Chapter 13
CHRISTOPHER
This place is fucking sick.
Lanterns hang low from a vaulted ceiling, the bars of an old prison cell offering a place for people to take selfies and relive their glory days.
It’s the kind of place that makes you feel like you’ve stepped back in time, back to an age where torture sessions were welcome and kings and queens still sent out execution demands.
God. And don’t get me started on the food.
Platters of pigs and elaborate roasts line massive tables, the silverware and champagne flutes glistening with the finest alcohol money can buy. Fruit of every colour decorate the velvet tablecloths, the perfect tangle of grapes and apples making me hungry just by looking at them.
Don’t touch anything you’re not ready to offer a lifelong commitment to.
Calista’s warning rings in my head, forcing my eyes away from the elaborate feast to the college students mingling around me.
Curious looks press into my back as I survey the room, my status as the outsider as obvious as the ink creeping up my arms and neck. Just by walking into the room, I can tell it’s a clique group, even if half the people in here are eye fucking the shit out of me.
That’s what you get when you’re the new guy, I guess.
“Are you enjoying the party?”
Giggles turn my attention to a couple of girls on my right, idling nearby with matching grins. The brunette is smaller, a bit wider than her redheaded companion, but both are wearing bows and dresses that differ only in colour.
“Still digesting the atmosphere.”
“Oh my God, he’s British.”
“I told you he was British.” The brunette snaps her teeth, “You never listen to a thing I say.”
Clearing my throat before this turns into a catfight, I offer them both a smile, “Afraid I am from across the pond. Mother England misses me dearly, but I’ll be returning to her soon.”
A blush stains the redhead’s cheeks, and I can’t tell if it’s from my use of the word mother or the tattoo she can’t stop staring at.
“I’ve never been to England.” The brunette nudges her blushing counterpart unsubtly, “Perhaps you could take us there.”
She gasps, “I would love to go to England! I’ve always wanted to wear a Wrexham jersey.”
“That’s Scotland you’re thinking of. Don’t be so dumb, Anastasia.”
I cough gently, “Actually, the Wrexham team is based in Wales-
“I’m the dumb one? You were the one who said the new guy was Australian!”
Oh, God.
“No, I didn’t. I said he was British and you said those accents sound the same.”
“How would they sound the same? They are from two different places!”
Inching back from the bickering women, I’m about to turn and run when a slender hand squeezes my shoulder.
“Don’t mind the ugly stepsisters.” A puff of warm air hits my ears, the sudden proximity shifting the hair on the back of my neck, “Their party etiquette leaves much to be desired.”
“Is that so?” Fighting the urge to shudder, I turn around slowly, trying to keep her hand from grazing the ridge on my back, “Doesn’t seem like proper etiquette to insult your guests, either.”
Evelyn White smiles, her teeth small and pointy in a bitterly pink mouth.
“I did not realize the devil was insulted so easily.” Her eyes drop to the art piece on my neck, her thumbnail digging into the canine snarling back at her, “Would it be better to lie than to speak the honest truth?”
“Not all truths should be spoken.”
“Ah, a man who enjoys the bliss of ignorance. I would expect nothing less from an international fugitive.”
I step back, forcing her hands off me. Evelyn studies me with a knowing smile, her hazel eyes twinkling with something far too deadly to be amusing.
At first glance, she seems older than any of the students here.
Thick, grey hair falls like a curtain down to her waist, the silver strands held back by a black scarf studded with diamonds.
The dichotomy between her youthful face and her ancient hair is a bit off-putting, the smooth skin and sweeping lines of purple eyeshadow making her look like a teenager who used the wrong colour of dye.
Based on the reports I’ve read, Evelyn White is just a bit older than me at twenty-seven, but nothing about her posture or tight corset hints at a woman closing in on thirty.
“It would seem we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Grabbing her hand, I make a show of bending down to kiss it, “Thank you for the invitation, Miss White.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Her eyes sweep down my body, the sensation similar to sleeping in a bath full of ants. Discomfort pricks at my skin, the heavy weight of her gaze all but piercing through my armour.
“Would you like something to drink? Or something to eat, perhaps.” Her smile widens as she sweeps a hand towards the towers of food, “We have plenty to go around.”
“I’m alright, thanks.”
“Are you sure? You look thirsty.”
She’s smiling at me again, showing a set of teeth that would be better suited for a shark. Given my blood is already in the water, I think it’s fair to say she’s gotten a taste for it already.
“Don’t think so, darling.” Leaning in close, I take a turn whispering in her ear, “I’ve heard your concoctions can be quite... potent.”
My lips brush her ear and now it’s Evelyn’s turn to shudder. Dancing my fingers across her waist, the teasing pressure is just enough to make her lean in closer.
“I’ve also heard your potions are made in this very room.” Pressing my lips to her neck, I gently kiss the pulse hammering beneath her skin, “I would love to see where the magic happens.”
