“We were promised the ambrosia and nectar of pizza and beer,” Deon said as he came through the door.

  “And lo, that shall come to pass,” Charlie said in return. “But not until we get to the new place.”

  Red had spent most of the morning working on the van and it now had a new battery as well as a few other new things. Importantly, it was running again and could hold a lot more boxes than the Porsche.

  They loaded up as much as they could and headed over to Northampton to get the keys and unload the first trip’s worth. Leaving their Easthampton rental house made Charlie feel oddly nostalgic, but maybe a new start was what they needed. Hopefully the place wouldn’t be too tiny, because that was the only way an apartment downtown could be affordable.

  On the way, Posey’s phone rang. She was in the front seat, squeezed in beside Charlie. Red drove the van, allowing Ibrahim—who’d promised he knew how to drive stick—to take the Porsche.

  “Hey, Mom,” Posey said, then glanced over at Charlie and pressed the phone to her neck. “She wants to know if you’re going to be at their place for Christmas?”

  The holidays were coming up fast. “Sure,” Charlie said. Where else was she going to go?

  “Is Vince going to be with you?” Posey blinked, all mock-innocence.

  “I guess I’d have to ask him,” Charlie said, looking over at Red in the driver’s seat.

  “If you’re going, then so am I,” he said, which sounded like more of an answer than it was.

  “You sure?” Charlie asked. “It’s not going to be—”

  “Tell her I’m coming,” he said to Posey. “And thank her for the invitation.”

  After that was settled, Posey told their mother about the meaning of a tarot spread she’d done for her. They laughed and talked about presents they were buying. Once again, Charlie was hyperaware of what an easy relationship Posey and their mother had.

  Maybe she and her mom could be like that, if Charlie didn’t mind building a relationship on quicksand. But her mother would never forgive Charlie for all her lies, so she just kept lying.

  The apartment building was a beautiful old stone building near the end of Northampton’s busiest street. It was two doors down from Rooster’s place. All the restaurants and galleries and shops were an easy walk from their door. The moment she saw it, Charlie was sure there had been some mistake. There was no way they could afford this.

  It was an apartment for the kind of person who probably walked into town every Wednesday with a basket to get farmer’s market jams and who had dinner out with friends at least twice a week. The kind of person who had a chunky necklace and an interesting job.

  Not that Charlie didn’t have an interesting job, but it was the bad kind of interesting.

  “Come pick up the keys with me,” Posey said. “We have to go to the office.”

  “I’ll start unloading,” Red told Charlie.

  She felt the pull of the tether between them as she followed her sister. It wasn’t far, but she could still feel it, the slight unspooling of energy.

  Posey knocked on a door on the first level bearing a slightly tarnished brass plate engraved with the word OFFICE. A moment later, a woman with lots of silver curls opened the door. She had on dark-washed jeans and a navy blazer with bright gold buttons.

  “I’m Posey Hall,” she said. “Here to pick up the keys to 9A.”

  “Welcome, welcome,” the woman said, reaching over to her desk where a manila envelope marked with the apartment number rested. “We have a wine social on Wednesday nights in the back garden. Hope you can join us and meet some of your neighbors. Did we get your pet contract?”

  “I think so,” Posey said.

  “And you have no dogs, correct?”

  “Just a demonic cat,” said Charlie.

  The woman’s smile was unamused, the movement of her lips only a polite reflex. She handed the envelope to Charlie, who could feel the weight of the keys inside.

  She went to the elevator and pressed the brass button for the second floor, a sinking feeling in her gut. A couple with a stroller came in from outside, scarves around their throats.

  “Old buildings,” the man said to Charlie and Posey apologetically, when he saw them waiting. “Everything takes a little longer.”

  They rode up together, although the family was headed for the third floor. The baby gummed on a necklace that appeared to be made of soft beige beads. The woman bent over the stroller to tuck the blanket more firmly around the child.

