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“No,” Nightmare agreed softly, her expression changing to one of sympathy, so convincing I almost fell for it. “You didn’t want to. But the difference between you and Cat is you had a choice, and you chose to kill to protect yourself. Cat did not choose. That makes you the greater monster, don’t you think?”
All the things I thought were Alastor Carmichael—the threats, the texts. It was Byron. I covered my mouth with a numb hand, cold and sweaty all over.
“Now, for the pièce de résistance,” Nightmare said with a flourish, her eyes flashing with delight. “Darya, my dear, go retrieve that object from the grass over there.”
I watched as Darya moved freely, not robotically. Not even floating like a ghost should. The smirk on her face and the knowing glint in her eyes made me sick. The second I saw what she’d retrieved was a knife, I dropped my hand and lunged into a run towards her.
I’d heard enough. Now it was time to grab my husband, my traitorous best friend, and get the hell out of here.
I’d wonder how a ghost could hold a knife later. Now, I ripped the handle out of her cold fingers, shuddering at how solid she felt, and before I could question myself, before anxiety could stay my hand, I drove the blade into her stomach.
Darya just laughed. “I’m a ghost, Cat. Do you really think you can kill me?”
I faltered back, trying to keep her and Nightmare both in my line of sight, not releasing my grip on the knife. “What happened to you? You were nice, kind, but now that you’re dead you follow Nightmare?”
“I always followed Nightmare,” she said, her smirk transforming her into a whole other person. “It’s not my fault you’re so desperate for affection you fell for the friendship routine.”
But—there were no signs. Darya had been friendly and accepting and kind.
“You can’t even accept it now, can you?” Darya shook her head, making a lunge for the knife.
I twisted aside, only adrenaline and panic keeping me out of her range. She was a ghost; couldn’t she just float and grab it back?
“My mother and my mother’s mother were followers of Nightmare,” she informed me. “Proud followers. I willingly gave myself to her so that Nightmare could receive power from my death.”
Wait. I faltered, confused. “You chose to die? What the fuck?”
Darya decided that was enough talking because she came at me again, grabbing my wrist in a grip so tight I cried out. A ghost’s touch shouldn’t have hurt.
“Enough, Cat stay where you are, let Darya take the knife.”
Nightmare’s voice hit me like a whip’s crack and I went deadly still. Paralysed. From this angle I could see Byron turn to Nightmare, heard him plead with her to stop this. The truth hit me like a bullet. Darya was going to kill me, like I killed her. My death would give Nightmare even more power.
“Please,” Byron begged. “Leave Cat out of this.”
“Don’t worry,” Nightmare replied gently, “I will. Cai, take the knife and kill Byron.”
Her words hung in the cold air for a moment, until meaning struck.
My heart hurtled at my ribs in a violent thump. No. I tried to shake my head, tried to throw myself at Miz, to catch him, stop him. Cai—that’s what she called him earlier. And now she ordered him to kill my best friend?
“You may speak, Cat,” Nightmare said with unhidden pleasure, wind ruffling her long hair.
“Don’t,” I blurted, my voice choked. “Miz, please. Don’t hurt him.”
Misery strode past me, his face unchanging, but those eyes reached through skin, muscle, and bone and pierced my heart.
“You’re a death god,” I cried, trying to move my arms, to pick up my feet so I could reach him. “You can fight her. Please. Please don’t do this.”
But he took the knife from Darya’s spectral hand, and tears fell from my eyes as he brushed past me again.
“You might want to run, Byron,” Nightmare suggested.
“No,” he replied, his throat bobbing. He looked past Miz and locked eyes with me. “I’m so sorry, Cat. You’re right about all of it. I should have told you and Honey. Deep down, I just wanted to stay your friend, the guy you knew and loved. I didn’t want you to know what I was really like. Don’t remember me like this, yeah? Remember the guy I was before we ever came to Ford.”
I wanted to shake my head, wanted to run to him, wanted to body slam Miz to the ground so he couldn’t do this. A horrible roaring noise started inside my head.
“Miz, please,” I screamed when he strode within a few paces of Byron, the knife gripped between white-knuckled fingers. Oh god, oh god. “Byron, run!”
