Chapter 15
CHRISTOPHER
I’ve been in a lot of shitty situations.
But nothing, as far as I can remember, comes anywhere close to this level of creepy.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”
A childish peel of laughter rings out like an old recording, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Rags for riches, that’s how she goes. And yet, not even Christopher Deville was prepared for this show.”
The mask frozen in a horrifying scream looks at me from fractured pieces of glass. The broken mirror stands in front of me, but whoever’s behind the freak show is doing a damn fine job of reflecting their face off every surface imaginable.
“Will he stumble, will he fall? Or will he claim the fairest one of all?”
“The rhyme is cute, but let’s put the mask away and try to be civil-
A shard of glass comes flying towards the back of my head.
Dropping to the floor, I roll over the shattered pieces, ripping yet another shirt and pulling my backup pistol out of its holster.
Locked and fucking loaded.
“Sorry, mate. Playtime’s over.” Swinging the gun around the room, I’m prepared to shoot anything that moves, “Come on out so we can chat.”
Something heavy hits the broken mirror, shattering the rest of the glass. Distracted by the noise, I have half a second to make out the masked man charging at me with a knife.
He tackles me to the ground, sending us rolling over bloodstained shards. The gun gets knocked out of my hands, the little fucker slashing at my arms until I have no choice but to hit back.
A muffled yelp slips out when I flip us so his back is pinned to the broken glass. Blood paints the edges of his mask, the stark blue eyes behind the thick plastic looking at me with unfiltered fear.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Gripping his shoulders, I pin him in place, “Take off the mask and let’s talk like normal people.”
And just like that, the fear melts from his eyes.
“Sorry, mate.” Bright irises flicker with something dangerous, “Playtime’s over.”
My accent floats through the room, a perfect replica of my voice coming out of someone else’s mouth.
If I thought the mirror shit was creepy, this is fucking abominable.
“What the hell-
My words get cut off by his forehead. Smashing the mask against my face, he head butts me hard enough to crack the thick plastic right down the middle.
Bleeding from my nose and my arms now, I blink wildly and try to hold on to him. He manages to squirm out from under me, sending glass skittering in every direction.
“Everett, wait!”
His stride doesn’t falter as he races for the door, letting the two halves of his mask tumble to the ground. The pieces of broken plastic stare back at me, the horror in the ghost’s expression identical to the one I feel when I finally hear it.
The high-pitch squeal of compressed air.
Whipping my head around, I can just make out the silhouette of a canister rolling out from beneath the bookshelf. A beam of moonlight catches the metal surface, casting a spotlight on the skull and crossbones sitting beneath the White family crest.
Poisonous gas.
The thought registers at the same time I sprint for the door. Using my shirt to cover my mouth, I barely make it out of the room before the nausea starts to set in.
Slamming the door shut behind me, I heave, feeling my eyes and nose burning with the lingering chemicals. The musty smell of the cellar doesn’t offer much reprieve, but it’s enough to clear my vision and spot the flash of brown hair slipping through another hidden door.
I go stumbling forward, barely making it through the stone wall before it closes. Darkness encompasses me, and this time, the nausea is real.
Barely choking the stomach bile back down, I close my eyes and take a breath.
When I open them, the room has flickered to life, the running boards offering a string of neon lights that weave between massive wooden crates.
Crates that seem to be hissing.
Ignoring that particular problem, I lay eyes on the White prodigy weaving his way between them.
His back is turned to me, the edges of his hair standing up in every direction.
An uneasy gait hints at an old injury, the hunched state of his shoulders keeping his face turned in the opposite direction.
He doesn’t notice me until it’s too late.
Slamming my shoulders into the back of his knees, I send him flying towards the ground. Grabbing his legs and yanking him backwards, I crush him to my chest and press my backup pistol hard against his forehead.
“Think carefully before you hit me again.” Jamming the barrel into his skull, I tighten my grip, “My patience is wearing thin.”
