Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
The irony is so perfect it makes me smile.
I pull out my phone and send a simple text: “Come collect me. It’s finished.”
Then I sit down to wait, and take a long, luxurious drink of my wine surrounded by the corpses of my father’s killers.
I know my father would be proud of me.
Chapter Forty-Three
Saylor
“We should get ready,” I say, glancing toward the window where cars are already pulling up the drive. “The guests are starting to arrive.”
Around me, Maison Rouge pulses with music and laughter and the particular energy that comes from celebrating something that shouldn’t be possible. We’re throwing a back-from-the-dead party—a very merry resurrection celebration—toasting our miraculous return to the land of the living while half of Grimlock drinks to our survival.
“Saylor!” Dame Gothel appears at my elbow with champagne and a grin that could power the entire town. “Congratulations on being gloriously alive, darling.”
Duffy slides up beside her, cocktail in hand. “Miraculous, really. We thought we’d lost you both for good.”
I look between them. “This is surreal. A week ago you thought we were dead.”
“Well, it’s not every day someone comes back from the dead,” Dame Gothel says, taking a delicate sip. “Blue knows how to throw a party for any occasion.”
“Death looked so final when we heard the news,” Duffy says, raising her glass. “But here you are, defying the grave itself.”
I bite back the urge to tell them exactly how close we actually came to not making it back—whatever happened while we were gone, however Blue managed our disappearance and return. Hell, I know the whole town believed we were truly gone, and now here we are, very much alive. The rumors will spread even further tonight, growing more elaborate with each telling, and our enemies will have to reckon with the fact that we’re much harder to eliminate than they thought. Instead, I just nod solemnly. “Right. Very risky business, cheating death.”
“Exactly!” Dame Gothel raises her glass. “To Saylor and Blue—the first people in Grimlock to successfully rise from the grave.”
“Enjoy the party,” I tell them, already scanning the room. “I need to find Blue.”
The ballroom is set up much like the welcome party. Blue clearly knows exactly how I like things. Edison bulbs strung between iron candelabras cast everything in warm amber light, while black roses—actual black roses, because of course Blue went there—spill from silver urns placed strategically around the room. The tables groan under platters of food that could have been conjured by some very stylish witch: dark bread shaped like ravens, wine that’s so deep purple it’s almost black, and desserts with names like “Death by Chocolate” and “Broken Hearts Tart.”
The crowd spreads throughout the ballroom, everyone moving with the relaxed enthusiasm of people who know they’re in for a good time. Conversations resume as guests begin filling their plates, the atmosphere warm and convivial despite the elegant setting.
So many people from Grimlock are eager to congratulate us personally about our miraculous survival. The relief in their faces is genuine—pure joy at seeing us both still breathing. There’s something beautiful about a town that celebrates life this enthusiastically.
Musicians have claimed the corner near the fireplace, their instruments weaving melodies of celebration and mourning wrapped together. The violin particularly seems to understand that we’re toasting both victory and loss, joy and the particular satisfaction that comes from surviving when everyone expected us to die.
Blue appears beside me with two glasses of liquid midnight. “Having second thoughts about the no-marriage thing?”
He’s traded his usual dark suits for something more formal tonight—a perfectly tailored tuxedo that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad and emphasizes the lean lines of his body. His dark hair is styled with just enough product to look effortless, and his beard is trimmed to perfection, the blue-black color catching the candlelight. The mustache that frames his mouth draws attention to lips that have no business being that perfectly shaped on a man who’s already unfairly attractive.
It’s honestly criminal how good he looks. Like he stepped out of some vintage Hollywood movie where all the leading men were devastatingly handsome and knew exactly how to use it.
“No second thoughts,” I say, taking a sip of the drink. “Let’s focus on the party. No more marriage talk.” I glance around the ballroom, taking in the perfect details, the happy faces, the celebration of life itself. “This is actually incredible. Only you would throw the most beautiful party to celebrate us rising from the dead.”
“Good,” he says, and I can hear the genuine relief. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about celebrating . . . this.”
“You mean celebrating the fact that we’re both still breathing and very much alive? I’m discovering I’m very much in favor of both of us surviving.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “Jesus, Saylor. That blue dress . . . Wren has excellent taste. You look . . .” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m trying to think of something that isn’t completely inappropriate to say at your back-from-the-dead party.”