Chapter 7
C HAPTER 7
RUBY
Eternity.
Somehow, I’ve gone from frustrated by inaction and jittery with panic to completely numb. All sound has dulled, the scent of earth and blood muted, the returned mountain wind nothing on my skin or in my ears.
I must be moving because Wren and I come together at the base of the wide, ornately beautiful stairs that lead up from the garden to the balcony terrace—the place where I first saw Ursula, welcoming us to her home, only an hour before her last breath. Some light has returned to the house, the wide, glass-banked room off the terrace glowing with warmth.
Wren’s fingers threading within mine grounds me.
“You’re bleeding,” she says, dabbing at my arm with a cloth napkin, the white fabric already dotted with her own blood. I am. My porcelain-nicked skin is weeping in thin tracks of crimson between the running pink of watermelon gazpacho.
Infinity has guided Luna all the way to the top of the stairs, the Cerises nipping at their heels behind. Evander is a stoic sentry watching everyone pass with a critical eye. Like it’s his job. And maybe it is.
Someone was murdered here tonight. The Hegemonys will need answers.
That’s when it hits me.
All of us are suspects… but we’re the only imposters.
That icy numbness cracks and shatters. Suddenly I feel the burn of the climb in my tottering heels, the warmth of Wren’s grip, and the tickle of her breath in my ear. “Too much to hope we’re at a murder mystery party?”
If only—Hegemony Manor is certainly the perfect place for one.
But that death was real. As was every strange moment that came after it.
“Yes, too much.” We’re nearly to the top of the stairs, and everyone, not just Evander, is watching us ascend. I concentrate on my feet. “Act normal.”
When we land upon the veranda, Wren immediately captures and cradles the eldest Hegemony’s wrist, her true, tender heart immediately on display. “Oh, Evander, I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so very sorry about your grandmother.”
Evander stiffens under her touch—no one has consoled him. No one has consoled any of the Hegemonys, in fact, save for Infinity squeezing Winter’s elbow while passing by where she and Auden hold court on either side of the main entrance to the house. “Yes, we’re very sorry for your loss.”
When Evander answers us, it’s with a curt nod and a direct question.
“Where’s your grandmother?”
Oh. God. That’s why everyone is staring at us. Marsyas is unaccounted for—which is immediately suspicious. Which means we are too, without them even knowing the rest.
“I—I, uh,” I fumble, accent on sideways.
“She bolted for the loo,” Wren answers with a little shrug. Genius.
“Where is the loo?” I ask Evander, and it takes everything I have to keep my words level over the rising drumbeat of my heart. “I think we should perhaps check on her—and clean ourselves up.”
I hold up the bloodstained napkin apologetically. Wren shifts her wounded shoulder into the light streaming from the endless bank of windows before us. How we seem to have been the only ones hit by flying shards of ruined dinnerware, I don’t know.
“You’re bleeding?” Hex asks, stepping away from where his family is clustered and whispering near the doors, oddly concerned for how contrary he’s been with us.
“Don’t touch them,” Evander snaps, wheeling on the other boy, and sliding his broad frame firmly between Hex and us.
The twin immediately halts and holds up both hands. “I’m just trying to help, man.”
“You are not,” Evander spits.
Hex rolls his eyes but retreats. Evander waits for the other boy to join his family, who are being led into the house by Auden and Winter, the Starwoods already inside, before turning his attention back to us. When he does, his mossy-green eyes are as fierce as the cut of his jaw and slice of his words. “I know you’ve been away but don’t let him—or anyone in his family—ever touch your blood.”
My heart skips.
“Understood,” I confirm, almost mechanically. Even though I don’t understand at all. The Cerises own some sort of medical conglomerate, per Marsyas’s file, but they clearly aren’t doctors or they surely would’ve come to Ursula’s aid—I think.
But nothing is making sense at the moment.
There’s a ringing in my ears and I try to focus. We need a second alone. I need to try again.
“The loo?” I prompt, this time glancing past Evander to search what I can see of the ornate room he’s mostly blocking from me with his brawler’s body.
A muscle ticks in his square jaw. “It’s through the solarium, down the hall, to the right. I’ll escort you.”
“That’s very polite, but not necessary,” I tell him, both because he has a myriad of more important things to worry about than us finding our way to the nearest bathroom in this massive estate, and because Wren and I really need to talk.
“I’m not being polite. I don’t want three Blackgates missing.”
That… is not a jab at us—that’s an outright bludgeon. I offer a stiff smile and follow him over the threshold from the stone terrace into the house we’ve wondered about since we were little girls.
It’s everything I can do to put one foot in front of the other, but Wren, she can’t help it—she’s soaking in the sight before her despite the circumstances.
“It’s exactly how I thought it would be,” she whispers, “right smack between Wednesday Addams all grown up and Edgar Allan OH, NO.”
