Chapter 25
C HAPTER 25
RUBY
“Do you think one of them killed her?” Wren whispers in the plush confines of the en suite bathroom that once belonged to the great Ursula Hegemony.
Evander’s great idea seemed to be locking ourselves in the High Sorcerer’s suite of rooms. Now my sister and I are huddled together in a dead woman’s bathroom, hoping that we haven’t made a terrible mistake. I’ve cleaned my arm and changed out my shirt for another of Winter’s donations.
“I don’t know.”
It’s the truth. Logically, we’re getting mixed messages. The magic says there’s no one else on the grounds. But the magic also should’ve trapped Luna’s murderer before the victim’s shroud even materialized. Unless non-magical murder—like the kind attempted with the knives—is a loophole… which means one of these nine people…
“Well, I mean, somebody killed her,” Wren cuts in. “And it’s possible the same person tried to knife you and Evander.”
Who did knife me. Who nearly killed Evander.
“I wasn’t taking this seriously enough—God, you’re right.” Wren presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, like a hard reset on a computer. “I… I can’t believe we’re locked in here with a killer. I was so sure it was Marsyas and all we had to do was survive the circumstances she left us.” Her hands fly away and she snatches my elbow. “Do you think everyone else is having this exact same conversation?”
“A hundred percent, yes.”
Winter and Auden used a hidden stairwell built into Ursula’s sprawling suite to retrieve food from the kitchen. Evander absconded to the secondary bath to clean up his bloodied mess of a torso, insisting that myself—and, therefore, Wren—use the larger bathroom to wash off the blood and change. And though all three of them aren’t together, motive and opportunity are likely the topic of choice. For them, for the Cerises, and for Evander and Infinity too, even if they’re just talking it through with themselves.
“I don’t see how they couldn’t.” I smooth down my newest top in the same flowy, aggressively pastel style as the first. It’s far too soft and pristine for the sharpness of today’s blood. “Unless the one who did it told the others and they’re all talking about how to look innocent for the next day.”
Wren splashes water on her face, bangs damp. She sweeps them to the side, blue smudges darkening her eyes underneath. “But, like, why? Why kill her? She was a little old lady. She didn’t hold a relic, and there’s no way she killed Ursula—they were friends since diapers.”
I sink to the floor, my back to the ornate claw-foot tub, the tiles cold against the thin fabric of my tights and tank top. I hug my thighs into my chest and set my chin against the tops of my knees. My previously pristine shoes are now a muddy mosaic of trail grit caked onto brilliant white leather, more than one fat drop of blood staring back.
I glance away from the reminder of the attack and force a deep inhale, only to be hit with the mingling scent of old-fashioned cold cream and dying roses, weeping from a vase on the vanity. A visceral reminder that we’re in a space that once belonged to a woman who wasn’t just a matriarch, a High Sorcerer, but a human being.
Gone now.
“If someone thought Luna killed Ursula,” I start, “they would’ve fessed up because then that would be one less thing for all of us to worry about, or they would be on magical lock-down because Ursula’s spell said no vigilante shit.” I take a deep breath. “It’s probably more likely that someone killed her because they knew she knew they had killed Ursula, or, using Evander’s logic for our knife attack, that she made too good a competition for High Sorcerer.”
Nodding, Wren slides to the floor across from me, long legs splayed out in front, a light sunburn from our hike pinking the skin on her forearms. “I’m so glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”
Her pinky twines in mine, and maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the stress, or a delayed reaction to being grazed by a knife and targeted by three more, but a knot of emotion gathers hard and hot in my throat. I draw in a shaky breath and nod.
It’s all I can do.
“Okay… so looking at everyone… it’s got to be Hector, right? I mean, he literally drove away from his kids and lied about it, so, opportunity. And then after Luna’s death, the real him crawled out like that scene in Alien, just straight out of his gut, into the light.” Wren tears at the front of her shirt, mimicking a creature emerging from her belly. She sighs dramatically, arms flopping into the air and then back to the tile, pink nail polish a flash in the sconce light. “He made it clear he didn’t care about Luna, or Infinity’s anguish, he only cared about the relics. Maybe that’s all he’s ever cared about. Regaining control lost four hundred years ago by that relative of his.”
Emotions rolling in the pit of my gut, I page back to the beginning in my mind. To the last time Ursula was alive, the dinner that feels like a lifetime ago, with the flirting, the awkwardness, the ghosts and gazpacho.
