Chapter 34
CAT
Tor and I agreed not to tell Miz about Peach’s dismembered foot; he wrapped it in a bandage of shadows for when we found her, in case it wasn’t too late for surgery.
The sight of that tiny foot enraged me. I returned to our room in Lawrence Hall vibrating with fury, sparks of magic spitting from my fingers.
“Calm,” Tor murmured, his hand on the small of my back.
The second we were back, I threw myself in the shower and turned the water up to scorching, trying to burn the rage out of myself. I needed to be composed when Miz got back, or he’d know immediately something was wrong. If he didn’t already sense it through the bond.
“Pain and Death are back,” Tor called through the glass door, joining me in the shower.
I expected him to reach for me, to wrap my legs around his waist and make good on his promises, but there was a tightness to his features I didn’t like.
He watched me note it and kissed my temple, taking the cloth from me to clean the flecks of dirt from my back, my thighs.
“What did they find?” I asked, wrangling my rage into a box and slamming the lid. Calm, I warned myself, taking long, cleansing breaths.
“People are gathering near that hedge Madde is so wary of,” he replied, surprise blooming through the bond when I took the cloth from him and made slow, careful sweeps down his body.
He liked it a lot. Even if his expression didn’t change, I felt it.
“There’s a stand built of shadow. An audience, waiting for something. ”
A stone dropped in my stomach. “Is this because Alastair reported back?” I breathed.
A sigh punched from his chest. “That, or Cruelty decided on a psycho whim she should play a game today. Who knows?”
We shut off the water and dried quickly, and it felt good to wear actual clothes instead of shadow. I might have been covered by that magic, but I still knew I was walking around naked. I still felt the breeze between my cheeks, and I wasn’t a fan of flashing my goods around.
We returned to the bedroom just as the door opened and Madde burst in, a whirlwind of freckles, red hair, and protective rage. The pink marabou that lined his sheer shirt tickled my jaw as he pulled me into a tight, squeezing hug.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, his rage and the panic I saw on Misery’s face more effectively dousing my rage than the shower.
Miz held up a dark green envelope, the wax seal already cracked. “Another invitation,” he said with a bitter twist of his mouth. “To the final game.