I drop the act. There’s no point. Celene stands in the rectangle of light, a blade of darkness in a black suit, the blazer concealing her shoulder wound. When I left her in the Dead Room, she was bent over, half dead herself. Was it all an act? Now she’s holding herself with the arrogance of a prize fighter ready to hurl herself into the ring.
‘Is Mara here?’ I ask, partly because I’m interested and partly because I need time to think about how I’m going to play this.
Celene steps into the library. ‘He will be soon.’
Good. Then we can finally get this party started.
‘You have the gun?’ Her gaze drops to my hidden hand and I bring the Crook Spear into the light, saying nothing.
‘I asked you to leave it,’ Celene says.
‘I have a tragic history of failing to follow orders.’
‘This isn’t a game, Rumer.’
‘Of course it is, and you don’t get to set the rules. Mara wants the gun, I want Bolt’s freedom. What do you want?’
Celene stops behind the leather sofa on the other side of the library, gripping its back with both hands. Is she imagining crushing my throat? Is she restraining herself?
Come on, mother. Show me your true face.
‘I’ve made my feelings clear,’ she says softly, a note of danger in her voice. ‘Mara has to be stopped. As soon as he’s in our custody, I’m done with this life. I’m leaving it behind for good.’
I snort. ‘Like it’s that easy.’
‘Rumer–’
‘No! You’re living in a fucking fantasy world if you think you can just move on. People don’t change. You’re a killer. You’ll always be a killer.’
‘Give me the gun.’
The spider in my mind thrashes as Celene comes out from behind the sofa.
‘Stay out of my way or I’ll put a bullet in you,’ I growl.
‘Give me the gun and Mara will leave you alone. I promise.’
‘I don’t need your protection. I’ve survived this far without it.’ I raise the gun. ‘I’m not kidding. Stop.’
Celene doesn’t stop. Her expression’s serene as ever, a blank page, as if I haven’t got the Crook Spear pointed right at her. The part of me that’s her, the shard between my ribs, vibrates, urges me to do it. Pull the trigger. There’s one shot left before the Crook Spear loads up the magic bullet. Why not use it on my mother? There would be a kind of poetic justice in that.
She’s halfway across the library when Bolt’s voice speaks in my ear.
If you had to kill her, could you do it?
My mother speaks in my other ear; the things she said in the Dead Room.
I’ll never escape my past, not until it chases me down and buries me in the dirt.
I’m her past. So is the gun in my grip. We’re a cosmic force and I feel the curse fizzing inside me, frothing through every sinew, burning and blistering, hardening my skin into armour.
‘Please, Rumer. Don’t.’
The sound of my name on her lips sets furious sparks spitting in my chest.
The words snap out. ‘You lost the right to order me around years ago.’
‘I know, but Rumer, I don’t think you realise… I’m the only one who understands you.’
‘You don’t. You can’t.’
She’s halfway across the room and the Crook Spear follows her. My hand isn’t my own any more; it has a mind of its own.
‘I do.’ Her grey eyes are unblinking bullet holes. ‘I know more about you than you could ever imagine, because we’re the same. We have the same mind. It’s the reason I knew you’d be up here stealing the gun, why I’ve been able to track you down every time you’ve disappeared.’
‘Stop.’
‘I’m you and you’re me.’ She’s speaking so softly it’s like she’s murmuring an incantation. A spell to subdue me. After everything, she’s still trying to control me. She’s Eris, the Greek goddess of war and strife and, though we’re a pair, inextricably linked, she has powers I’ll never understand.
‘The only part of me that’s anything like you is the part that kills.’
‘You’ve never killed anybody,’ Celene murmurs. Troll. Frances. George. Dominic.
Their names pump through my veins, a never-ending torture, and she can’t possibly understand.
‘You made sure I could never have anything, anybody,’ I say.
‘I want you to be happy.’
‘You want me to be alone! You made it so I’ll always be alone. If anybody ever gets close to me…’
She’s so close now they’d have trouble identifying her if I pulled the trigger. Then she’s reaching out, laying a hand on the Crook Spear, and my jaw hurts I’m gritting my teeth so hard.