“He was seated next to her at the table. To her right. Marsyas was to her left.” My voice is rough, and I try to clear my throat. “Meaning it could still be Marsyas who murdered Ursula, and whoever did this to Luna and whomever attacked us in the woods could be someone else.”
We’re silent for a few seconds before Wren stiffens.
“Could…” she starts. “Bear with me, I don’t know how magic stuff works, but do you think maybe she was magically poisoned or spelled or whatever in the same way Ursula was? Not at the same time, because whatever it was seemed to work quickly within the small window of opportunity everyone had with her, but… maybe the killer had extra? Got Luna alone, or she threatened them, and they acted while we were all spread to the wind.”
Her eyes narrow as she talks through it.
“I mean,” she continues, “if it was a fast poison or spell—potion?—it could’ve been very quick.”
“True.” Then my stomach bottoms out and I scoot across the tiles to whisper as low as possible to Wren. “I hate to say it, but the Hegemonys were also in the building longer than the rest of us. The three of them had opportunity, and they’d probably know how to get around the spell logistics.”
Wren’s face sours into a grimace.
“You don’t think one of them took out their grandma and then murdered a second grandma, and maybe orchestrated a fake attack on us in the woods… do you?” When she puts it like that, it seems more than farfetched. It seems ludicrous. “I mean, why not just murder Hector? He’s the one who wants their special title. Apparently, Luna never did.”
“But that’s not something everyone knew until just now. Infinity clearly didn’t mention it and neither did Luna as far as we know.”
“God. Ugh. True.” Wren sighs with her entire body. “Are all the mysteries you read like this? With questions and no answers and motives and blergh, I have a headache. I need more visuals. What is going on here? I want off this ride.”
“You and me both, kid.”
Wren balls herself up and drops her head between her knees. “So how do we survive this new murderer who is not our missing nona? Just abscond to our suite and slurp from the tap? Maybe open a window, hope a crow flies in, and roast it over the ever-present fire?”
“God, that got bleak fast.”
“I’m hungry. And I just realized it. It’s been that kind of day.”
I sit up. “Okay. They’ll be back soon and this aside of ours might seem suspect. So, our plan: we keep doing what we’re doing—proving we’re good partners, and not suspicious in any way despite our grandmother’s apparent tyrannical designs, our amnesia regarding our father’s death, and our obvious complete lack of magical knowledge.”
“Seems tenuous considering there’s a whole new dead body in the mix. I think we’re going to need more than that.”
I release a heavy sigh. “I’ll think of something.”
“Or maybe I will,” Wren counters with an arch of her eyebrow.
I shove myself to standing. “You can’t flirt your way out of this.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “It’s my superpower but it’s not my only power. I have other skills and you know it.”
“I do. But I do not need your impulsivity to mess this up right now.”
As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I regret it.
Wren shoots to her feet. It’s not just an indignant reaction—actual anger curls her lips and kicks up her tone. “Hey, that’s not fair.”
Maybe not. But I don’t care. I— we —do not have time for this shit. I roll my eyes in the same way she does so very often. “Take it up with me when we survive this. Until then, follow my lead.”
“Don’t be a dick—”
“Please tell me you still have your knife.”
Wren matches my eye roll with an annoyed little scowl before hiking up her tank top and patting the slim outline of the butter knife. “What does that have to do with anything? It’s not like it can hold a candle to a meat cleaver or magic. We’re basically sitting ducks—”
“Lavinia?” Evander’s voice. I clamp my hand over Wren’s mouth. “Kaysa? Are you doing okay?”
“Yes! One sec!” I shout as Wren rips at my hand—tired of this move of mine, but apparently still in need of knowing when to shut up because if he heard what she just said, our cover is probably blown. “Just tidying up .”
The last word comes out nearly a yelp as Wren bites my fingers.
My hand flies away, tears immediately springing to my eyes at the pain.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, holding my throbbing hand, angry skin marked with white indentations from her teeth. Pinpricks of blood well to the surface.
Wren’s eyes are fierce and furious. “I love you and I’m glad you weren’t hurt today but you aren’t the only capable one. I got us into this, I can get us out.”
Then, Wren wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, pastes on her best grin, bodily sweeps my shocked form aside, and unlatches the lock.
I suck at my fingers, blood metallic on my tongue, and shove my throbbing hand into my pocket—and the knife pressing coolly into my aching skin.