Everything I knew about Malcolm Lowell fell into place. How many years had he spent being molded in the Masters’ image, hidden away from the world? How old had he been when he’d finally been allowed a life outside those walls?
How many times had the Masters attempted to raise a new child to take his place?
There had been at least three Pythias in the past twenty years. My mother. Mallory Mills. The Pythia who’d given birth to Beau. In all likelihood, there had been more.
Had each woman had a child? Had all of the would-be Nines been tested and found unworthy? Turned out to die?
You don’t care to be replaced.
Without meaning to, I began walking toward the stairs. I climbed them two at a time and headed for Agent Sterling, but when I reached the top, a familiar voice froze me in my tracks.
“I’m not going anywhere.” That was Sterling—and her tone was steel. “You are.” When Director Sterling gave Briggs an order, Briggs took it—
but the director’s daughter was another matter.
“You’re not authorized—” Agent Sterling started to say, but her father cut her off.
“I’m not authorized to tell the Naturals what cases they can and cannot work. You saw to that, Veronica. I am, however, authorized as your superior in this organization to pull my agents off of a case—and that includes you.”
“We’re this close. You can’t—”
“I can and I am, Agent. I let you chase this lead, and you ran it into the ground. You’ve identified one individual connected with this group. Now Lowell is gone, and he’s not coming back.” The director’s verbal onslaught stopped, but only for a moment. “Briggs has three bodies, Veronica. Three crime scenes, three victims, three sets of persons of interest. That is where your attention should be focused—and starting tonight, it will be.”
There was a long pause—Agent Sterling donning her inner armor. “The last time you pulled me off a case, Scarlett had just been murdered.” Sterling
could be just as merciless as her father. “If you hadn’t interfered then, we might not be in this position now.”
“Have you even told the Hobbes girl about the third body?” Director Sterling shot back. His voice was soft, but his words hit me like a hammer to the chest.
He’d asked if she’d told me. Not Dean, not Lia, not Michael, not Sloane.
Me. My throat tightened as I pictured the first two victims in my mind.
I pushed the door to the basement open and stepped out. “What about the third body?”
Michael came to stand beside me, his gaze locked on Agent Sterling’s face. I had no idea what he saw there, but whatever it was had him stepping in front of me, like he could protect me from the answer to the question I’d just asked.
“The third victim,” I reiterated, my voice dry and hoarse, focusing on Agent Sterling and ignoring her father. “You and Briggs never said anything about the third victim.”
Michael glanced wordlessly at Dean, who moved to my other side, his body close enough to mine that I should have been able to feel the heat off of it.
I couldn’t feel anything.
“Cassie…” Agent Sterling took a step forward. I took a step back.
“The first two victims were persons of interest in our prior cases,” I said. “Following the same pattern…”
I trailed off, because even without Michael’s ability, I could see in Agent Sterling’s eyes that the third victim wasn’t just a person of interest in one of our cases.
I’d thought that our killer’s choice of victims was either meant as punishment for coming to Gaither or a distraction to lure us away.
Not us, I realized. It was never about us.
I went for my cell phone. It was dead. How long had it been since I charged it? How many phone calls had I missed?
“Cassie,” Agent Sterling said again. “The third victim—you know her.”
YOU
Too little, too late. If they’d discovered anyone’s identity but Nine’s, you could order the leak eliminated at the source—and, oh, how you’d like to see the old bastard bleed.
To make him bleed.
But he commands the others’ respect—their reverence—and you’re the one who’s bleeding. You’re the one they chain, the one they purify with flame and blade and fingers wrapped around your throat.
They want you to pass judgment. They want you to say yes.
Lorelai would die to protect Cassie. Lorelai would never give them what they want. But you aren’t Lorelai.
When you say the words, they release you from the chains. Your body slumps to the floor. They leave you with nothing but a torch to light the tomb.
“Mommy?” The little voice echoes through this cavernous space as Laurel emerges from the shadows. You can see Lorelai in the child, see Cassie.
Lorelai tries to fight her way to the surface as Laurel comes closer, but you’re stronger than she is.
“Mommy?”
Your gaze locks onto hers. Laurel is silent and still, and then, looking more like a ghost than a child, her eyes harden.
“You’re not my mommy.”
You hum under your breath. “Mommy had to go away,” you tell her, stepping forward to caress her hair, a smile playing at the edges of your lips. “And Laurel? Mommy isn’t coming back.”
