Page 89 of The Devil

“There,” I grit out, tossing the gun onto the bed.

One of his soldiers gets it and helps the man on the floor to get out of the way.

“Now we can talk like civilized men,” Senna says, although I see the blood that’s ruined the carpet. “Mrs. Blackstone’s costume I assume is more opulent than those of the Blackstone brothers, Master Robertson?” he asks.

“Yes, of course. Which is why they’ve taken her to the dressing room. You’ll understand once you see her,” Robertson says.

“The Scots do things differently than we do in the states, Jethro,” Senna explains like I’m a fucking toddler. “Much more formal. Hierarchical.”

“I don’t really give a fuck. Take me to her now or I swear⁠—”

“You will see her at the ball. As soon as you’re dressed.” Just then, Robertson signals to a servant who must be waiting just outside to enter. He’s carrying a garment bag and a pair of high boots. “Your costume is here. As soon as you’re ready, I will show you to the great hall where you will be reunited your wife,” Robertson says.

Senna clears his throat. “And I’m here to tell you that at you and Severin’s insistence, we’ve expedited the paperwork. It’ll be ready for you to sign this evening. Once it’s signed, you are free to leave.”

I look at Senna, then Robertson, then back at Senna. “Just like that. We’re free to leave. All of us?” I ask because I know the games The Society likes to play.

Senna nods and watches me, waiting for my reaction.

“Why this ball? Why do we need to attend?” I ask.

“Oh, Jethro. Just let them have this,” Senna says. “Traditions are important to The Society and doubly so here in the old world. Once our business is concluded, you will leave with your brother and the woman. I tell no lie.”

Robertson has instructed the servant to take whatever costume he’s got for me out of the garment bag. As he hangs it on the closet door and brushes the fabric, Robertson picks up the mask and looks like he’s dusting it off. Everything is plain and black, no adornment, no luxurious fabrics. I know what that means in The Society. We are the lowest of the low.

So, this is a shaming. Publicly displaying us in a room full of Society royalty, perhaps a warning to some, or simply for their sick pleasure.

Well, fuck it. If it gets us off the island, fuck it.

“Fine. Get out. My brother and I will find our way to the great hall where I’d better see my wife.”

Although there’s a moment, they all make their way to the door. Just before they close it, I call out to Senna

“Councilor,” he stops. Turns his head to watch me cross the room to the fireplace which is still crackling. “If you’re fucking lying, if anything happens to my wife or my brother,” I start, picking up a brass poker. “I will run you through with this damn poker. Old world ceremony and all.” Mother fucker.

At least there’s a split second where he looks afraid. At least there’s that heartbeat of ‘oh fuck’ on his face. Because he knows I’ll do it. He knows if it weren’t for his guard, he wouldn’t be walking out of here like he is.

The door closes behind them. I throw the poker onto the stone hearth. It clangs as I curse loudly.

I should never have left her. It was fucking stupid to leave her alone even for a single fucking minute.

“Fuck!”

My hands are fists as I cross the room to put that damned costume on like this is some sort of fucking game. I see the diary again and pick it up, flatten out the page Amal was looking at. I look at it, at the drawing. It’s a full page of thorny vines and roses intertwined and tangled. A small bird is impaled on one of the thorns.

“Jet,” my brother’s voice comes following a knock and then opening of the door.

I close the notebook and turn to him.

He walks inside and looks around. I answer his unasked question.

“They took her.”

“What do you mean they took her?” He enters and closes the door.

“Shit. Why did I fucking leave her. Fuck!”

“Keep it together. Where did they take her?”