  When Charlie and Posey got to 9A, the key turned smoothly in the oiled lock. Inside the apartment, large windows let ample sunlight spill over onto original hardwood floors. High ceilings added to its grandeur. Intricate plaster moldings filled Charlie with a kind of longing. Not just to live in a place like this, but to be the sort of person who could. Someone who relaxed over French press coffee in a sun-dappled kitchen with a stone countertop. Who had a multi-step skincare routine instead of a multi-step process to cover up her bruised eye.

  To be like the handsome couple with the stroller, complaining about the slowness of the elevator.

  “How are we affording this place?” she asked Posey.

  “Don’t you like it?” Posey returned.

  “You know that’s not the point,” Charlie said. “The money doesn’t add up. Our rent should be twice what it is.”

  “We caught a break,” said Posey. “Can’t we just be happy?”

  Charlie couldn’t, but that wasn’t her sister’s problem. With a grunt, she headed back to the elevator. Time to move a lot of boxes into the impossibly beautiful space.

  A woman came out from the apartment across the hall. “Charlie?” said a familiar voice—Suzie Lambton.

  Shit. It’s true that I broke into your condo, Charlie thought. And slept in your bed like that little bitch Goldilocks. And stole some of your clothes. I am a total asshole. Please don’t guess it was me. But what she actually said was, “Hi.”

  “That guy you brought to Barb and Aimee’s party—I didn’t recognize him at first, but that was Remy, right? Remy Carver?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie agreed warily.

  “You called him something else, though,” Suzie said.

  “He goes by his middle name,” Charlie said. “Vince.” That, at least, had the virtue of being true. And Charlie was happy for any subject that wasn’t breaking-into-condo-related.

  “I—we even talked that night. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.” Suzie frowned at the floor.

  “Did you know him?” Charlie asked.

  Suzie waved a hand loftily in the air. “He went out with a girl I was in high school with. He was at Deerfield and I went to Williston, so there was a lot of cross-dating. We hung out a couple of times. I can’t believe I didn’t—oh, we were just talking about you!”

  Red had walked up the stairs, box in hand. It was marked BOOKS TO HATE READ. He looked startled.

  Of course Salt had sent Remy to Deerfield. It was elite enough for a multimillionaire working toward being a billionaire and local enough for him to take Red out for a day trip to murder someone, no questions asked. Charlie had looked up where Remy went to college, but hadn’t considered high school.

  Lots of people around town would have known Remy. Not people Charlie hung out with regularly, but the Valley was small.

  Her name is Suzie Lambton. You flirted with her right under my nose at a party and maybe knew her a tiny bit when you were a teenager.

  “Suzie, right?” he said smoothly, recovering. “Are you in this building?”

  Her smile was very friendly in return. Charlie couldn’t even fault her for it. Her smiles had been friendly before she knew he was due to inherit hundreds of millions. “Just visiting. Did you know that you dated a friend of mine when you were at Deerfield?”

  His expression stiffened. “Sona,” he said finally.

  Suzie put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a mock-scolding expression. “You weren’t very nice to her either.”

  “I wasn’t good at being a person then,” he told her, the double meaning only obvious to Charlie.

  Luckily, the elevator finally arrived. Red stuck his foot in, stopping the doors from closing.

  “Have Charlie give you my number,” Suzie told him. “I’d love to catch up.”

  * * *

  Moving took the rest of the afternoon. Sweaty and covered in dust, they collapsed onto any furniture handy. Aron lolled on a beanbag that Posey had kept in her room and argued with Katelynn about whether the molding was Second Empire, Neoclassical, or something else.

  José was telling Malhar the story of how he and Paul met, all three of them on the couch. Paul’s eyes were closed.

  Pizza was ordered. Beer was acquired. Vodka and lemonade were put into a vase when no pitcher could be found. Plates were removed from a box labeled PLAAAAAATES. Lucipurrr was removed from her cat carrier. She stalked around the place, tail high as a flag.

