Chapter 51
The strobe lights pulsed like a frenetic polaroid, flashing from bright to dark in shutter-fast beats. The pulsing clicked in time with the music—a violently loud beat that vibrated through my blood.
Last shouted something in my ear, her breath hot against my skin, but I couldn’t hear her above the music. When I shook my head, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the crowd. Mist rose from the floor, cloaking us, and there was the scent of cranberry and allspice.
When we’d first strolled into The Other Place (meaning the place that wasn’t the Night Den) and I’d smelled the hint of solange, my heart had twisted and stuttered, and I’d gasped at the sudden pain.
It was a hint of Finn, and it hurt. I’d ruthlessly shoved it aside and followed Last into the revelry.
The Other Place was similar to the Night Den, except it didn’t have an all-seeing eye guarding the door. That meant there was more cheating, stealing, lying, and murdering—usually nightly. All creatures were welcome at The Other Place, and all vices were catered to.
It was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, probably because Finn hadn’t rebuilt the Night Den after I destroyed it. That meant The Other Place was now the only place.
We made it to the bar, and Last shouted an order. A rock spirit shoved four shot glasses her way. She handed me two and clinked them together.
Cool liquid sloshed over my fingers. I shot both back, one after the other. They burned like drinking undiluted gasoline. I slammed the glasses to the bar, my eyes watering.
Last grabbed my wrist again, and we snaked through the crowd. The music thumped, and the concrete floor felt as if it were rolling. I swayed, weaving unsteadily, watching the beings around us out of the corner of my eye.
It was hard to keep track of who was where and doing what.
The flash from light to dark was disorienting, and many of the beings were half-visible spirits, growlings, or conjurers so far down the line they could only do parlor tricks like painting their skin green or conjuring a tiny flame to dance over their head.
Someone knocked into me, and I grabbed their hand and twisted, right as they reached into my dress pocket. “I don’t think so.”
A shadowed slipshot looked up at me, and I tightened my grip, close to breaking his fingers. There wasn’t anything in my pocket, but he didn’t know that.
The slipshot’s mouth dropped open. “You’re—”
He glanced around, probably looking for Jagger.
I nodded. “That’s right.”
I didn’t know this slipshot’s name, but I’d seen him around Hell Gate. He was recently born. He twisted from my grip and ducked into the mist.
“I would’ve killed him,” Last said, tucking her arm into mine.
“I know.”
“Let’s dance.”
Last danced as if she were flying, arms spread wide, head tilted back, hips rolling.
She let her inhibitions go, and I joined her.
The champagne and the shots flowed through me as I let the music carry me away.
Soon, sweat was rolling down my back, and the dance took on a trancelike vibration.
They were pumping something into the air—I smelled it now, under the hints of cranberry and allspice.
It was similar to what the Bards used at their revels, an aerosol to relax inhibitions and heighten both pleasure and pain.
Last smiled at me, her eyes half-closed and pleasure-filled. The feel, the dance, and the beings moving together to the music reminded me of the Den of Depravity. Leaving Justice. And suddenly, I felt sick. My stomach heaved, and a hot flush raced through me.
“I need air,” I shouted.
Last cocked her head. I pointed to the back stairs and then stumbled toward them. I don’t know if Last followed.
I hit the stairwell and gripped the railing. The floor swung, and my stomach lurched. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind and clamped their hand over my mouth.
I bucked, trying to twist free. They shoved me against the wall, ramming my stomach into the railing.
I gagged, and their hand tightened over my mouth.
Their skin tasted like cigarettes and sweat.
They were large, maybe as big as a leggerock, and they’d twisted my arm so that if I moved, they’d easily dislocate my shoulder. They shoved a knee between my legs.
“I was watching you dance—”
It was a male. Deep-voiced. He broke off with a choked gurgle. Then he dropped to the stairs with a loud thump and slid down them. Thump. Thump. Thump. Silence.
Gripping the railing, I slowly turned around.