Wren isn’t wrong.
Replica gas lamps ring the room, cozying up to wallpaper lush enough to upholster a chaise lounge. The furniture is exquisitely polished and on par, as we weave through an almost endless maze of antique pieces. I’d gawk if I wasn’t scared shitless.
After a quick check of the progress of others, bottlenecked at a threshold along the room’s opposite wall, Evander gestures toward a door. “I’ll wait outside.”
Nodding, I haul my sister through the door and close it with a quick, and hopefully not suspicious, wave to Evander. Luckily, there’s a lock on our side, and I turn it as silently as possible before surveying the space. The washroom has a large parlor with red velvet fainting couches, more ornate wallpaper, and a chandelier that looks to be actually attached to the etched, paneled ceiling. The “loo” is bigger than my bedroom.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?” Wren whispers on agonized repeat as I detach myself and bang around, checking for any sign of Marsyas.
I fail. “No Nona.”
“No shit. She did it and ditched us,” Wren answers from the glistening antique porcelain sink, where she’s wiping drying blood from her arm. She shakes her head and launches into a low rant, aimed at the running water. “I really, really believed it was a murder mystery party and Marsyas was in on it—classic red herring for her to go missing and then turn up as victim number two. But then Ursula’s soul gave us literal orders before the earth breaded her body like a chicken tender. That was magic, wasn’t it? It had to be.”
Her eyes flash to mine in the mirror and I nod.
I can’t say it— magic .
Magic is the only explanation and yet, that word and what it means has lodged in my windpipe as if it’s too much of a reach.
Nothing computes. Well, other than that this situation is all wrong and the dead body is only a small factor in that equation.
“And no one batted an eye. What the fuck are we supposed to do with any of that?” Wren continues, whirling around. She thrusts a hand out in frustration. “I’m about to pass out on that fainting couch right there.”
“Definitely don’t do that. We already look guilty enough.”
“That’s what it’s for.”
“Not when we’re suspects.”
On furious, uneven steps, my sister crosses the room, lower lip wobbling. She sweeps both hands into mine and her whisper drops until she’s nearly mouthing the words. “We shouldn’t be suspects at all. We’re not actually related to Marsyas.”
“Yes, because we’re imposters, which makes us look like bigger suspects, not lesser ones.”
Wren’s hazel eyes bore into mine, striking under the curtain of her dark bangs and the smoky sheen of her makeup. “Then we vanish too. We run. That’s what you wanted to do before we walked into whatever the cursed hell this is. Let’s do it. Let’s go.”
She’s suddenly craning her neck, searching for an escape route that’s not there. No alternate door, no window, no fireplace flue. Dropping my hands, Wren strides forward, eyeing a vent above the coffee table. “Watching all those action movies with Dad is about to pay off. I just hope the Hegemonys clean their air ducts. Give me a boost.”
“I—”
“Are you all right in there?” Evander pounds hard enough to rattle the lock.
Shit.
“Yes! Just a minute!” Wren calls sweetly. Then, to me, she whispers, all shiny eyes and trembling lips, “We’re so screwed.”
I place my hands on her shoulders and lean into her ear. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back out there, and when the opportunity presents itself, we run. No hesitation, we just do it. You and me. If Marsyas suddenly reappears, she’s on her own. Got it?”
Just as I did when we arrived, I tug on Wren’s hand. Pinky to pinky.
She nods, watching our fingers twine together. Then, she pastes her Blackgate smile straight back on, and paws the fresh tears away from her eyes. When she answers, it’s in her accent, prim, proper, and lip-curling.
“You and I just spent six weeks doing festival falafel improv, we know how to exit a scene.” She sniffs and draws her shoulders back. “And how to enter one.”
I tug at her hand.
“Flirty but respectful,” I remind her in a whisper because we both know over-the-top is her comfort zone. “We feel sorry for him—”
“I do.”
“You do. And you’re worried for Marsyas—”
“I am.”
“You are. You can do this, Kaysa.”
Wren nods. I breathe a thin sigh of relief. Together we unlock the door.
Evander is waiting for us, propped against the wall, just as he was before—and I’m relieved he wasn’t leaning in, eavesdropping. Wren greets him with a worried smile. “Nona isn’t in there, I’m afraid. Is another washroom nearby? Somewhere else she would’ve gone?”
His handsome features are as taut as a bowstring. As if he surfaces the feelings underneath, he’ll snap.
“There are sixteen bathrooms in this residence, and we have a will reading to attend. While I would prefer all parties be present for the reading, we must be going. We’ll search in more detail for your grandmother after our conference in Ursula’s study.” Then with the politeness of a request but the urgency of an order: “Please, they’re waiting.”
“Yes, of course,” Wren replies. “Lead the way.”
I squeeze my sister’s hand as we follow Evander into the mysterious halls of Hegemony Manor.