Page 123 of The Lies We Conjure
From behind her comes a laugh—the second set of running footsteps, this one the amused jog of a kid playing keep-away with a puppy in the park. Trailing, but not helping. Not in the way Infinity always had. The shadow moves with a fluid confidence I don’t recognize until the figure casting it comes into view.
Dark hair, pale skin, long lines, and a stiff sort of self-indulgent pride reflected outward in a pout.
“Lavinia,” I breathe.
Evander curses softly. “Where’s Kaysa?”
It’s a crucial question. Where there’s one Blackgate, there’s another. Evander wasn’t wrong, these girls have been kept like offshore funds for the past decade, but they’ve also always,alwaysbeen kept together.
I scan the garden, scrutinize every ragged topiary, the fountain and its stagnant water, the measure of the walled hedges on either side, paper-thin and yellowing at the edges. No one else.
Two Blackgates, two imposters, four dead witches.
Marsyas greets her true firstborn granddaughter not with praise for the magic she’s wielded to break Luna’s shroud and animate the woman, but with criticism.
“What took you so long? She was right upstairs.”
Lavinia raises a brow; though the movement is subtle, she truly seems surprised by the swift admonishment. She schools her expression. “Looking for Auden. I can’t wait to play.”
A chill runs up my spine.
The real Lavinia Blackgate hasn’t forgotten ouranimuschildhood relationship.
Marsyas is completely nonplussed. “You’ll have your turn with him soon enough—with all of them soon enough.”
This is the second part of the plan.
Six on three. But the Blackgates have our dead on their side.
“Will four be enough?” Lavinia asks, gesturing to the corpses standing at attention. “Shall I retrieve the driver to give us an extra body?”
Marsyas is fussing over Luna, getting her situated with the three other zombies she’s raised—there’s no other way to put it. Fear spikes in my veins as Lavinia huffs out a deep sigh of annoyance at the lack of immediate answer. She turns on her heel for our exact location—on a mission to head straight through the tearoom, down the stairs to the kitchen and attached root cellar.
Fuck.
Evander hits the tile, flattening himself as best as he can. I, meanwhile, press myself against the wall, knees drawn to my chest. My heart pounds, sure Lavinia saw the ghost of our retreat in the glass as she turned to approach.
Over the pounding of my heart, I count her footsteps—futile in that I don’t know how many it takes to get to the door, only that she’s taken ten steps in our direction… when they stop.
“No, no, we need to keep our door open.” I frown.Door?“If we need a non-magical body, there are two waiters in the grass. You can make them fresh. Hurry, hurry, there’s not much time.”
Immediately, the pitter-patter of Lavinia’s return taps itself out against the tiles. I count twelve steps this time before there’s a pause on the tile. I motion to Evander, who follows along only to whisper, “Portal. Driver.”
A bolt of horror rips through me.
The driveristhe door.
Marsyas didn’t kill him for the keys. She killed him for convenience. They used the driver’s body as a pass-through—a trapped door into, and potentially out of, Ursula’s lock-down spell.
Evander nods, disgust pooling in his own eyes at the recognition on my face.
Together we slowly return to our previous positions, peeking over the edge of the sill.
Lavinia is beside her grandmother now. She clutches something in her grip, and Marsyas’s hands are full. I can’t see the contents, but knowing what I do about Death magic, they likely have relics within their palms to amplify their power.
They’ve used the dead as a door.
They’ve shattered the victim’s shrouds.