The being—a larger-than-average growling—was dead. His throat was slit, and his trachea had been pulled free. Last was wiping her hands off on her black dress.
She smiled at me happily. “One down, three to go.”
Then she shoved past me, climbing the stairs.
Her high heels clicked, and she swayed in time to the fading music. I hurried after her, my nausea gone. It’d fled after the shot of adrenaline.
Last paused at the top of the stairs. I’d thought it led to the roof, but instead, we were at a landing overlooking the dance floor. To the right, there was a private seating area with two leather couches, a table full of drinks, and a curtain in case someone wanted privacy.
There were three men sitting on the couches. They were in the middle of a heated discussion, ignoring the drinks, the music, and the dancing below.
“Mmm.” Last sucked on her bottom lip and then pulled it through her teeth. “How do I look?”
I glanced at her. Flushed skin. Bright eyes. Slightly drunk expression. Dress that barely covered her butt.
“Other than the blood on your hands? You look good.”
She stared at her fingers and then conjured an illusion to hide the blood.
Then she conjured again, and I felt the tingle of illusion over my skin.
“What’d you do?”
“Made you beautiful. Come on. It’s my bachelorette party. And I want . . . them.” She pointed at the men and then walked toward them, more a predator than a seductress.
I followed—not because I was interested, but because Jagger had told me to do whatever Last wanted.
The men hadn’t noticed us. They had their elbows on their knees and their heads together.
I caught a few fragments of their words.
“—Darin.”
“—disagrees.”
“—earthquake. Next time—”
“—won’t do it. Who are you?”
The last was loud and clear. Last had slipped onto the couch and put her high heels on the largest man’s lap.
I stared at them. They were Smiths. If I hadn’t guessed it by their conversation, I’d be able to tell by their bulk and their hard-planed faces.
Not all Smiths looked the same, but they all had the same physicality, musculature, and military bearing.
I didn’t recognize these three. They looked like they were in their thirties, wore the same tactical clothing Finn had been outfitted with, and spoke in direct, hard tones.
Last sprawled on the couch and ran her high heel along the man’s chest. “I can be heaven,” she purred, “or I can be hell. You choose.”
“Get off me,” he growled, shoving at her legs.
“Pole,” one of the men warned. He nodded at me. “Isn’t that . . .?”
All three of the men stared. Then the one named Pole stood and conjured a dagger of blue fire. “You killed our principal.”
“Me?” I looked nothing like I did in my last life. There’s no way they could recognize me.
Unless . . .
I glared at Last. Had she made me look like I did at the closing ceremony?
She shrugged as if to say, “Whoops.”
“Die,” Pole said, and then he threw the dagger at my chest. Even full of champagne and shots, I still untied his illusion in a millisecond.
Last laughed. Then she jumped off the couch and conjured a mace. She stumbled drunkenly, and the mace flew sideways. I ducked as it slammed over my head.
“Oops!” Last squeaked. She flicked her hand again, and the mace spun around and crushed Pole’s skull.
This took three seconds, but in that time, the two other Smiths realized Last wasn’t heaven—she was just hell.
The taller of the two roared and pulled a knife. It wasn’t illusion. He dove at me, and I dodged. My heels were four inches tall, and I was still tipsy. I tripped and fell under his arm.
“Mari!” Last screamed.
The shorter Smith was beating her hastily conjured stone wall with a fire sword. She stumbled backward and fell to the couch. The Smith snarled and shot a spray of fire.
“I’ll kill you. You’re Last Clark, aren’t you? I’ll send your ugly head to your brother, you—”
I yanked his overhand knot away, dousing his illusion. Last grinned and slammed her stone wall into him. At the last second, she covered the wall with long metal spikes. There were at least twenty, and all of them impaled him from his head to his legs.
I dodged the last Smith’s knife. It whistled past my throat, barely missing me. This Smith was smarter than the others. He realized using illusion would be useless at best and would get him killed at worst.