  I don’t understand what we’re doing in a building like this one. Charlie sent the thought to Red.

  A few ideas presented themselves, none of which she liked. Was this a gambit by one of his family—offer the place to Posey, and then hold it over Charlie to control him? Would they wind up on the street through some elaborate bait and switch, forcing her to go crawling to Fiona or Adeline for help?

  Not that she would. She’d rather sleep on the floor of her mother’s long-stay hotel than accept charity from Adeline. Hell, she’d rather break into the abandoned mill building and sleep where the dead drifter had.

  Perhaps you should consider asking your sister. His tone was gentle, as though breaking bad news.

  What could Posey have done?

  He didn’t answer, leaving her to fill in his silence with her fears.

  Charlie walked over to the chair that Posey occupied.

  How many times had Charlie been secretive, assuring Posey that it didn’t matter where the money came from? Brushing off questions? If Posey had made some kind of sketchy deal, she was only showing Charlie love in the exact way that Charlie had taught her to show it. That didn’t make Charlie feel better; if anything it made her feel worse.

  “This place is great,” Charlie made herself say. “I really love it.”

  Posey’s smile was brilliant. “It is, right?”

  “And you’re great,” Charlie told her.

  A small frown started between her brows. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Just happy.” Charlie wasn’t good at trusting people, but Posey deserved her trust anyway.

  She made herself walk away without asking more questions.

  As she stood at the window, looking down on the glittering lights of Northampton, someone touched her elbow and she turned.

  Red held two plastic cups of spiked lemonade. He offered one to her.

  Charlie accepted hers, taking a grateful swig. The drink tasted bitter and sweet at the same time.

  “I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?” he asked. “Outside.”

  “Sure,” she told him. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head. The apartment was full of people, though. Deon had commandeered José to help mount the television on the wall and they were doing a lot of measuring and muttering. Malhar was messing around with the portable Bluetooth speaker, trying to agree on a song with Posey.

  No one noticed as Charlie and Red slipped out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out into the cold night. The lights of Northampton were bright, but the hum of people was far from the leaf-lined parking lot.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Once, you told me that you would cut me free from you if that’s what I wanted,” he said, his voice low. “Will you do that now?”

  For the last few days, she’d felt close to Red. He hadn’t given her a hard time for getting drunk and messy. He’d told her his secrets. He was invited to Christmas. She could even imagine him showing up, bottle of wine in hand. Expensive wine, in that cheap hotel room.

  Charlie shook her head. “Why are you asking me that?” But she knew as soon as she posed the question. She counted up the days. He was going to Rose.

  “Because it’s what I need.” His gaze on her was steady. “Please, Charlie.”

  She needed to stop imagining Christmas. She needed to stop thinking of a future. “And I am supposed to just trust you?”

  “To do what?” he asked, as though what Charlie said was confusing. As though she was a fool. As though he didn’t know that once he was untethered, he was free to hurt her.

  “No,” she said, so furious that she felt lightheaded. “I won’t cut you free.”

  His mouth twisted. He didn’t even look surprised. “So much for promises.”

  “I saw you go out the window with that shadow girl,” Charlie said, low-voiced, as softly as if she were speaking to a lover. “I followed you. I heard her promise you my death in return for the assassination of the gloamist bound to her.”

  He blinked, as though trying to break the spell of her voice. “You really followed me?”

  “I did,” Charlie told him.

  He shook his head. “I would have noticed.”

  Her smile was malicious. “You didn’t. Because I’m the best.”

  “And you believe I want you dead?” His eyes were coals, hot and bright. His soft mouth curved. “Are you actually afraid of me, Charlie Hall?”

  “I spent days waiting for you to tell me what happened. I listened to you lie to me again and again.” Charlie pointed her finger at him. “So, no, I am not untethering you. Not unless you tell me the truth.”

