Opening my heart to him meant opening the door to losing myself.
I thought I was a good person. I thought I knew right from wrong.
But in this world of secrets and lies and blood, all the lines have blurred. All the circumstances leading to this means to the end are gray.
And I’m not sure who I have become.
IT’S THE SMELL THAT FIRST grabs my attention.
The hours leading up to nightfall are hectic. Crazy. Court members run here and there. Clothing is thrown in every direction. Hanging from the railing, littering the halls, a sock hangs from the Conrath chandelier. Bags are piled by the front door.
I can’t help but think there would not be so much chaos if Rath were here.
While everyone packs and prepares for departure, I catch the scent of something…off.
In the three weeks since the Court members arrived, I’ve grown used to their scents. I know the individuals. But this one. I do not know.
“Do you smell that?” I ask Christian as he passes me in the hall.
He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Smell what?”
I shake my head. “Never mind. You’ve only been here a few days. Markov!”
He looks over his shoulder at me, on his way back to his bedroom. When he sees me, he walks back down.
“Do you smell something…someone that just seems-” I struggle for the right words. “Something just doesn’t belong.”
He too breathes deeply. “I noticed it when I woke, but there’s so many around, I didn’t think too much of it.”
I shake my head, taking another deep breath. I detect the faint trail of the scent. I follow my nose, Christian and Markov following behind me. It starts from the farthest south door in the ballroom. Through to the foyer. Up the stairs. Down the south hall. Back to my bedroom, though it does not enter.
“Someone was checking the whole House,” Christian says, seemingly having caught on to the scent. “Back down the stairs,” he says with a tip of his chin in that direction.
“Have you seen Sebastian getting packed yet?” a woman asks as we head down the stairs. “He’s always holding up the entire party.”
“Haven’t seen him,” Christian offers distractedly. Markov leads us in the direction of the northern hall, on the trail of the scent. It intensifies as we walk past doors.
“They were this way most recently,” Markov says. He pauses beside a door, taking a deep whiff, before moving onto the next one. His eyes instantly flash red. “In here.”
Christian pulls a stake from his pocket, Markov’s hands come up and his fingers curl into claws, ready to strike. Ian’s training from so long ago comes flooding back to me. My knees bend as my muscles flex and prepare. I wish I had a crossbow nearby.
Markov throws the door open and the three of us burst inside.
There is nothing that could have prepared us for what we’d find.
Painted on one wall is a gigantic red cross, a crown roughly painted above it. And nailed to the wall, a nail through his hands, feet, and through the neck, is Sebastian. A giant wooden stake goes through his chest, through his heart, and into the wall.
“Intruder!” Markov bellows.
He tears out of the room, and all hell breaks loose.
“Who would have done this?” I ask in horror.
Blood runs from Sebastian’s chest, saturating his clothing, running down the wall and on to the floor. His head lolls forward, blood spilling from his mouth.
“The blood isn’t flowing anymore,” Christian says as he starts searching the room. “He’s totally gray. He’s been dead for at least two hours. Liv, I don’t smell any exit points.”
“They’re still in the House,” I say in realization.
And no one but me and Rath know just how many places they could be hiding. There are endless secret doors, tunnels, and who knows how many other hidden places I have yet to discover.
A woman lets out a scream as she comes into the bedroom. Her hands fly to her mouth and chest, her face losing all its color.
“What is going on?” X demands from behind her, shoving the woman aside to get into the room. She stops short when she takes it all in.
“Sebastian,” the woman cries. And when I look at her—actually look at her, I realize how very much she looks to have the same translucent skin. The same nose. The same unruly dark hair.
She’s his mother.
I back out of the room, my mind reeling. There’s so much that needs to happen all at once. There’s too much going on.
“Search the House!” Markov bellows, giving the orders I am not. “Find whoever did this!”
Search the House. I can start with that.
The first place I think for someone to hide is the well. I fight my way through the crowd to the south hall and swing back the painting of the women. It takes me a moment to find the right place to press on the wall, but it suddenly pops out toward me. Swinging it open, I peer into the dark.