“Do it.” His voice cracks and fizzles, sending a tingle of electricity up my arm, “Pull the trigger.”
“You think I won’t?”
“I hope you do.” He pushes his head back against the gun, “I hope you do me a favour and pull the trigger.”
“If you really meant that, you wouldn’t have run back there.” Shoving him away, I watch him stumble forward, “Or smashed my face with a mask.”
Something close to a smile flickers across Everett’s face when he turns around. His face is splattered with blood, the soft features of a teenage boy looking back at me.
Christ, he’s young.
Freckles decorate the bridge of his crooked nose, his jawline and cheekbones a little too full to be defined. Cobalt irises seem to take up the majority of his face, the shockingly pretty colour cold and empty beneath the weight of eyeliner and sleepless nights.
He looks too young to be empty already.
“Fight to stay alive, fight to give up and die. Are they really all that different?”
“Depends on where you’re standing.”
Keeping a tight grip on my gun, I watch him reach up and carefully remove the flesh coloured device stuck to his throat. It cracks and fizzles, the blood dripping between the cracked plastic making it seem more hazardous than useful.
“What the hell is that?”
“Nothing toxic, I’m afraid.” Everett lets out a sigh, “Voice cloning technology embedded with an AI algorithm I’ve been working on. It’s supposed to work under high stress situations, but I didn’t think about making it water resistant.”
I eye him warily, “You tried to kill me for a science experiment?”
“Technically, you tried to kill me first.” He pauses, thinking it over, “But yes.”
Unbelievable.
“Is this what you do all day?” I gesture to the piece of plastic in his hands, “Build cloning devices?”
“My primary work is done in the lab, working with chemicals. This,” He holds up the device, “Is just one of my hobbies. Something to keep my mind and hands occupied so I don’t grab the nearest bottle of bleach and guzzle it down.”
Empty blue eyes drop to the gun clutched in my hands.
“We don’t get to choose this life, you know. Our parents get a choice, but no child born within these borders are graced with such opportunity. We are forced into the darkness, into the terrors that haunt our every waking moment until the day we die.”
Unexpected sympathy drips through my chest.
“Did you always like science?”
“It was my escape until the day it turned into my prison.” Another half-smile, “Now there is nothing I hate more.”
The Witch of Wolf Hollow stands before me, his face dripping with blood and his soul screaming for mercy. It’s a tragic sight, one that has my heart breaking as I stare at the boy clinging to the edge of a hopeless abyss.
“I’m here to steal the Hoffmann Diamond.” Offering the fragile kid a grain of unfiltered truth, I give him a wry grin, “Along with the gemstones from your mother’s coffin.”
“I know.”
“Then you should also know the Hoffmann brothers are still pissed you killed their sister.”
“She deserved to die.” Something sparks in Everett’s eyes, “Sylvie was cruel and abusive. Demanded the house look a certain way or they would all go to bed hungry.”
“Some might describe your own sister with similar attributes.”
“Evelyn has her faults, but she does not prey on the weak.” His chin lifts, the slight shift in his stance telling me I’ve struck a nerve, “She took my poison and she used it to free the dwarves. To release them from Sylvie’s enslavement.”
“And to steal the necklace from her dead body.”
“My sister took the necklace out of greed and jealousy. There was nothing except pettiness behind her careless actions.” He pauses, a faraway look in his eyes, “If I had known what the outcome would have been, I would have approached the situation differently.”
“You were close with them?”
A slight nod, “One of them rescued me from the wishing well.”
He reaches up and swipes the blood from his lips, drawing my attention to the chipped black polish decorating his fingernails.
“I was trapped down there for three days. Three days with water at my feet and slippery cobblestones around me. I was trapped in complete darkness until a drop of sunshine saved me.”
“Your family didn’t notice you were gone?”
“Didn’t notice or didn’t care.”
I study him silently, thinking about the different ways Everett White was saved that day.
