He takes a step back, visibly shocked.
“I left him,” I rush to explain, “but he followed me here from L.A. He showed up at the house a few weeks ago.”
“Hewhat?” Dropping his voice to a raging whisper, which would be very sexy in just about any other scenario, he says,“Why in the devil’s smoking arsehole have you not mentioned this before?”
“I don’t know! I was kind of… mortified? I mean, the Brendan Hayes era is not one of my finer moments. Besides, I wasn’t worried—I thought he was just fucking with me. I basically told him to fuck off and slammed the door in his face. Until tonight, I really thought that was the end of it.” I tell him the story—highlights version.
“Clearly it isn’t the end forhim.”
“It’s worse than that. This contract is a year old—long before my mother died. I never even mentioned Graves Hollow to Brendan. I didn’t like talking about my past, and he never cared enough to pry.”
“So you’re saying the man you were involved with in Los Angeles is somehow connected—contractually—to the private estate lawyer handling your mother’s affairs, in a small town clear on the other side of the continent?”
“It can’t be a coincidence.” My gut tightens. “He has to be involved in this. The grimoire, or her murder… whatever Killroy’s up to. Hehasto be.”
“It’s certainly looking that way. Is he the one who signed the contract?”
I flip to the back, holding it up so we can both see.
Red-brown droplets splatter the final page. Brendan’s signature is there at the bottom, right alongside Killroy’s. There’s a third underneath, this one signed with an ancient-looking rune and a first name only: Matthias.
All of it is written in blood.
“Matthias,” Merrick says, so quietly I wonder if it’s just the sound of my own thoughts repeating the name. But then I see the look in his eyes, shifting behind the glasses: confusion. Concern. Fury.
And there, at the very end, fear.
Hastily, Merrick checks the signatures on the other files. All signed by Killroy, Matthias, and random lawyers from the other firms. All signed in blood.
“What the…” My voice is shaking. “Who in the high-school-emo-vibe, cult-leader-circle-jerkingfuckis Matthias?”
Merrick meets my eyes. His face has gone blank, belying the raging storm in his eyes. I can’t get a read on him, but I feel his anger, radiating off him like fire. “The highest ranking demon in Hell, second in command to the devil himself. Otherwise known as my boss.”
“Why would your boss be making deals with lawyers? And how is Killroy involved? Is he, like, some kind of power broker for Hell? None of this makes any sense!”
“I don’t know. I don’t bloody know!” Merrick drops the files, shoves a hand through his hair. Paces. When he finally stops, the rage has left his eyes, replaced with something that terrifies me even more.
Guilt.
Silence simmers between us, the blood-stained pages spread out on the desk like a crime scene.
When Merrick finally speaks again, his voice is heavy. Confessional.
“Elizabeth, there are things I haven’t told you about the… about my purpose here. Matthias… The grimoire is… For fuck’s sake, where do I even?—”
A commotion in the hallway. Men’s voices, quickly growing louder. Closer.
“Closet!” Merrick whispers, scooping the scattered files into his arms. “Quickly!”
We cram ourselves in and pull the door not-quite-closed just as the main study door swings inward, hallway light spilling onto the polished wood floor. Through the gap, I watch as three lumbering men gather around the desk: a lean, white-hairedman I saw talking to Rachel earlier, a younger blond guy with an ill-advised man bun, and a bald guy in tails who’s one monocle short of fulfilling his destiny as the Monopoly guy stunt double.
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed Brendan isn’t among them.
“…fuck lot of trouble over a dusty old book with nothing written inside,” Monopoly Guy is saying.
“So you keep reminding us.” Whitey punches something into his phone. There’s an answering click and double-beep from the wall behind the desk. A false wall panel slides open, revealing a hidden compartment.
I lean forward, inexplicably drawn toward that dark, cavernous space. There’s something there, calling to me, and everything inside me seems to hum with an answer. My ears are ringing—a high-pitched whine at first, then, the frequency changes. A hundred whispers, all speaking the same message.