Her eyes flutter closed, just for a moment, and I use it to my advantage.
My eyes drop to her cleavage, the ample bosom capturing my attention for more than just my usual reasons.
Bingo.
The Hoffmann Diamond sits nestled between Evelyn’s voluptuous curves, the glistening gemstone winking at me from its scandalous location.
This is going to be fun.
“I don’t know where you’ve heard such rumours, but I can assure you, nothing so nefarious happens in my part of the woods.”
Her response is breathier than earlier, the lust quickly overtaking the rational part of her brain. It’s a cheap shot, using sex appeal to my advantage, but there’s only so much time in a day and my hourglass is running out fast.
And I still need to find the coffin.
“And here I thought the honest truth was the only one that should be spoken.”
Evelyn smiles, her gaze on my lips rather than my face, “So he does know how to listen.”
“I can even speak on command when the mood strikes.”
She lets out a twinkling laugh, one that’s light and airy and sounds about as fake as you can get. It bounces off my skin without leaving so much as a mark, the kind of sound you forget the minute you walk out the door.
Call me biased, but I would rather have a woman laugh with her heart and soul then just her mouth.
“You are as charming as they say, Christopher Deville.” Keeping her eyes glued to my lips, Evelyn brings her face an inch closer, “Charming, amusing and handsome. Men like you should come with a warning label.”
“And women like you should come with a health hazard.”
She laughs again, her hand coming to rest on my arm as she starts to lead me through the crowd. It’s a possessive kind of gesture, one that scares off the people looking in our direction.
And tells me I’ve still got it.
“The White Castle was my great grandfather’s pride and joy, you know. He designed this place to ensure privacy could be attained at every opportunity, especially when people such as yourself find themselves within our walls.”
Lingering conversation starts to fade as the crowd gets replaced by stone walls and prison cells. The dungeons are more intact in this section of the castle, the unfortunate concrete toilets and miniscule windows offering a miserable outlook for any prisoner unlucky enough to reside here.
My chest grows tight the farther we go, the darkness outside flooding the corridor until I’m forced to rely on the flickering candlelight and the sound of water dripping overhead.
“Your grandfather built secret rooms?”
“He preferred the term underground laboratories, but yes. He was quite fond of rooms that were not easily accessible to the prison guards who used to reside here.”
Evelyn comes to a stop at an ancient looking bookshelf. She reaches up and turns a marble soldier thirty degrees to the left before pressing him back against the wall.
A wall which starts to open.
I blow out a breath when a gust of wind screeches between us, the wide circular opening holding a strange array of instruments. Evelyn bypasses them all without a single glance, her long black dress brushing the dusty floor as she twists a knob and beckons me closer.
“The entrance to my chambers is through here.” She casts a sly smile over her shoulder, “Enter if you dare.”
I can’t tell if she’s joking, so I don’t bother laughing.
Stepping carefully around her, I’m greeted by a smaller room, one that looks abandoned and ruined beyond repair. A single stream of moonlight filters through a grainy window, casting an eerie spotlight on the shattered pieces of a broken mirror.
A soul-piercing scream erupts somewhere in the distance and goosebumps break out along my skin.
“Darling, I don’t see another door-
My mouth slams shut when I see the closed door behind me.
Fucking hell.
Panic starts to take hold, the anxiety welling up in my brain a perfect match for the deranged mask looking at me from the frame of a splintered mirror.
“Evelyn?”
Her name echoes around the room, bouncing off the stone tiles and coming back to me empty. Littered pieces of glass crunch beneath my shoes as I look around, taking in the dirty lab equipment and cracked beakers lining the far bookshelf.
My phone starts to ring, the modern sound feeling entirely out of place in this museum of horror.
“Christopher, get out!”
Horace’s shriek rattles the phone, his panic leaking down the line and sending my heart into overdrive.
“It’s a trap! Get the fuck out of there!”
I can barely understand him from all the yelling. Casting my eyes around the room again, I see nothing that puts me at risk despite the unease growing in my gut.
“Horace, calm down. I need you to-
“I will not fucking calm down! Don’t you understand?! There’s two of them!”
“What?”
“Horace give me the goddamn phone – Christopher, listen to me.”
Jasper’s voice comes down the line, the tension riddling it putting an immediate strain in my shoulders, “You need to get out of there. Evelyn White is just the face of the business, it’s her younger brother who’s the chemist. Evelyn is just the placeholder.”
“How the hell did this not come up sooner?”
Mentally cursing myself for walking into a trap, I’m barely listening to Jasper’s ramble.
“...took three days to get him out. This guy is fucking insane, Deville. You need to get out of there.”
“I need to go.”
“I’m serious, mate. Get out before Everett White finds you.”
The line goes dead just as I turn back towards the broken mirror.
The broken mirror which no longer has a mask hanging on it.
Oh, fuck.