Page 132 of Fallacies

It doesn’t hit me until I’ve caught up to his side, unsure of where he’s going but certain of where I’ve gone wrong. It was written in his smile. In the knowing glint in his eye, and the satisfaction on his face right before he took off walking—my first source slung over his shoulder. It’s the way the word deal rolled off his tongue.

I made a deal, alright. A deal with the devil.

32

Lucina

The Hound moves through the Estate as if he built it—confident of every turn, certain where Rogues are and where they aren’t. Now and then, he’ll pass before two corridors, inhaling deeply before deciding on which one to take.

I follow him skeptically, taking three steps for every one of his purposeful strides, and when we make it to one of the Estate exits, he freezes.

The toes of his dress shoes stop just before the ward, and I watch in stunned silence as that same blue mist from my first night in the dungeons creeps up from the floor. I jump back as it circles his frame, rising until it swallows him and the Baron’s body whole.

I stumble another step back, wide-eyed, and when the fog clears⁠—

The Hound is on the other side of the ward.

An old conversation flits through my spiraling thoughts. The one my coven and I had in Callan’s kitchen the day Hunter, Pax, and Phoenix came back from Streatham:

“Lucina,” Devon had said to me, “The Hound is a God. If he wanted into Pirn, he’d snap the Banyan like a twig.”

Or simply step through it.

Sensing that I haven’t moved, he turns back, dark brows raised as his crystal eyes fall to my frozen feet. I’m certain he knows—like he seems to know most things—that I’m fully capable of crossing this ward. Yet all I manage is a blank stare back at him.

The Hound sighs, readjusting the Baron’s body on his shoulder. “You want your answers, don’t you?”

That’s all it takes for me to shove the billion questions I have aside and step through the ward, cringing at the sensation of foreign magic passing over my skin.

As soon as I’ve joined him on the other side, he shakes his head and takes off walking again.

He’s taking us to the northeastern side of the Estate, heading straight for a dense line of forestry ahead. The woods don’t typically scare me, but the towering pines and pitch-black space between them trigger a half-skip of my heartbeat. I force myself to keep moving despite it, and by the time we get to the treeline, that stutter in my pulse has morphed into a frantic beating.

It’s another decision I’m forced to make as the Hound pushes his way into the eerie black forest, moving through it much like he did the Estate—as if he placed each tree and twig. I can either stay out here, run very fast in the opposite direction, or follow the Hound and the deadman bouncing over his shoulder into a forest that my body physically refuses.

The center of my palms grows slick with sweat.

I’ve followed strangers into the woods before, and up until now, following Callan had been the riskiest. I’m not sure how much luck I have left, but as I drum up the courage to step into the treeline, I pray to every god I know that I have enough to make it back out.

Mindful of my steps, I trail the random path he takes through the woods. The deeper we get and the farther we move from the Estate, the bigger the trunks become. The sounds of night—the crickets, the passing of a breeze—soon fade into a dead quiet. The pines have swallowed every sound, barricading us in a silence that makes our steps much louder than they actually are.

I can hear my own heartbeat, and I can hear the Hound breathing. The frantic pulse in my ears is embarrassing compared to the steady rhythm of his inhales.

Swallowing, I smooth my throat to whisper, “How far are we⁠—”

He comes to an abrupt halt, so fast I almost run straight into his back. The Baron’s body flails when the Hound whirls to face me, a finger pressed to his lips.

I’ve never shut my mouth so fast.

Confident that I’ve listened, he inhales, swiveling his head to either side of us. When his gaze settles just over my shoulder—trained on something behind me—I freeze. The sensation that crawls over my skin is the same feeling I get when Kimber declares that there’s a ghost in the room.

The Baron’s body hits the ground with a sickening thud, and then he’s moving, strategically covering him with leaves and sticks and anything else he can find.

“What’s going on?” I ask, braving a look over my shoulder. There’s hardly any light this deep into the woods, but I don’t see anything, and I don’t sense any movement either.

The Hound doesn’t reply, quickly covering the last of the Baron’s body, and before I can ask the question again, he snatches my wrist.

I move to yank it away, and I’m met with unyielding resistance. I’ve never felt more defenseless as he drags me away from the body and deeper into the woods.