The Writing Retreat(102)

“Yes, really.” Roza heaved a loud sigh. “I’ve given them too much leeway. I see that now. Anyway. Live and learn. Please take care of Alex. And then Wren will get to look at her best friend’s body and decide how she wants to proceed.”

“No!” Wren cried, her voice raw with anguish.

“Wait.” My heart whirred in my chest, but still Daphne was soothing me. Be calm. One last try. I pointed at my glass of wine. “Can I make a final request?”

Roza hesitated. She wanted it over and done with, but she also had that pesky sense of curiosity. “What, dear?”

“A toast.” Slowly, I reached out and picked up the glass. “To everything we’ve gone through together.”

“Seriously?” Taylor’s voice was shrill. “No fucking way.”

And that refusal, combined with Roza’s love for the dramatic, cemented it.

“What?” Roza asked crossly. “You have a busy schedule? Get me a glass. One for Wren too.”

“This is so, so ridiculous.” Taylor stuck the gun into her waistband. The three of us watched her pour the glasses at the buffet. She handed the first to Roza, set the second on Wren’s desk, and kept the third.

“Happy now, Al?” As if in defiance, Taylor plopped onto the couch and took a large gulp.

“To Alex.” Roza stood and raised her glass. “A truly talented young writer who has graced our world with her masterpiece. Well, most of it, anyway.” She raised it to her lips.

Robotically, Wren did the same.

“Wren, don’t,” I murmured softly as Taylor took another drink.

Wren paused but Roza heard me. “What’s going on?” She raised her glass and studied it. “Did you put something in this?”

“Wait, what?” Taylor’s eyes widened.

It was then that I noticed something—someone—creeping towards us. At first I thought it was a trick of the candlelight, but then the shadow solidified, an indistinct but tangible figure crouched low to the ground. It slunk closer, moving silently under the buffalo head.

I stared, stunned. Had I somehow called Daphne into being? Had my desperation brought her back to life?

Or had I accidentally inhaled some molecules from the wolfsbane earlier? Was I hallucinating like I had on Valentine’s Day?

Taylor jumped up, training the gun on me. “Al, what the fuck did you do?”

“Here.” Roza pulled something dripping from her glass. “It looks like…”

Taylor grabbed it. “Wolfsbane! But how did you…” She looked up, confounded. Daphne was getting closer, clutching something large and white. She was wearing a fur cloak and her hood covered her face.

I needed to distract them.

“Find this?” I reached into my sweater and pulled out the empty vial, wiggling it in the air. “Maybe you should keep dangerous substances locked up, T.”

“Oh, shit. People die from this, Alex!” Taylor dove to the ground, dropping the gun, and stuck her finger into her throat. She started to retch.

Daphne was right behind the couch. Candlelight gleamed off her eyes and bared teeth.

“My goodness.” Roza smirked. “Well, that was unexpected. Bravo, dear. But I do hope you know it’s nothing more than a small delay.”

Daphne slipped over the back of the couch and stood on the cushions, rearing up to her full height. She had battled Lamia and won, but it clearly hadn’t been easy. The fur cloak was matted and caked with blood. Her cracked lips pulled into a grim rictus as she raised the ceramic vase high.

The next second or two unfolded slowly, almost leisurely.

Roza started to turn just as Daphne jumped to the floor and brought the vase down on the crown of Taylor’s head.

There came a shattering, jarring crash. Taylor was briefly outlined in a halo of white shards as the force drove her face to the ground.

When time returned to normal, Taylor’s body lay prone. A spreading halo of red soaked into the rug.

There was something wrong with her skull. It was misshapen. Dented. Her blood-doused hair flattened into the concave valley.

Daphne stood above her, heaving.

Not Daphne. Keira.

She pulled down her hood and glanced at me, her breath ragged. It was the first time I’d seen her without her glasses. In the midst of her reddened, cracking face, the skin around her eyes was a mottled purple, and the tip of her nose was a deep plum shade. Her eyes were filled with a determined fury.

Roza’s mouth gaped open. She looked at the gun on the floor just as Keira bent and grabbed it.

Roza took off immediately, racing to the door. Keira ran after her. Wren and I followed.

Before, creeping around the house, sleeping in the library, I’d felt like an animal. But I hadn’t felt like a predator.

Now, as the three of us chased Roza down the hall, all I wanted to do was rip off her limbs.





Chapter 42




Roza rounded the corner into the front hall. We tracked her up the grand staircase, over the landing, down the hall to her room. I jiggled the knob but the door was locked.

“Keira, you’re alive!” I gasped in the pause.

Ignoring me, she shoved us back and aimed the gun below the doorknob. The sudden blast rang in my ears. She wrenched open the door and slipped inside. Wren and I followed, sharing a glance. Just another one of Keira’s unexpected skills.