Chapter Forty-Four. When You Don’t Know Who the Monster Is
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
WHEN YOU DON’T KNOW WHO THE MONSTER IS
FARREN
“What’s this?” Mr. Murphy asks, confusion written across his face. “Why are you here?”
He really didn’t think we’d come? Thought we’d sit back and do nothing? “We’ve come to take it back,” I answer, settling into a fighting stance as James tenses beside me. “Nity’s babies will die without this.”
“This?” His eyes widen at the piece of gold I hold. “That’s gold?” Mr. Murphy asks. Asks, as if he doesn’t know. I hesitate. Something’s off.
“Of course it’s gold,” James says, but even he sounds bewildered. “You had your scalers steal it for you.”
“I what?”
I sheath my forearm in gold. I don’t like how this conversation is turning, but all my senses prickle with warning, telling me not to trust this attempt to disarm us.
Mr. Murphy backsteps. “Gold-crafting?” he says, again with that questioning tone. I don’t understand. Why does he keep reacting this way?
Before I can open my mouth, James sends the rest of the gold to hook around his father’s chest, clamping him against the bedroom wall.
Mr. Murphy’s eyes go wild. His fists clench and I know he’s crafting, or trying to. For once in his life, he can’t manipulate metal. “Release me,” he commands. “Son, release me.”
James slowly shakes his head. “You can drop the act.”
“Act?” his father spits. “Explain this right now, James. Right now.”
James glances at me. “I don’t know,” I whisper. But no matter what I’m still grateful he’s trapped against the wall. That he isn’t going to hurt us.
The door bangs open then, and James’s mother rushes in. “What’s going on? What was that sound?” Her gaze flicks from her son, to her husband trapped in gold, to my arm, wrapped in it.
“Aine. So, this was the plan?” Mr. Murphy growls as he struggles against his brace.
“Come on, kids. Come on.” James’s mom waves us out of the room, her pale green skirts billowing.
With one look James and I follow.
“You can’t do this, Aine. He’s my son as much as yours. My son!”
Mrs. Murphy directs us to her room where, unlike James’s, it’s a disheveled disaster. A hole in the wall. A broken picture frame with scattered shards of glass. Clothes strewn across the floor and a wide black trunk atop the bed.
“I’m sorry, James. I couldn’t get your father to leave this morning.” Mrs. Murphy stuffs clothes into her trunk, each fistful a punch to make it all fit. “But we’ll leave now.”
James and I stand there stock-still. My head hurts trying to comprehend. Nothing about the last five minutes feels right. Then it hits me. She wasn’t shocked about the gold. In fact, she seemed to expect it.
James seems to realize at the same time and his face turns stony. “Mom?” he asks quietly.
Mrs. Murphy sighs in relief. “I’m so happy you’re safe.” But she says this to me. Me. She hugs me then, much like the hug when dropping off James, as if we share a common goal. “Thank you, my dear. Thank you.”
“Farren.” James’s voice holds a warning. One I still don’t understand. “Mom, let her go.” Her arms clasp me tighter, that last little squeeze of reassurance, what feels like love.
“Mom. Let. Her. Go.”
Mrs. Murphy pulls away slowly, cradles my cheeks. “Farren, I’m going to need just a little more of your help. I need your help to save my boy.”
“How?” I ask just to keep her talking, to make sense of all this.
“I couldn’t get him to leave this morning. So buy us a few hours. Tell them it was John. All the evidence you’ll need is in the top drawer of his study.”
“Aine!” Mr. Murphy’s howls echo down the hall followed by a string of curses.
It clicks. Mrs. Murphy. She’s asking me to frame her husband. She wants me to lie because in reality … “It was you,” I say softly.
“What was me, dear?”
“You … all of this. You—”
James steps in between us, forcing away her hands. “You stole the gold,” he finishes for me.