What the hell happened to him?
Walking past us, his stare narrows on Christopher’s, a silent message that I’m not privy to. It pisses me off, more than ever. In fact, it’s only now that I’m beginning to understand what’s happening, that it bugs me to shit.
We are all pawns in an endless game.
Emily’s words haunt me with my newfound understanding.
It’s all bullshit. He played every single one of us. Maxwell might be dead, but this is all him. Francis is still singing to his tune, even with his corpse rotting beneath us.
It’s clever. Splitting everything into small puzzle pieces so that no one is indispensable. We would all have to be taken out in order for it all disappear.
With a grimace he sits in one of the armchairs. Lucian sits in the love seat beside it. Both of their faces are withdrawn and sallow.
“What happened?” Penny asks, looking up at him with deeply etched concern.
Francis shakes his head as she sits on the arm of his chair. “You don’t need to worry.”
“The day that I stop worrying about you…” Her words drift off, betraying the calm front she’s putting on.
A buzzing quiet falls on us, and I can’t help but notice the way her hands clench tightly together on her lap, her posture too straight.
“Francis…” I begin. “The ledgers. They were in the safe.”
He looks at me blankly, considering what I just told him. “I got them.”
“But…how? How did you know?”
I glance between him and Lucian. He’s quiet. Assessing me. “We deduced.”
“We?” My feet try to move me forward, but Christopher keeps me imprisoned to him.
“Yes. We.” Him and Francis. Obviously.
“Wait, did you blow the fucking club up?” Christopher growls at Francis from behind me.
“It was the club or Arabella.” What the hell? “And I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I told you to trust me.”
“You put her in danger in the first place!” I shrink back into Christopher’s body. “You should’ve come to me. It should’ve been me.”
“Oh, stop being melodramatic. We all have our roles to play. Isn’t that right, child?” Emily levels me with a quirked brow as she sits in the other throne-like armchair. “Well, sit down. It seems we all have a lot to talk about.” She gestures to the bigger sofa across from her.
An audience with the Queen would feel less intimidating than whatever is happening right now.
Seated, the quietness and crackling of the symmetrical fires on either side of the french doors we’ve come through do nothing to cut through the ice of the situation.
“Are you warm enough?” Wrapping his arm around me, Christopher pulls me closer to his side.
“Mhmm.” I nod.
My body begs me to relax into him, but I’m too on edge. Emily is watching as both like a hawk. Perhaps trying to find a chink in our united front. Or maybe she’s simply waiting for me to agree with her.
“Why are you here? I thought you were busy hunting.” Christopher blows out a frustrated breath.
“And we are,” Francis retorts, bloody nails peeking out from his bandages.
“You still haven’t told me what happened…”
A false laugh vibrates from Francis. Nothing follows but silence.