Chapter 15. Ophelia
OPHELIA
Sorrowsong has this way of convincing you that you’re losing your mind, like the fog that constantly hugs the turrets has infiltrated your brain and clouded your judgement.
Did someone really try my door handle last night, or was that part of my dream?
I clutch my phone to my chest, knife in my pocket as I climb the steep hill from the tarn to the thick stone walls of the castle.
Don’t let whoever is texting you stop you from living a normal life.
It’s advice that’s been given to me by Alex, Colette, Mack, Divya, Magda.
It’s advice that’s easy to give when you’re not the one in my situation.
When I found Alex in the kitchen of that ridiculous London mansion last weekend, blood tricking down his jaw, my willingness to listen to that infuriating piece of advice dwindled and died.
If it was Alex being texted, my life being threatened if he dared to spend time with me, I’m sure it’d be a different story.
My boots squelch in the mud beneath me, glossy ferns reaching out for my shins.
It’s been a week. I wonder what he’s up to. What he had for breakfast, what he did at work. I wonder what his mood is.
I wish so much that we’d been dealt a different set of cards. That we could spend weeknights together and go on a holiday and that I could take him home to meet my parents.
I wish I wasn’t scared he’ll get hurt because of me.
The clouds seem to cast a gray filter over the landscape, and over my mood. The campus around the castle is quiet, everyone either hungover, headed home early for the Easter break, or buried in textbooks ahead of the end of term exams next month.
Colette heads to Bora Bora next week, and Divya is off to some fancy beach resort in Sri Lanka a few days after.
I try not to think about going back to my parents’ house. I need to call the nursing home and beg for a job. My bank account is barreling back down toward zero.
A bush rustles somewhere behind me, too much to be caused by the wind. I wait for a deer to emerge from the foliage, but everything falls still.
A prickly sense of unease slickens my palms.
I glance over my shoulder for the third time in as many minutes, willing my tired legs to move faster.
I swear I hear a sharp inhale behind me. I whirl around to face the forest, fingers tightening around my knife as I scan the trees that shroud the path to the castle.
My voice sounds surer than I feel when I break the silence. This has always been my plan, hasn’t it? To keep this between the two of us? I’m tired of waiting around for other people to fix my problems for me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Me, alone?”
I step into the dense foliage, trying to catch a glimpse of anything moving.
“Let’s do this like adults,” I say, into the dark shadows of the forest.
I can feel someone listening, feel someone’s presence.
My phone pings, echoing between the gnarled tree trunks. I scramble to turn it on silent, my pulse a hammer in the side of my neck.
Unknown
Tag, you’re it.
Somewhere through the trees, a figure clad in black takes off running.
Before I can start to chase them, three silenced gunshots fire from my right. The figure falters for a moment before sprinting deeper into the woods, out of sight.
One of Vincenzo’s men steps out of the greenery to my right, a pistol in both hands as he fires two more shots into the trees. He lowers the gun with a sigh of frustration, like it’s not often he misses a target. “Are you all right?”
“I …”
I’m not built for Sorrowsong. I’m not built for any of this.
My friends may not be disgusted by the guns and the danger and the fame and the wealth, but I am.
The man—I think his name might be Luca—plants a heavy hand on my shoulder, jolting me out of my trancelike state. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, but he doesn’t look convinced.
“You saw him, right?” I ask, desperate for confirmation that Sorrowsong isn’t snatching my sanity.
“Didn’t get a look at their face,” he grunts, pressing a phone to his ear. I take a step farther into the woods, but he grabs my arm and shakes his head.
The air isn’t freezing, but my teeth chatter violently, the inside of my jacket like sandpaper against the goose bumps over my skin.
“Why did you have to do that?” I snap, suddenly frustrated that I wasn’t alone, that I couldn’t chase my stalker into the woods and finish this once and for all.
Luca stares at me for a beat, realizing I’m serious. “Save your life?”
“Intervene.” I sound manic, one hand flying up in the air as I turn to face the forest, but it’s no use. They’re long gone.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and curses in Italian. “Belladonna wasn’t lying about you.”
“What?”
“Survival instincts of a moth.”
I stand on the forest’s edge for what feels like forever, until more of the Morello’s men have vanished into the trees to search and my anger has stewed and stewed until it’s reached boiling point.
I’m in a trancelike state as my legs carry me up the hill, storming across the overgrown lawns and back to the mansion with a plan taking shape in my mind.
Every other emotion inside me has been replaced by rage. I open up my texts and fire off my first reply.
