Chapter 23
twenty-three
LIZZY
As the auctioneer’s mile-a-minute cadence charms and delights Killroy’s guests, including my sisters, Merrick and I engage in a different sort of game.
Alone on the second floor, we make quick work of our task, searching six bedrooms, a wall-to-wall aquarium, two rooms devoted entirely to families of antique porcelain dolls, and a small library containing enough rare books to give the demon a hard-on, none of which are relevant to our cause.
The primary bedroom yields no secrets either, but I do discover and liberate a pretty sweet collection of pharmaceuticals, stuffed into my purse for further analysis at the lab.
The lab being my bedroom. Which, judging from the looks Merrick keeps giving me, might be a little less cold and lonely tonight.
Or maybe he’s just thinking about those rare books.
Another shiver overtakes me. I can still feel him, everywhere we touched. Can still taste his breath on my lips, warm and soft and inviting.
I’m thinking I’d really like to kiss you…
Nope! Not going there right now. It’s hard enough playing spy games in a dress and heels. Let’s not add flambéed panties to the mix.
After ransacking another useless doll depository and a ridiculously extravagant second-floor kitchen—seriously, rich people need better hobbies—we finally locate a study, complete with requisite leather furniture and a mahogany desk the size of a boat.
“Jackpot,” I whisper, and we’re in, pulling the door shut behind us. We work efficiently, skimming over volumes of dusty law books, hideous sculptures, and a closet full of shoe boxes containing mountains of receipts for—wait for it—antique dolls.
Seriously, the guy has a major stiffy for creepy-ass dolls. Which, although disturbing in its own special way, is not the smoking magical gun we’re looking for.
Most of the desk drawers hold what appear to be legitimate client files detailing various estate holdings, contact information, and notes about potential buyers.
There’s another drawer stuffed with phone chargers and random computer cables.
A stack of utility bills. A letter opener. A coffee mug filled with pens.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
From the last big drawer at the bottom, Merrick pulls out a thick stack of manilla folders.
“Anything interesting?” I’m starting to lose hope.
“Just a series of business agreements.” He flips through the first few folders.
“Looks like Killroy’s contracting with a number of other law firms.” He pages through a few more, reading off names.
“Banks and Riddick, agreement for unspecified consultation services. Polaski, Stearns, and Foley, unspecified consultation services. Barnaby Briggs, same. The Kensington Group, same. Michaels and—”
“Wait… What did you say?” That now-familiar iciness slips over my skin.
“Michaels and Storm?”
“Before that.”
“The Kensington Group? Looks like a corporate firm out of Los Angeles.” He pulls out the contract, skims the pages.
“Another ’consultation’ agreement light on the details, heavy on the bullshit.
Certain tax and regulatory authorities might find the contents of this desk interesting, but I’m not seeing anything we can—Elizabeth? What’s wrong?”
Thoughts collide in my brain, desperately trying to make the pieces fit. “That guy from before? The one bugging me in the hallway?”
The muscle in his jaw feathers.
“His name is Brendan Hayes.” The name tastes like tar on my tongue. “He’s a lawyer with The Kensington Group.”
Merrick places a hand on my shoulder, warm and reassuring, but it’s not enough to chase away the dread. “I will happily remove him from the premises the moment we finish our duties.”
I shake my head, still trying to make sense of this. Why would Brendan’s firm have a contract with Killroy? Kensington doesn’t even do estate law. They’re all corporate.
I pick up the contract, glance through it for myself. It’s dated over a year ago.
“Elizabeth, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost, Merrick. My ex.”
He takes a step back, visibly shocked.
“I left him,” I rush to explain, “but he followed me here from L.A. He showed up at the house a few weeks ago.”
“He what?” Dropping his voice to a raging whisper, which would be very sexy in just about any other scenario, he says, “Why in the devil’s smoking arsehole have you not mentioned this before?”
“I don’t know! I was kind of… mortified?
I mean, the Brendan Hayes era is not one of my finer moments.
Besides, I wasn’t worried—I thought he was just fucking with me.
I basically told him to fuck off and slammed the door in his face.
Until tonight, I really thought that was the end of it.
” I tell him the story—highlights version.
“Clearly it isn’t the end for him.”
