doesn’t, he opens his eyes fully, shoulders relaxing. He glances around and blows a steady breath out his mouth, surprised. “The Van Huusens are who she offered.”
Oh.
So that’s why she thought the Van Huusens’ hit-and-run was her fault.
Although… what are the chances?
No. I need to get a grip. Our parents died in a car accident, and no one jinxed them. Millions die the same way every year. And the Van Huusens would have kicked the bucket eventually, given their age.
It’s all a coincidence. Surely.
Viktor brushes himself off, looking grateful that he’s not a ball of fire.
“See?” I say. “You can trust me. I knew you wouldn’t be harmed. I’m on your side. But while we’re on this topic… Did the Bell—did the others have anything to do with Chloe’s death?”
“Miss Melniburg would never hurt family. Never.” He’s offended that I’d even ask. “But sometimes, after Eto takes, the offerer can experience extreme guilt and remorse.” He leans closer, tentative. “Like Mrs. Melniburg,” he whispers. “She tried to…” He mimes a noose.
So, it wasn’t just a stroke and dementia.
“Are you saying Chloe might have… unalived herself?”
“Unalive?”
Right. Internet lingo to a caveman Skarsg?rd who only watches the Olympics. Why am I self-censoring anyway? “Suicide,” I amend.
He shrugs. “It’s a possibility.”
The more I uncover how awful this island is, the more suicide makes sense. Maybe the Van Huusens’ accident was the moment of reckoning that forced Chloe to confront how fucked up her so-called Belladonna “family” was. If I were somehow swindled into this shallow friend group for five years, I think I’d end up doing something drastic to escape too.
But that still doesn’t explain why she called me.
At the very last second of her life, the words she said to me were: I’m sorry .
It was an apology. Not even a call for help.
Why?
I’ve heard people’s lives flash before their eyes when they’re close to death. Maybe she had thought of me—her family—before her last moments.
But what was she apologizing for?
Our childhood? No. Those years needed no apology.
The video? Yes. That makes sense.
She had filmed that video exploiting me after being indoctrinated by Bella Marie, after being swept into this whole fucked-up, mice-eating group, her mind addled by drugs and hysteria. What if, after she snapped out of it all, she realized how awfully she’d treated me? Maybe she wanted to apologize before it was too late.
Chloe hadn’t always been a self-interested influencer. She had once been kind and loving. But the promise of connection and power is corrupting, can push us to do terrible things when we’re lonely and desperate. When we finally free ourselves from those protective yet toxic echo chambers, open our eyes to the wounds we caused, it’s only human to feel regret and guilt, to want to make things right, even if it means confronting an ugly reality.
Maybe that’s what my twin was trying to do with her call and apology. Make things right with me.
Chloe’s story ended a long time ago. I can never know the truth of her intentions. All I can know is what I tell myself. What I believe.
And this is a reality I wish to believe.
Still, accepting this possible truth slashes a gaping hole of remorse through my chest. Her last words were an apology, and yet… I took everything from her.
I really am terrible. I deserve everything that’s happened to me.
After all of this, I need to leave Chloe’s life behind. Build something new for myself. Let her rest in peace.
I close my eyes, take a breath.
But first, I have to get this over with. To be frank, I’m just glad that I don’t have to munch on a bat or a bunny.
My task seems simple.
I need to make an offering to some fake god. But it needs to be good enough to trick Viktor. He’s witnessed at least seven Belladonnas complete their offerings. He’d know if I’m lying. I need to think of something convincing.
What do I have to offer?
My firstborn? That one is pretty good, but Angelique just did that, and I don’t want to seem unoriginal with my offering to the devil.
Family seems like a good bet.
But who? My cousin? My aunt? It’s odd: even now, as I think of them, they don’t bother me anymore. Chloe is dead, so the closest thing I have are the Belladonnas—
A flash of light rips through the curtains. Thunder booms overhead and vibrates through the chateau right as Confutatis crescendos into hammering drums, a belting choir roaring above the storm. My heart is elastic, beating like crazy. A vision of fire explodes onto my retinas. Orange flames lick the sky, columns of smoke, high-pitched screams. Euphoria bursts into my chest, rippling hot, torching my bloodstream with adrenaline.
Then, without warning, it dissipates, leaving me panting, yearning for more.
I blink back to awareness. Viktor’s eyes are alight with excitement. “The offer. Eto has accepted it.”
Warily, I glance at the portrait of Nikolai. Of the shadow.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself.
Are you fucking real?