Ophelia Winters
You wanted me to hand myself over?
Unknown
This could all be so simple.
Ophelia Winters
Tomorrow?
A location pings through, a small patch of woodland not far from a petrol station near Lochinver.
Unknown
5am. Leave the gunman behind, this time.
Ophelia
It’s a date.
Obviously, I’m not going to go alone. That’s literally the first mistake that every horror movie heroine makes. Instead, I dial the number of someone who is most likely going to ignore my call.
The line rings for so long that I think I’m right, until Belladonna’s smooth voice comes through the speaker.
I don’t think she likes me. I’m just hoping she likes Alex enough to help me.
“I really don’t think we’re close enough for you to start calling me, Winters. You’re more of a text contact.”
Charming. “Did you tell your men I have the survival instincts of a moth?”
“That’s the least of your worries. I’ve said much worse.”
“I need a favor.”
She must detect the seriousness in my tone because the background noise melts away, a door clicking shut on the other end of the line. “What is it?”
“I just need you to drive me somewhere tomorrow.”
“Do I look like I’m running a taxi service?”
“I just want you to drive me somewhere in the morning and be on standby. I can pay you for petrol.”
“Don’t insult me.” She sighs, like I’m a toddler asking her for another round of a game. “Ophelia, if you need someone to die just leave it with us. You’ll make a fucking mess of it.”
I must be hormonal, because Belladonna being willing to kill for me shouldn’t be making me emotional. “I’m just meeting someone is all.”
“Who?”
“I … don’t know exactly who it is.”
The silence drags on, and I can practically hear her trying to make her mind up.
“Does Alex know about this?”
“No. That’s why I’m asking you and not your brother. Listen, last week … last week I stayed a night with Alex in London, and someone smashed into the house.”
“Were either of you hurt?”
“I was upstairs. It could’ve been bad for Alex. Whoever has been sending me these messages … they told me they’d hurt him, and I didn’t listen.”
Her voice carries a lethal edge when it next comes. “Okay, and your plan is …”
“Can you shoot?”
She laughs like she’s offended by the question.
“Whoever it is, I don’t want them dead, but I want them captured. But I’m supposed to be going alone, and …”
“If you contact the police, they won’t show.”
“Yeah.”
“This is a bad idea, you know that?”
I do know that, but I also can’t keep going on like this.
“It’s like my life is being dictated by someone else. I just want to know that I did what I could. Whoever is texting me clearly isn’t traceable. Alex’s investigators would’ve found them by now.”
Her voice quiets, softens around the edges. “I understand that.”
“I’m not asking you to put yourself in any danger. If it looks unsafe, just leave.”
“I won’t be in danger. I am the danger. I’ll swing by your room when I’m back from Raigmore later.”
SORROWSONG’S WILD GARDENS are glistening in a thin film of dew when I meet Belladonna outside the Nightshade mansion at four in the morning.
She’s in black sweatpants and a hoodie, car keys dangling from her pinky as she types something on her phone.
She doesn’t even look up, just bites out a frosty “Let’s go” and starts to lead the way up the gravel path.
We walk silently through the shrouded paths to the car park south of the castle, but I’m jittery, teeth chattering and hands clammy in my pockets.
If there was any tiredness left in me when my alarm went off this morning, it’s been swallowed whole by the adrenaline that has my heart pounding beneath my ribs.
Belladonna unlocks her Bronco and slides into the driver’s seat, putting a steaming flask of coffee in the cupholder. “Still sure?”
“Yeah.”
Her fingernails tap against the large screen on the center console, the interior a combination of black and dark red. It’s a little over a thirty-minute drive when she presses the green button to start the route, pulling out of the parking spot and up the bumpy track to the gates.
I drum my fingers on my thigh, nervous in the awkward silence. I could do with a guidebook right about now. How to Make Small Talk with the Daughter of a Notorious Mob Boss For Dummies.
“How’s your family?” I try.
“I’m supposed to report anyone who asks about my family as suspicious.”
“Alright, then.”
Silence resumes, Belladonna’s icy gaze constantly flicking to the mirror to make sure we’re alone.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my leggings, puffing a slow breath from my cheeks.
I just cannot cope with silence when I’m nervous.
“How’s Raigmore?”
“Fine.”
“Do you have a favorite … area? Of medicine?”
“Neuro.”
That makes sense, somehow. I can imagine her doing that. “Is that what you’re choosing?”
Her jaw tenses, lips press together. “No. Emergency medicine.”