“It’s worse than that. This contract is a year old—long before my mother died. I never even mentioned Graves Hollow to Brendan. I didn’t like talking about my past, and he never cared enough to pry.”
“So you’re saying the man you were involved with in Los Angeles is somehow connected—contractually—to the private estate lawyer handling your mother’s affairs, in a small town clear on the other side of the continent?”
“It can’t be a coincidence.” My gut tightens. “He has to be involved in this. The grimoire, or her murder… whatever Killroy’s up to. He has to be.”
“It’s certainly looking that way. Is he the one who signed the contract?”
I flip to the back, holding it up so we can both see.
Red-brown droplets splatter the final page. Brendan’s signature is there at the bottom, right alongside Killroy’s. There’s a third underneath, this one signed with an ancient-looking rune and a first name only: Matthias.
All of it is written in blood.
“Matthias,” Merrick says, so quietly I wonder if it’s just the sound of my own thoughts repeating the name. But then I see the look in his eyes, shifting behind the glasses: confusion. Concern. Fury.
And there, at the very end, fear.
Hastily, Merrick checks the signatures on the other files. All signed by Killroy, Matthias, and random lawyers from the other firms. All signed in blood.
“What the…” My voice is shaking. “Who in the high-school-emo-vibe, cult-leader-circle-jerking fuck is Matthias?”
Merrick meets my eyes. His face has gone blank, belying the raging storm in his eyes. I can’t get a read on him, but I feel his anger, radiating off him like fire. “The highest ranking demon in Hell, second in command to the devil himself. Otherwise known as my boss.”
“Why would your boss be making deals with lawyers? And how is Killroy involved? Is he, like, some kind of power broker for Hell? None of this makes any sense!”
“I don’t know. I don’t bloody know!” Merrick drops the files, shoves a hand through his hair. Paces. When he finally stops, the rage has left his eyes, replaced with something that terrifies me even more.
Guilt.
Silence simmers between us, the blood-stained pages spread out on the desk like a crime scene.
When Merrick finally speaks again, his voice is heavy. Confessional.
“Elizabeth, there are things I haven’t told you about the… about my purpose here. Matthias… The grimoire is… For fuck’s sake, where do I even—”
A commotion in the hallway. Men’s voices, quickly growing louder. Closer.
“Closet!” Merrick whispers, scooping the scattered files into his arms. “Quickly!”
We cram ourselves in and pull the door not-quite-closed just as the main study door swings inward, hallway light spilling onto the polished wood floor.
Through the gap, I watch as three lumbering men gather around the desk: a lean, white-haired man I saw talking to Rachel earlier, a younger blond guy with an ill-advised man bun, and a bald guy in tails who’s one monocle short of fulfilling his destiny as the Monopoly guy stunt double.
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed Brendan isn’t among them.
“…fuck lot of trouble over a dusty old book with nothing written inside,” Monopoly Guy is saying.
“So you keep reminding us.” Whitey punches something into his phone. There’s an answering click and double-beep from the wall behind the desk. A false wall panel slides open, revealing a hidden compartment.
I lean forward, inexplicably drawn toward that dark, cavernous space. There’s something there, calling to me, and everything inside me seems to hum with an answer. My ears are ringing—a high-pitched whine at first, then, the frequency changes. A hundred whispers, all speaking the same message.
We are with you, they say. We are always with you, blood of our blood of our blood…
When Monopoly Guy reaches into the space and pulls out the mysterious object hidden inside—a thick, leather-bound tome with a silver medallion on the cover—it’s only Merrick’s grip on my shoulder, his firm and steady presence at my back, that keeps me rooted in place.
Keeps me from smashing through the door and claiming what’s mine.
The Bonnivarde Grimoire. Dropped unceremoniously on the desk.
Whitey fans the ancient yellowed pages, making my skin crawl, as if his thumb is scraping against my flesh instead of the book. The whispers intensify.
Blood of our blood of our blood…
“Still blank,” Whitey says. “Still useless. This whole thing is fucking wild goose chase.”
Blank? But… Where are the spells?
Monopoly Guy knocks the dude’s hand away, and the book falls shut once more, silencing the whispers. “Either way, Killroy swears the little cunts are useless without it.”
Man Bun snickers. “I could think of a few uses for them.”