  “You wouldn’t like it.” His eyes were embers in the dark.

  Lightheadedness hit her again, making her stagger. The unpleasant taste of the lemonade returned to her.

  “You fucker,” she said woozily. “You drugged me? With what?”

  “The lorazepam you brought back from Salt’s house,” he told her. “You don’t have to unbind me. I can make your hand hold the knife.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” she said, the words slurring. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth.

  “You might be the death of me,” he told her, opening the back door to the van. “But not tonight.”

  24

  [DRAFT] Transcription via AI from recording by Madurai Malhar Iyer

  Malhar: How do you feel about needing to consume blood?

  Red: What do you mean?

  Malhar: Remy aside, you mostly drank it from Salt’s victims, right?

  Red: You could call them my victims.

  Malhar: How many were there?

  Red: That depends on what you mean. There were people he had me kill for professional reasons. Then there were people with quickened shadows or people with shadows he thought he could quicken. Those who he could experiment on. Those who wouldn’t be missed.

  Malhar: Did he learn anything?

  Red: Eager to do some experiments of your own?

  Malhar: No, of course not!

  Red: Sometimes torture is an end unto itself.

  Malhar: I can see why you’re skeptical of researchers.

  Red: Because I’m an experiment?

  Malhar: Tell me a story, Red. Help me see your life the way you do.

  Red: What do you mean?

  Malhar: About those times. Help me understand what it was like to be there.

  Red: There was a woman, near the end. Her name was Rose. She and Remy were together. She was good for him, I think. Sometimes I thought that every time he made me better, he made himself worse. She made him want to keep his emotions. But she had a powerful shadow and Remy wanted to escape, so when Salt wanted Rose, he got Rose.

  Malhar: Could Remy have protected her?

  Red: I don’t know. He didn’t try. And I didn’t care. I just wanted Remy to mean it this time, to leave.

  Malhar: Why would this time be different?

  Red: His mother was dead. And Remy thought that Salt had a hand in it.

  Malhar: Did he?

  Red: It’s possible, but it’s also possible that the answer was simply that addicts overdose sometimes. An accident, like falling down stairs and breaking your neck. Either way, Remy felt guilty for not being with her—for not trying harder to get away from Salt. But after she was gone, he decided Salt had nothing over him anymore.

  Malhar: And you were glad?

  Red: Usually when Remy felt sad or guilty, he would give that emotion away to me. This time was different. He kept it, and he planned. And he continued being charming to Rose, even though he could have guessed it would doom her.

  Malhar: Was he the one who kidnapped her?

  Red: By then she was so used to going places with him in an anonymous black car with a driver, lying to the people around her about where she was going, that she practically kidnapped herself.

  Please don’t think that I believe she bears any responsibility. No one expects evil like that. Even people who have known cruelty aren’t used to someone having no end to what they are not just willing, but eager to do. Salt was always worse than anyone imagined.

  Malhar: Even you?

  Red: Me, most of all. Remy tried to pay for his escape with Rose’s life. I never thought he’d pay with his own blood.

  25

  Missing Parts

  Charlie Hall woke on the floor of a van, a familiar couch cushion underneath her head. Two sleeping bags had been wrapped around her. Pushing herself into a sitting position, adrenaline flooded her body as her breath clouded in the cold. Where was she? Dizziness made it hard to orient herself.

  Oh, right. This was Vince’s van.

  It came back to her then. Moving into the too-nice apartment. Lemonade in Red’s hand. Him, asking her to cut the tether that bound them. She blinked at the walls of the vehicle. Everything looked simultaneously too sharp and fuzzy around the edges. Her tongue was a little numb.

  He’d drugged her.

  Fuck. Fuck. He’d gone to free Rose’s shadow. To murder in her name.

  I want you, he’d said the night before. I’ve always wanted you. And I can’t have you. Had he already planned what he would do to her today? Was that the reason he held himself back?