Time’s up.
‘Screw this,’ I spit.
I wrench the gun away from her, then swing it, clocking her in the face. She falters, white hair concealing whatever damage I’ve caused. She glares at me and her expression is torn between anger and something else. Fear? Remorse?
‘You don’t want to do this,’ she says.
I’ve never wanted to do anything more. I throw myself at her and we crash to the floor. The party’s a dull murmur beneath us but I only see her crumpled beneath me. I pin her to the floor with my knees and I raise the gun, not knowing if I want to shoot her or hit her again. Before I can decide, she bats my hand away with surprising force and the gun spins across the floorboards, disappearing under a table.
‘Rumer, listen–’
I can’t listen to any more of her lies. Her words scratch under my skin, drawing blood as they take root and all I want is to shut her up. Make her feel just a little bit of what I’ve felt since she abandoned me. Left me to become whatever it is I’ve become.
Not a shadow. Not a woman.
A nothing.
My fist strikes her jaw and for once it’s my fist. Not hers, not the fizzing, oozing blackness driving me. I want to hit her again and again and again, see her bleed.
I grab her shoulder, the injured one, and she bares her teeth, bucking beneath me. I try to hold her down, but then she pummels my gut and I can’t breathe.
There she is. There’s Celene Cross.
She shoves me off her and I fumble to my feet, but then my skull’s crashing into wood and my mother’s got me up against the bookcase, my good hand twisted behind my back.
‘Rumer, stop.’
‘Showing your true colours,’ I pant.
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Why stop now?’
I take the only route available – I drop to the floor, sliding free and kicking her legs out from under her. Celene lands awkwardly, only just stopping her head smashing into the floor. I’m on her in an instant, burying my fist in her face. She grunts and I catch the scream in my throat as hot pain blazes through my left hand.
She’s crushing it, digging her fingers through the bandages, reopening the wound.
I go to punch her again but she catches my fist, shoving me off. I back off, nursing my injured hand, watching as she pries herself up off the floor.
We stand staring at each other, panting, clutching our injuries, and I can finally see her. The blank page has screwed up, revealing shadows and seams. The bullets of her eyes are dirty steel aimed right at me.
‘Do you want Mara to get away?’ she asks.
‘I knew you were in there somewhere. Had to come out eventually.’
Is that what people really see when they look at me? This demented banshee? All hard edges and smothering darkness? A murderous scarecrow?
‘Rumer. This isn’t the place to talk about this. We should talk, but not here. Afterwards.’
‘If you get out of this alive.’
‘You can threaten me all–’
‘You’re the one who said it. Half the world wants you dead. More, probably. Only way you’re getting out of this is in a body bag.’
It’s like I’ve slapped her again. The wild light dims, her hackles lower.
‘I’ve got to try.’
‘Why?’ I demand. ‘What’s Mara really got on you? What are you so afraid of losing?’
I flinch as she moves away from the bookcase, but she’s not going for me or the gun, which is still under the table. She walks stiffly to the sofa and leans against it, checking her shoulder under her blazer.
‘If I can’t redeem myself, I might as well let you shoot me here,’ she says.
A floorboard creaks behind me and I whirl around just as Vinter comes in from the landing. I seize the moment, throwing myself at the table and closing my fingers around the Crook Spear.
‘What’s going on?’ Vinter asks, but I’m already across the room, tearing open the door and hurling myself into the collection.
‘Rumer!’ Celene yells, but I don’t listen, rushing onto the landing. I edge over to the stairs and peer through the banister rails. Gowns and suits glide in tides like exotic creatures. I wonder how many spies Mara has here. Lily? Sophie? I can’t afford to waste any more time.
If I walk down the main stairs, there’s no question I’ll be seen, and I want to avoid a run-in with Sophie. If she’s even half as good at her job as she pretends, she’ll have noticed one of her staff members is missing.
