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I cannot move. I physically cannot move. All I can do is stare at Clive. His body. Dead. Because of us. Because of me. My Beast. Another child, dead, killed, murdered.
Winston screams and shouts, and he’s pulling Clive toward him. He’s shaking him, screaming at him. Footsteps outside. Evor and Kate. More shrieking.
“What the hell happened?” Kate turns on me, eyes suddenly bloodshot and bulging, and I recoil. My foot catches on something and I half-fall against the wall, grazing my arm. Her eyes are still on me, eyeballs too big. And she’s shouting that same question over and over.
I can’t answer her.
Bile rises in my throat, and I clap a hand to my mouth, trying to swallow it down. I don’t succeed, just end up spluttering and choking, eyes watering. Pain lassoes my chest.
They’re carrying his body away. Clive’s body. Taking him away. Removing him.
He’s gone...
Another child. Another child dead because of me.
No!
I want to run after him. He can’t be dead. They’re going to save him. That’s what they’re going to do. They have to.
But I don’t move.
“Come on, then,” Red says, directing my attention to him. His breaths comes fast and heavy. He looks a mess. Sweat’s stained rivulets down his face and his short hair’s sticking up at crazy angles. “Unchain me. Let’s go.”
Ysabelle laughs—a rough, coarse sound. She’s still here—but it’s like she suddenly appears again, growing out of the wall, just springing up. Her red hair is a halo of fire. Her eyes hold a wicked light as she looks at me, and then she turns to Red. “Oh, poor baby, you’re so gullible.”
“None of that was true?” Red stands—the chains are just long enough to allow him to, though they clang terribly.
Ysabelle flicks something off her thigh, then brushes her clothes down. “The important bits weren’t.” Her tone is bored—she’s bored?
That’s... I take a deep breath. “How can you even talk about that? Clive’s dead.” I stare up at them, both standing—and that’s when I realize I’ve completely collapsed on the stone floor. I am melting. Can’t do anything. Too weak.
“Let’s just calm down.” Shweta’s voice echoes from somewhere behind me. She’s here too...she hasn’t left me. “Uh, Kacey, I think you need to get some air.”
Some air. Yes. Air. That sounds like a good idea—
I choke again, breaking off my thoughts, and then Shweta’s by my side. She helps me stand, and she leads me past Ysabelle who’s now laughing at Red. His voice is getting more and more high-pitched, until it doesn’t even sound like him as he whines at her. I glance back at them, just as I’m in the doorway, and Ysabelle meets my gaze.
It’s on, she mouths, her eyes on me. She laughs loudly—almost theatrically—then leaves, pushing in front of me and Shweta. Her walk is over-exaggerated, swaying her hips. Bhavesh is here—I don’t know if he was here the whole time or if he left and came back—but I notice the way his gaze lingers on Ysabelle as she leaves. Because she’s powerful and she’s desirable, and I suddenly realize that’s clearly the most dangerous combination of them all.Ysabelle always makes sure everyone notices her and she makes sure everyone continues thinking about her long after she’s out of sight. She’s always been like that.
“Come on,” Shweta says, a hand on my back guiding me.
The screams haunt me as we walk, and I can’t tell if it’s my mind echoing Winston’s and Kate’s cries, or if more people are shrieking. But I hear his name: Clive’s. Over and over again. And the worst part is I can still feel the echo of my Beast’s joy, feel the way he felt euphoric at the point of death, how he snatched Clive’s life for his own consumption. How he swallowed the energy, and how it snapped out of the child.
Into me.
The Beast is me and I’m the Beast.
I choke, suddenly, no warning. Wracking coughs and gulps. Eyes watering. Lungs burning. Snatches of faces in my vision. Faces looming around me, narrowed eyes, accusatory whispers.
She did this.
It’s her.
She’s bad.
Kill her.
Shweta is pulling me faster and faster through the tunnels—we never stop moving. She’s whisking me past tunnelsman after tunnelsman. But then she stops. I crash into her. She lets out a strangled cry, her eyes focused on something ahead.
I look ahead.
And I see...see her, ahead.
Another body.
My heart drops. My mouth dries.
No.
I see the tattoos on the creamy arms, the curves of the body, the shirt, cropped hair.
No.
No.
No!
I try to move, try to turn, try to do anything that means I’m not looking at her. But my body is stone. I didn’t just kill Clive.
I killed Maggot as well.