Page 13 of Cracked Doll

I don't know how to answer that. I shake my head instead and look down at the counter.

She picks up the porcelain doll from the display shelf — ice-blue eyes, black curls — and holds it up beside my own face, comparing the two with an exaggerated squint. "Christ, this one looks just like you," she says, laughing, setting it back down before her gaze drifts, inevitably, to the folded poster still sitting by the till. "Oh — you've got one too."

"It was given to me," I say carefully.

"Perfect. Saves me the trouble." She beams. "I actually came to ask if you fancied checking out The Midnight Menagerie tonight."

"Tonight," I repeat.

"You have to be nineteen to get in," Amara says, already talking faster, already deciding this on both our behalves. "Which I have been, for a grand total of four months now, thank you very much, and I still haven't had anyone to go with. Until now." She gestures at herself, at me. "It's dark, it's gothic, it's not for kids — which, no offense, is basically your whole personality in a dress. We'd fit right in."

"I don't think—"

"Come on."

"Amara, I really don't—"

"Come on." She grabs both my hands, undeterred, grinning like she's already won. "One night. You don't even have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. Just come look at pretty, spooky things with me."

"Aren't you afraid," I say quietly, "of being seen with the odd girl of Whitby?"

Amara actually laughs at that, loud and genuine. "Bugger the odd girl of Whitby. I'd rather be seen with someone interesting than with half the boring gits in this town." She squeezes my hands once, firm. "So. Yes or yes?"

I don't remember agreeing, exactly, but somehow, a few minutes later, she's already flipping the shop sign to closed and pulling the blinds, humming something under her breath while I gather the till and lock the wire display cases, the two of us moving in a strange, easy rhythm neither of us planned.

"Right," she says, once the last bolt is thrown. "Upstairs. Get changed. And for God's sake, wear something black — not that you own anything else, lucky cow."

I make her wait in the sitting room while I go to my own to change, my heart still not entirely settled from the day, from the necklace hidden beneath the counter, from everything I don't yet have words for.

I shower quickly, wash the day off my skin, towel my hair as best I can, and wrap myself in the black towel from the rail before padding barefoot to my wardrobe.

I pull the door open.

And scream.

A man steps out of the dark of my own closet, one hand closing hard around my waist before I can so much as stumble backward, hauling me flush against him, his other hand clamping firm over my mouth, muffling the second scream before it can fully form.

"Shh." His voice, low, amused, unbearably close against my ear. "I do love how loud you can scream, little doll." His grip tightens, deliberate, possessive. "But I'll admit — I'd much rather hear you screaming my name for an entirely different reason."

Down the hall, faint and growing louder, I hear Amara's voice calling through the flat.

"Ophelia? You alright in there?”

Chapter 5

"Tell her you're fine," he murmurs against my ear, his hand still clamped firm over my mouth. "I'll take my hand away. You won't scream for help. You'll simply tell the girl on the other side of that door that you're fine, little cracked doll. Can you do that for me?"

I nod, because there's nothing else to do, because his grip on my waist doesn't loosen even a fraction.

"Good girl."

His hand lifts from my mouth.

I scream anyway — "Help—" — and shove hard against his chest with both palms, my whole body twisting to break free. He catches me before I get more than a step, and I drive my knee up into him as hard as I can manage. He grunts, low and sharp, but his grip only tightens, and then something cold and impossibly thin presses flat against the line of my throat.

I go utterly still.

"There it is," he breathes, voice gone rougher now, almost pleased. "I do like the fight you keep giving me, gorgeous. We'll save that particular energy, though — for later. For when we're properly devouring each other."