I hurry to the other side of the landing, going through the parlour and descending the servants’ stairs. It’s a short walk back to the atrium.
I enter the atrium and run straight into somebody.
‘Rumer?’
Shit shit shit .
Julian’s shocked expression must mirror my own. He’s cradling a half-drunk glass of champagne and he seems to have aged a decade in a week. His face is lined and now I’m up close, the shadow on his jawline is even more obvious. Guilt worms momentarily through my abdomen, but then I remember he could be here for Mara and I tighten my grip on the Crook Spear, which I hide behind my back.
For a giant mansion, things are getting uncomfortably crowded.
‘What are you doing here?’ Julian asks.
‘What am I–? What are you doing here?’
‘Rose dragged me. Said it was the event of the decade or something. Prospective clients all over the place.’
Yeah, I’ll bet.
‘Seriously, Rumer. What are you doing here?’
‘Working.’
His gaze travels the length of my body, taking in the black shirt and jeans, and the shock hardens into something more dangerous.
‘You going to tie somebody else to a chair and beat them up?’
‘Something like that. And you shouldn’t be back here. The party’s out front.’
We’re the only two people in the atrium, but I’ve got a clear view of the hall, where guests mill about in various stages of inebriation. Drunk rich people. I can’t think of anything worse.
Except maybe what I’m about to do.
‘Not really my scene,’ Julian says. He seems to remember he’s angry. ‘You just left me tied up there. What kind of person are you?’
‘The kind you hired not to answer questions like that.’
‘Consider your employment terminated,’ he says.
‘I’m glad one of us said it.’
His knuckles are white around the champagne glass.
‘Look, Julian, I really don’t have time–’
‘She found you, didn’t she?’
I frown. ‘Who?’
‘You know who.’
I don’t answer him. I have no idea how much he knows. If he isn’t with Mara, the less he knows, the better. It could be why he’s still alive today.
‘I remember when I first saw you.’ The angry creases have smoothed out and he’s looking at me differently. The way a teacher might look at a student, which is pretty ridiculous, considering the only thing I really know about him is his name. ‘You were so raw, so removed, so sad. I don’t mind admitting I felt sorry for you. I thought I could help. Give you an income, teach you a thing or two. But it wasn’t enough. Troubled children turn into troubled adults.’
He holds my gaze, then knocks the champagne back in one gulp. He tosses the glass onto a cushioned chair and spins to face me with a determined light in his eyes.
‘Come with me. Let’s get out of here. Neither of us belongs in this sort of place.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Bolt and I pulped his face and now he thinks he’s a hero. Not just any hero. My hero.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Julian.’
He leans closer, his boozy breath wafting in my face. ‘Pride before a fall, that’s what they say. Pride will be your undoing, Rumer. Let me help you.’
He takes my arm.
‘I don’t need your help.’ I shove his hand away.
‘You’re just a kid. You don’t know what’s best for you, but I do.’
His fingers dig into my arm and he drags me towards the atrium doors, which lead out into the garden. It’s dark outside and nobody would see us if we decided to make an early exit.
I shove him off me. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘And you’re not drunk enough.’
‘This is pathetic.’
‘Please, Rumer. I don’t want anything to happen to you.’
Sympathy stirs somewhere in my ribcage. Either Julian’s become an Oscar-winning actor, or he really isn’t working with Mara. He’s just a pathetic loner who runs a detective agency on his daddy’s money. He probably only got invited to Vinter’s party because his parents are loaded. Julian thinks I’m sad? He should look in the mirror more often.
He opens the atrium door, shooting me a pleading stare.
A rush of air zips inside and Julian looks down at his chest. A wet crimson stain seeps through his shirt.
‘Christ,’ he murmurs, stumbling to his knees. He raises quivering red fingers to his eyes and I stare at him blankly as he collapses heavily to the atrium floor. Then, instinct kicking in, I grab the door.
Before I can pull it shut, another hand seizes the handle and a figure swishes inside.
‘Rose,’ I utter.
She smiles coldly, her gown rasping as she shuts the door behind her.