Behind me, Merrick shifts into his demon form.
“Don’t let Killroy hear that. He’ll come up with some bullshit about tainting the magic.
” Whitey laughs, but it quickly turns bitter.
Tapping the silver medallion, he says, “Right from the start, it was all about that spell. It was always about that spell. Evelyn’s crowning fucking achievement, and it’s not even in here. ”
I stiffen at the mention of my mother’s name.
The scent of rosemary fills the air, pale blue flowers dancing at the corners of my vision.
Forget-me-nots, just like I saw in my first vision of her in the basement.
She was working on a spell—the herbs and flowers, the slice of a knife, her blood…
an alabaster hand, reaching up from the abyss. Is that what they’re looking for?
“We needed her alive,” Whitey says.
“Wasn’t our call to make.” Monopoly Guy snatches up the book, and I jolt. My body is trembling, energy coiling inside me, waiting to spring.
Merrick draws me closer, murmuring in my ear. “Not yet. Be still.”
“I’ll say it, then,” Whitey says. “Since no one else is man enough. Hayes called it wrong. And now we’re all paying the price.”
Hayes?
Are they saying Brendan murdered my mother?
I search my memories, trying to put together the timeline. Helena said my mother was already dead ten days by the time we got here, so working backward from there…
Oh, God. Brendan was out of town, supposedly in New York City for a corporate event.
Nausea rolls through me. Merrick’s hand is on my shoulder again. Black as night, claws like knives. Shadows wrap around me like a shield.
“Watch your tone,” says Monopoly Guy. “You’re skirting a little close to disloyalty.”
“Nah, I’m with Gorman on this one,” Man Bun says. “Everyone knows Hayes isn’t fit to lead. No one has the fucking balls to stand up to Matthias, and—”
“Enough!” Monopoly Guy shoves a meaty finger in Man Bun’s face. “You swore an oath. I suggest you remember that before your treachery lands us on the wrong side of this fucking war.”
Man Bun raises his hands in apparent surrender, but his shoulders are tight, his jaw locked.
Whitey looks like he just smelled a shit sandwich, but he nods anyway. “Fuck it. We need to get back. It’s starting soon. Hayes will be wanting his book.”
Blood of our blood of our blood…
The men march out with the grimoire, slamming the door behind them.
Merrick’s shadows recede, but he’s still in demon form.
I burst out of the closet, sucking in air. “We need to follow them.”
“Listen to me.” Merrick grabs my arm. “There’s no time to explain. They’re talking about a transference spell—they’re going to force you to transfer the portal guardianship to them.”
“What? What does that even mean? There aren’t even any spells in that book. It’s all blank—”
“I’m sure it’s just a magical safeguard. Elizabeth, you must text your sisters. We need to get everyone out. Now.”
“We can’t leave without the grimoire. It’s what we came for! And what about Brendan? He killed my—”
“There’s no time! I need to get to Warren and Oliver. Find your sisters and meet me outside in five minutes. Don’t delay, don’t speak to anyone else, and above all, don’t get noticed.”
“But it’s the middle of the auction! How am I supposed to—”
“I’ll explain everything later. Please, Elizabeth.
Please do as I say, without question, just this once.
” He cups my face, surprisingly gentle for a full-out demon.
In the depths of his pitch-black eyes, I see his fear.
And something else, something far more vulnerable, something I’m not brave enough to name.
“Merrick…”
He leans in close. Presses a kiss to my forehead that zings all the way down to my feet. “Go. Now.”
He opens the door and steps into the hallway, checking to make sure the coast is clear. His shoulders relax a fraction.
Then, turning to me from the threshold, he offers one last smile. In a tender voice thick with emotion and completely at odds with his fearsome demons form, he says, “I want you to know, I’m—”
The words fall away. His face slackens. In a graceless heap, he drops to the ground.
A syringe protrudes from his neck.
“No!” I rush forward, but someone barrels into me from the side, gripping me like a vise. “Let me go, you fuck!”
Hot, wet breath dampens my ear, the scent of it sickeningly familiar. “Should’ve come to your senses when you had the chance, witch.”
Brendan laughs. Something sharp pinches my neck, and all at once, my body seizes.
The world turns as black as a shadow.