The Writing Retreat(104)

“I want you to appreciate this.” She nodded at the locked room. “I could very well have killed all of you. But…” She sighed, looking down. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve made me a little soft.”

I stayed quiet, watching the gun in my peripheral vision. Could I grab it? I needed to keep her distracted.

“How are you going to get away?” I asked. “On foot?”

“Please, dear. You know I’m a planner.” She smirked. “There’s a full canister of gas for the snowmobile hidden in the garage.” She gazed at me, then grinned. “Would you like to accompany me?”

For a horrible moment I thought she was serious, that she was going to force me to come with her.

She saw my expression and chuckled. “I’m just kidding, darling. I’m afraid our paths diverge at this point.”

“Maybe you should stay.” I managed to sound casual, like I was speaking to a friend at a dinner party that was winding down.

“You know that’s not possible.” She reached out and touched my arm. “The reason I wanted to speak with you is that I wanted you to know: despite it all, you did very well.” Her expression was tender, almost motherly.

“Thank you.” I concluded that if I even started to reach for the gun, she’d be able to shoot me in the belly.

“We could’ve had a wonderful time together. But you’ve made your choice.” She pursed her lips. “Safety. Stability. And that sniveling idiot Wren.”

Unexpectedly, the words made me want to defend myself. To tell her that I’d chosen not Wren but myself.

But it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t understand.

“Maybe you’re right.” I shrugged, exhaustion creeping up my spine.

“Anyway.” She took a step back. “There’s a flash drive on the desk in the office. In my ring dish. It contains all your books.”

“Thank you.” I forced a smile. “Wow, maybe you are getting soft.”

Roza beamed at me. “You know what? I think you’re going to have a long career. Jump-started by me and this crazy experience, of course. But long just the same. I’m looking forward to following it.” She took a step closer. “Ciao, dear.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.

The kiss shocked me. I jerked away as she drew back.

She smiled, satisfied. Unlocking the door, she waved me in.

I joined Wren and Keira on the floor, listening to the click of the lock, then Roza’s footsteps moving away.

“What did she want?” Keira asked, wary. Wren was curled up in a ball, possibly asleep.

“I don’t know.” My mind spun. “To say goodbye, I think?”

Keira nodded. “She liked you the most.”

I felt an inappropriate flush of pleasure. As Keira and I searched Yana’s room for bobby pins, I tried to push down the tangled mixture of rage, revulsion, and yearning.

If things had gone differently, if Zoe hadn’t caused the house of cards to fall, maybe Roza would have convinced me to give her my book. Maybe the retreat would’ve ended differently. Maybe I could have convinced Roza that Taylor didn’t need to die for me to take her place.

I imagined us boarding a plane together, seating ourselves in first class. Roza would smile at me and squeeze my hand. I’d squeeze back. We knew each other’s darkest secrets, and that knowing would bond us more deeply than any other couple around us.

For a second, I felt the glee that would fill me as the plane took off, rushing us towards our new life together.





Chapter 43





Six Months Later

After the final battle with Lamia, Daphne slept for fifteen hours. Rising the next afternoon, she bathed and made herself a hearty breakfast. Then she crammed as much food as she could into one of Horace’s packs. She dressed in his clothes, cinching the pants with a belt, feeling gloriously unencumbered by bustles and cage-like corsets. She topped off her outfit with his fur hunting cap. She stared at herself in his shaving mirror. Her blue eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy. She felt a flutter in her belly. Something—she didn’t know what—awaited.

She left through the kitchen door, meeting the brilliance of the day. The sky shone in an unbroken cerulean glaze. The sun made the icy branches glitter. She took out her compass. The nunnery lay towards the east. It was many miles, but she felt certain she would reach it. They would take her in, shelter her, feed her. Cut off any blackened fingers or toes. And from there she would continue her recovery. She’d already picked a new name: Elizabeth. She was leaving her old self behind.

And who knew where she would end up?

Abigail’s charred corpse lay in the basement. Perhaps it would be properly identified, perhaps not. Daphne knew Abigail had kept her spiritualist leanings from most of her family and friends. And while Daphne didn’t like the idea of Abigail’s family not having a body to bury, she couldn’t see an alternative plan, not if she herself wanted to escape. Perhaps keeping Abigail from the bowels of hell had been enough.

Daphne breathed deeply, enjoying the crunch of snow beneath her feet. Soon the ice would melt. Green buds would burst from the trees. She would shed her heavy layers and swim naked in warm streams.

A chirping came from her right. A tiny chipmunk chattered at her from a nearby rock.