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A chill went down my spine and made my hands shake.
“If you did this—” I turned to hiss at Alastor, who was smirking, his real face exposed.
“Why would I give a shit what was in your room?”
I didn’t believe him, didn’t believe a single word out of his sneering mouth.
“Keep looking at her like that,” Misery hissed, stepping between us. “I fucking dare you.”
I fought a shudder as I pushed my door open, a soft sound catching the back of my throat when I found one of my curtains hanging off its pole, my mattress and duvet dragged off the bed frame, a crack going through the desk where Death had fucked me. Everything that could be broken was broken. I turned to look at Miz, my heart breaking, and swallowed hard at the look on his face. He looked sick.
“You can’t stay here,” he whispered, running a graceful hand down his face. “You’ll have to move into a new room, Cat.”
I stared at the wreckage, the back of my neck prickling with warning. Nightmare had done this, or one of her followers had on her command. What would they have done if I’d spent the night here? Killed me?
I padded carefully into the room, my hands shaking as I salvaged some of my things from the mess. My eyes welled with tears when I saw the ceramic duck Virgil got me for my last birthday shattered on the ground.
My knees gave out without warning and I knelt there, clutching the shards.
“Cat,” Miz breathed, tentatively coming towards me. “You can’t stay.”
Because whoever did this would come back.
“Oh god,” Honey’s soft voice came from the door, horror bleaching her face when I glanced back at her. “They got into your room, too.”
“Too?” I wiped the tears off my cheeks, dropped the broken duck, and stood. “Your room was broken into?”
She nodded, something new in her eyes—horror and grief. It was like looking in a mirror. “They didn’t trash my room, but they left this,” she whispered, holding out a red rose.
“A rose,” I murmured, grabbing clothes from the wardrobe that now slumped into the wall, a massive gash down its side. “Why would someone leave that?”
She shook her head, silent, and a tear dripped down her face. “Oh, Cat, I’m so sorry this happened.”
When she rushed across the room and hugged me, not caring that I had my hands full, I rested my head on her shoulder. “This is Nightmare’s followers targeting us,” I said. “She wants us to be scared, but fuck her. Fuck her scare tactics.”
Mind games—that was what she did, what she loved. She made me kill Darya because she knew it would haunt me. She trashed my room, but only left Honey a rose, so it would fracture us. I was supposed to wonder why Honey’s room was spared, why she was left a gift, to all intents and purposes. But I refused to play Nightmare’s games.
“I’ll get you a new room,” Miz said as Honey and I separated, both of us teary, traumatised. Exactly as Nightmare wanted. “And I’ll make sure it’s protected,” he added, catching my eye so I understood he’d use magic to make sure no one could get in. I nodded.
“You’re right,” Honey breathed, wiping tears on her sleeve, her face red. “She wants us to be scared, but why should she get what she wants? Alastor—” she began, raising her voice, but he was gone.
Probably off to report to Nightmare. I didn’t care that he couldn’t be one of her robed followers because I saw him in that room on Halloween, unrobed. He did this. I knew he did.
“The person who did this will pay,” I promised. “And—maybe until then, stay away from Alastor? We hardly know him, Honey.”
Honey’s eyes narrowed, as I knew they would. Fuck! “And you know your husbands so much better? You never approve of my choice in men, Cat.”
“Sorry,” I rushed out. “Sorry, I’m just upset and stressed.” I gestured at my trashed room and hoped sympathy would win her back to my side, my bones melting in relief when her face softened. I cried harder.
I didn’t know if I hugged her first or if she hugged me, but we both clung hard and only pulled apart when a sharp male cry came from the hallway outside. Distressed. Pained. Familiar.
“Byron,” I gasped, and sprinted for the door. If Alastor had hurt him, I swear to all my death gods…
But it wasn’t Alastor. When Honey and I burst into the hallway, it was a five-foot-nine guy whose name I didn’t know throwing Byron up against the wall, his face parted on a guttural animalistic hiss and his skin greyish and peeling.
“Oh god, a zombie,” Honey whispered.
“Miz?” I turned to him but he was already moving, grabbing the zombie in a grip so tight that he screamed, staggering back, clutching his chest as dark tendrils of smoke inflicted misery. “Don’t kill him,” I rushed out, Honey and I darting forward to catch Byron. “It’s not his fault he’s cursed.”
