House of Furies (House of Furies #1)

I had thought the Resident’s scream horrid, and indeed it was, but this sound was the sky itself tearing in half. Over Bremerton’s shoulder I saw Poppy in the doorway, her mouth wide open, her eyes black as a starless sky, as her unnatural shriek rippled toward us. It did not touch Lee and it did not touch me, but I felt its buffeting wings on my cheeks as George Bremerton’s bleeding face expanded and distorted like a warmed boil and popped. I shut my eyes tight and crumpled back against the wall, blood and sinew and God knows what else showering me in horror.

My legs fell out from under me and I slid bonelessly to the floor, raking gore out of my eyes and wiping at my mouth. I spat and coughed and breathed a full breath after too long. Then the tears came, and I crawled on hands and knees away from George Bremerton’s headless body to the brave young boy shot dead by traitorous blood.





Chapter Thirty-Seven





For a long time after they pulled Bremerton’s body out of the room, I sat next to Lee. There was nothing that could be done for him. The bullet had hit him square in the chest. He looked oddly untouched, the crimson stain on his shirt the only indication that something had gone terribly awry.

I wiped a piece of Bremerton’s skull from his boot. It offended me that it had touched him.

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to look at his face, knowing it would undo me. “I’m so very sorry, my friend.”

The bloody spoon sat in the little shallow basket made by my skirts. I held Lee’s hand after making sure mine was cleaned. His skin was still warm. That made the tears come stronger, more painfully, until I couldn’t see anything but a watercolor of the splattered room and Lee’s fine boots.

Chijioke had finally taken his ax to the door itself, allowing the others to come in. They watched outside the mangled door frame, two Residents hovering in the very back like worried parents. Mr. Morningside was the only one brave or stupid enough to come in and stand next to me. Then, with a sigh, he sat beside me on the floor, his long legs pulled up so that he could rest his wrists on his knees.

“This is my fault,” he said hoarsely. If I could feel anything but loss, I would have marveled at his taking responsibility. “The first and last children . . . I should have put it together sooner. And I definitely should have realized we had an End of Dayser among us.”

I said nothing for a long time, uninterested in his explanations. When I could better manage my tears, I wiped at my face with my apron and fixed him with a stare. The black hair and golden eyes. The too-perfect proportions of his face. He stared back at me and then took a handkerchief from inside his coat. With utmost care, he reached across and dabbed at my bloodstained face.

“Is what he said true?” I asked. “Are you really the Devil?”

“Yes.” He smiled wryly, exhaustedly. “Well, what he would call the Devil. What you would, too, I imagine. Most of what’s put down is ridiculous, but I admit some of it is accurate. Throw darts at a dictionary long enough and you’re bound to strike ‘truth.’ I’ve had many forms, many names, untold centuries to come and go as a thought or as a being.”

Perhaps it was best to learn this way, while I was still numb from Lee’s death. “Then you must be very powerful.”

“If you like.”

“But not powerful enough to walk through a goddamned door.”

He had the good grace to flinch. Taking a measured breath, he refolded his cloth and ran it carefully down my temple. “Men like Bremerton were just a whisper for a long, long time. Their sort and others like them have always tried to eliminate me. He might have succeeded, too, if you hadn’t decided to sneak in here.”

“I see. I wish he had killed you.”

“No, Louisa, you really don’t.” Mr. Morningside—the Devil—gave a dry laugh. “It would mean the end of the Unworld and the human world as you know it.”

“Oh.” I let him push the handkerchief across my forehead, trying to grasp the magnitude of this person, this being, sitting with me and calmly cleaning my face. Squinting, I looked harder. “You were wrong. Lee was innocent. Bremerton killed his own brother and Lee had nothing to do with it. He only felt responsible because he was a good person. Please, you’re the Devil—I want to make a bargain. Isn’t that what you do? Trick people into giving up their souls for some favor?”

He shook his head, glancing at Lee’s still body. “I know what you would ask, and I cannot help you . . .”

“No,” I murmured, blinking back a fresh wave of tears.

“. . . but Mrs. Haylam can.”

I didn’t care how silly my expression was. Had I heard him correctly? Could the hag-turned-housekeeper really bring Lee back to life? I searched his face, but it was no jest. The others were still milling around in the hallway, and I could see Mrs. Haylam standing there, watching us intently.

“Mrs. Haylam, would you come in here, please?”

She approached us slowly, her hands clasped together over her simple black frock. Her skin glowed orange in the late afternoon light filling the room. I looked up at her expectantly. Pleadingly. She fixed her gaze on where my hand held Lee’s.

They began a quick conversation in a language I didn’t understand. It was beautiful and guttural, and both of them spoke it with a native’s ease. From her expression, I could tell she was not happy about what Mr. Morningside said.

Her silvery eyes narrowed to slits. “You don’t know what you’re asking, child.”

“Yes, I do,” I said.

“She read the book?” Mrs. Haylam asked him.

“Indeed. Ostensibly she understands the risks.”

Her eyebrows twitched under her cap. “Ostensibly is not good enough, Annunaki. The Da’mbaeru could demand anything upon its return, and I will not be the one to pay the shadow price.”

Mr. Morningside looked back to me, his chin still tilted up toward the housekeeper. He cleared his throat and paused. “You read the chapter on shadowmancers, Louisa?”

I nodded.

“And you remember it?”

“Yes,” I said, but I was less certain now. I did remember it, and I remembered the awful things that were asked in exchange for a shadow to be brought back. At the time, it had seemed harmless, stupid, the kind of scary story used to frighten children into behaving and choosing a God-fearing path. Now I could feel my stomach tightening with dread. “I remember it.”

Would Lee thank me for this? I looked at last on his face and felt my chin quiver with sorrow. Selfishly, I did not want to lose him. Mary, Chijioke, and Poppy peered in through the ragged hole where the door had been. Bartholomew stared up at his masters, his ears flattened back against his head.

Mrs. Haylam began rolling up her sleeves, her rheumy eye clearing entirely and then flashing molten gold. When I had first met her on the road, I had seen the hint of markings on her wrist, but now I saw that her arms were covered in tiny tattoos, rows and rows of little pictures. Her voice was thicker, stronger, edged with an unsettling echo. “I will ask you only once, Louisa, foolish child, and you will think carefully before you answer: Will you raise this boy and pay the price? Think before you speak; be certain you will give what is asked, even if it means your life for his.”

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