Page 17 of The Lies We Conjure
“Whereisthe 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, “rightsmack 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 isall wrongand 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.”