He lunged at me again. Behind him, Last twisted her hand. Iron chains wrapped around him, and he dropped to the floor.
Last pulled the curtain around the seating area, closing us in.
“He’ll kill you for this.” The Smith struggled against the chains, but she’d locked his hands down. He couldn’t break free, and he couldn’t conjure. His eyes were the same color as Darin’s, and I wondered how closely related they were. First cousins? Second? “The Smith’ll kill you for this.”
He wasn’t scared. I’d never seen a Smith scared. At least, not of death.
He stared at me with a cold hate. “He’ll know, and he’ll kill you.”
“He’ll know because you’ll tell him,” Last said. She walked over to the man and then kicked his face with her heel. The spike gouged his cheek, and it spurted blood. She crouched down next to him. “You and your friends burned down Mari’s home.”
The man spit out a mouthful of blood. The splatter sprayed across Last’s face. She smiled.
Wait. These three Smiths had burned Hell Gate? They were there?
“Who else?” I asked. “Who else was there?”
He gave me a bloody grin.
Last rolled her eyes. She conjured a spike gauntlet around her fist. She struck the man.
“I’m going to give you a present,” she said conversationally. “Brides always give their bridesmaids presents. This one is mine.”
She twisted her hand and tapped the man’s forehead. A loose string of clove hitch knots wrapped around his skull and then sank in. He started to tremble and then shake. He stared at me as if I were the most terrifying, horrific thing he’d ever seen.
“No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “No. Stop. Stop! No! You’re evil! You’re ev—” He broke off with a scream.
Last snickered and bound him with an air gag.
My mouth was dry. “What is that?”
“He thinks you tortured him and his friends. You did quite disturbing things, Mari. You’re really one sick creature.”
I reached out to untie the knots on his head.
“Leave it!”
I stopped.
“I said leave it. It’s rude to refuse gifts.”
I swallowed. Nodded.
“He burned down your home. He should suffer. They burned down my home too.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Was she crying?
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right! Let’s go.” She shoved aside the curtain and stalked from the room.
I shot a final glance at the two dead Smiths. Were they Darin and Finn’s friends? Did they have families? I curled my hands into fists and then crouched next to the trembling man. Sweat ran down his forehead, and he stared at me from wide, white eyes.
Was he all right?
“He’ll kill you for what you’ve done,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
I sprang up, shoved back by his vehemence. I rushed through the curtain and down the stairs.
Last was stumbling through the raucous crowd, wiping her eyes.
“Last, wait—”
I hurried after her. She was crying.
“Last!”
Then I shook my head. What was I doing? She’d just murdered two men, and I was hurrying after her to comfort her? Why?
I caught up to her at the curb outside The Other Place. It was after midnight, and the street was deserted.
I paused next to her. She had her arms wrapped around her middle, and her shoulders were hunched. She didn’t look my way, and she’d stopped wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“There was a picture of my mother. The only one I had. It burned up . . .”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
It was me who’d done that.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She never loved me. Not really.”
“I’m sure she did—”
“No. She told me she didn’t. She said, ‘Last, I never loved you. You’re the spawn of your father, and I hate you more than I hate him. I hope you die.’”
“That’s . . . I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I saw Luvic yesterday, sneaking off to see a creature. A beautiful, red-haired creature. I wonder if he loves her.”
I glanced quickly at her. What did she know?
“And?” I asked.
Last shrugged.
“Are you upset?”
“Why would I be upset? He’s mine. He’ll realize it soon enough.”
A cold chill washed through me. Suddenly, I was stone-cold sober.
Finally, she turned to me. Mascara ran down her cheeks in dark rivers, and her eyelashes were spiked with tears. “Thanks for a fun day, Mari.”
“You’re welcome.”
She smiled. “See you at the wedding.”
I nodded.
When I made it back to my room at the asylum, I stared in the mirror before unraveling Last’s knots. Staring back was the face I wore in my last life. The last face Finn had seen before I killed him.