Her eyes lifted at my voice, just as there was a knock at the door.
Sixty-Six
STORY
Grim tilted his head, eyeing us. Behind him, his Horsemen were shadows barely visible beneath the low light. Only flashes of them were visible—a tattooed forearm or a hand thrumming along a knee.
They were like a boy band that drank blood.
I held Sonnet close to my chest. Maybe it was meant to be that I ended up here in the underworld, like those old heroes in ancient sagas who had to travel deep into the dark undead before they realized their purpose.
Before they could come back to their lover. That’s what I hoped, at least, because in those sagas…they all got to go back.
“I need your help,” I said.
Grim leaned over, making faces at Sonnet. “You already have quite a debt, sweet Storybook.”
It didn’t slip my notice that as he discussed what I owed, he was being cute to Sonnet. My current debt.
It was a threat.
I swallowed. “You and I both know I can’t pay you anything if I stay stuck down here forever.”
He paused, finger frozen in front of Sonnet, then he stood to his full, towering height.
“Did you finally let them out of the fucking room?”
I froze at the voice, temporarily forgot everything, forgot I was bargaining for my life, and ran to her.
Gemma Crowne.
“Where is Grayson? How is he doing? Is he…” I couldn’t even get the words out. Every horrid thought I’d had of him, every fear caught in my throat like barbs.
I was desperate like a mouse for crumbs. As if it were a shooting star in the sky, I saw her pity, and then it vanished, replaced with that pouty, unaffected annoyed Gemma Crowne air.
“I haven’t talked to him,” Gemma said, blinking, bored. “Because I haven’t left here in a goddamn month, because suddenly I’m what, your fucking maid?”
My brow creased. “You stayed here? For us?”
She pulled out a cigarette. “Someone had to deliver your meals.”
“Careful, sweet Story, Gemma only looks like a princess because she traded her heart to a witch, right, Rich Girl?”
Gemma exhaled smoke, eyes drifting to his as the smoke left her lips. “Bite me.”
A small, ruthless, barely-there smile curved his cheek. “You’d like that too much.”
I swallowed every sharp, barbed emotion that wanted to know even a crumb about Grayson, and turned back to the head of the Horsemen, squaring my shoulders. “Sneak us back into Crowne Hall.”
Lottie squeaked. “Back in? Is this the favor you wanted? Because…you’re right. I don’t like it.”
“We have to do it,” I said, turning back to Lottie. “It’s the only way to save him, to save all of us. I think it’s fate. Our destinies were always meant to cross, because we were always meant to destroy it. Destroy Crowne Industries and Du Lac Enterprises.”
Her eyes popped, her lips parted, but she said nothing.
“Whatever Beryl plans to use those coins for, let’s let him. Let’s give him everything he’s worked decades for. Let him use all those coins on every company, devouring the world like a gluttonous beast, and then when he’s finished…we’ll take Crowne Industries, and we’ll give it all back to you.”
Her brow furrowed. “How?”
“The postnup.”
The one that said Crowne Industries would go to Lottie if Grayson was unfaithful.
She furrowed her brow. “We tried that already—”
“We didn’t work together last time,” I interrupted. “This time we won’t let them ignore us. We’ll tell the world our dirtiest, darkest secret. This time, we’ll give everything to you so Beryl can’t touch it.”
Lottie’s eyes popped. “That’s a lot of power.”
I gripped her hands. “That’s the favor I want, Lottie. Maybe there’s a reason for all of this hell. Beryl killed your father, he killed West, but he discounted you. They kept you captive. They kept me captive. They hung that document over our heads. So let’s do it. Let’s do what we’ve been so afraid of. What they’ve been killing over. What West gave his life for. Let’s do what we’ve been trying to avoid. Let’s blow up the fucking world.”
“Metal,” one of the Horsemen said from the shadows.
“It’s the Swan Swell,” Gemma said. “So, if you’re planning on sneaking in, looking like that…” She pointed at the loaned shirts the Horsemen had given us, wrinkled and oversized.
I studied Gemma. Her short blonde bob was messy and slept in. Her eyeliner smudged around her bright blue eyes, and she wore a black oversized shirt that clearly didn’t belong to her—but somehow she made it look chic.
She could have left us behind easily, but she’d stayed for a month. I think to protect us, to be here for us, but she’d probably say it was because she had nothing better to do.
“I guess we’ll need a fairy godmother then,” I said.
Her smile dropped, and she scrunched her nose. “Because I haven’t done enough for you?”
“We’ll need to call in every single favor,” I said. “If we want to take down Godzilla, we need Mothra. Starting with…”
We turned to the four men keeping us captive.
I mean safe.
“You have nothing I want…” Grim said. My gut dropped, but then he stood off the wall. “Your prince, however.”
“I…” My throat caught, imagining what Grayson was going through. “I can’t make a promise for him.”
Gemma stepped up. “There is one way you can guarantee it.”
Gemma looked at Grim, and he laughed caustically. “Rich Girl, you are really pushing it.”
Sixty-Seven
GRAY
Story’s ghost wrapped around me. Her raspy whisper melded with the salt air flowing like moth-eaten lace into the room.
Nudge.
My head throbbed. My mouth thick with cotton and the taste of whiskey and lemon suckers.
Nudge.
“Is he dead?”
“Kick him again.”
I opened one eye. The room was different in the day, the shadows gone and the ghost with them. Three teenagers stood in a triangle above me, blocking the ceiling with their heads.
I’m still seeing ghosts.
“You look like shit,” Jo said.
Not ghosts, St. Germaines.
“Fuck you,” I grumbled, throwing my arm over my eyes. It was too bright in here, the salt air too bitter.
“No thanks,” Jo said.
The whiskey bottle in my hand felt too light.
Empty.
Goddammit.
I exhaled, sitting up against the wall.
Jo held a cigarette between her fingers, and reminded me a little of my sister Gemma—but without the mask mother forced her to wear.
Dark. Lonely.
It seemed Charles received all the aristocratic features of our father. And fuck, it was hard to tell what was going on underneath all of Keller’s hair.
“Come to fetch me for my grandfather?”
They all shared a look. “Not quite,” Jo said. “So we’re actually on the same side.”