“After Sylvie’s death, your family was banned from ever stepping on Hoffmann territory again.”
“Not all stories have a happy ending.” Sad, resigned eyes meet mine, “Sometimes the best you can hope for is just an ending.”
There’s a rock stuck in my throat when I holster my gun. Slipping my hand inside my pocket, I grab the piece of paper that was never supposed to see the light of day.
“Dorian told me to pass this along.” Swallowing hard, I unfold the drawing and look at the stick figures, “I thought it was for Evelyn at first, but now...”
Evie doesn’t say a word when I pass it over. A single tear falls down his cheek, smearing the eyeliner and staining his pale skin a darker shade of grey.
“I think he misses you.”
“I miss him too.” Another tear joins the first, his trembling fingers touching the stick figures reverently, “My little drop of sunshine.”
There’s a long stretch of painful, yearnful silence.
“You may not have chosen this life but you do get to choose the people you love.” A pang of homesickness splinters my chest, “And if you’re really lucky, they might choose to love you too.”
It took me years to realize my crew wasn’t just a clump of misfits or a string of runaways. We weren’t rescue animals from the street, desperate for the slightest bit of affection to be thrown our way.
We were independent people, searching for shelter and acceptance.
What we found was a family instead.
“One. Nine. Three. Seven.”
“What?”
“One. Nine. Three. Seven.”
He doesn’t look away from Dorian’s drawing, “That’s the code you will need to get into my mother’s glass coffin. Follow the crates until you see a cabinet with an apple sitting on the top shelf. Twist it forty-five degrees to the left and that’s where you will find her resting place.”
My stunned silence fills the room.
“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for the guy who never got the chance to throw a coin down the wishing well.”
Evie starts to grin, a lopsided smile that starts at the corner of his mouth and grows until it encompasses his face, “And I never did like the old hag all that much.”
A bark of laughter slips free, “I’ll pass along your condolences.”
There’s still a smile staining his face when I turn and start following the crates.
“Oh, and Evie?”
He looks over at me, the soft glow in his eyes akin to a single drop of sunshine.
“I know someone who would be pretty fucking upset if you left this world without saying goodbye.” My eyes drop to the forbidden love clenched between his fingers, “Maybe think about that the next time you consider drinking a bottle of bleach.”
A blush darkens his cheeks, “Dorian deserves better.”
“Not in his mind. And I think we can both agree he, of all people, deserves a happy ending.”
It’s the message I want lingering in his mind, the reminder that he’s not alone. Even when the darkness beckons, there’s always going to be one person in his corner waiting to pull him out.
Whether it’s true or not.
I’m about to leave when another thought hits me. Pausing mid-pivot, I look back at the witch who never did get the chance to make his dreams come true.
“How did you know I would be here tonight?”
“At White Castle?”
“At Evelyn’s birthday party.”
Evie frowns, his eyes darting across my face, “This entire party was arranged to welcome you to the town. My sister has not openly celebrated a birthday since she was twenty-one.”
The confession stops me in my tracks.
“Who told you to organize this party?”
“A member of the board, although technically it was her son who encouraged it. For as demanding as the pharmaceutical business is, our family falls low on the rungs of power in Wolf Hollow. When a demand comes from a higher position, we tend to bow as gracefully as possible.”
It made sense, given the sorry state of the castle’s exterior.
“And you jumped to the conclusion I was here to steal the diamond?”
“Wouldn’t be a stretch, considering your portfolio.” Evie lets out a quiet laugh, “But no. The Dragon’s daughter passed along the information. Her name is-
“Calista Drache.” I close my eyes with a sigh, “I am familiar with the she-devil in town.”
“Would you like a canister of poisonous gas? I can’t guarantee survival but it might buy you some time.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got this one.”
I’m lying through my teeth but God knows I don’t want to kill the woman.
I want to do a lot of things to her but kill isn’t one of them.