Roan wasn’t just the boy I’d gotten to know through letters, who lived a North Sea away from my country. He had a complete life, one that didn’t involve me. He had friends, had a girlfriend even, and he didn’t need me. Had never needed me. Not the way I needed him.
I wiped away the tears that had sprung into my eyes, and continued scrolling, hardening myself against any other pictures of the sort I might find.
“Yes, the murders they called ‘jaguar attacks.’ Mr. Black, it’s important that you tell me everything you know about your son’s disappearance,” Indra said. “If he had any enemies, if anyone wanted to hurt him. Anything, please.”
Indra listened to Mr. Black’s response, then thanked him, promised she’d get back in touch as soon as she heard anything, and ended the call.
“They received a picture of Roan,” she said as she turned to me. “The picture showed him declawed, chained up in some kind of dungeon. Apparently, it also said if they told anyone their son was still missing or contacted the police or the Conclave, the kidnappers would kill Roan. Considering his son had already been hurt so badly, Mr. Black believed the kidnappers.”
Roan chained up in a dungeon. The ice around my heart dug in deep, and it cut even deeper as I reached the next picture on Roan’s Facebook page. This time, the girl Roan had been kissing in the previous picture was turned toward the camera as she hugged him around the waist.
I tightened my lips and gestured for Indra to come closer. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to start crying in front of her, but I couldn’t break down now. Roan was in real danger, and he needed me.
“I found something, too.” I turned the laptop screen so Indra could see it, too. “Tell me who you see on that picture.”
Indra blinked and then looked from me to the picture and back.
“Roan Black was dating Reyna Felton.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Indra and I searched Roan’s Facebook profile for a while longer. To my relief, his relationship with Reyna seemed to have been brief—the first picture of them was the one where she hugged him around the waist, posted a week before his Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland review. He’d posted the other picture a few days after, and then nothing of the sort, not up till his disappearance.
Why was I relieved that they hadn’t been dating for that long? Maybe because, if we were still on speaking terms, I would’ve at least expected Roan to tell me he was dating someone during our frequent letters exchange. Although…I hadn’t told him I was in love with Mannix, either, until it was too late. So maybe I couldn’t blame Roan if he withheld the same information for me.
Indra scratched her chin. “So, they’d only started dating recently. Then, he dumps her, or vice versa, and he disappears. Now, Reyna’s sister is killed, scratched with his claws.”
“To be fair, we can’t know they broke up,” I said, even though it pained me to speak the words out loud. “Maybe he just stopped posting pictures and then vanished.”
Indra frowned at me. “It does say ‘single’ on his profile. Didn’t you notice that yet? You seem off your game, Holmes.”
I had seen it, but the picture had apparently rattled me so much I hadn’t even thought about it again. God, what was wrong with me? My mind couldn’t start failing me now. I reached for my mind palace, clung on to it with everything I had.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Indra continued. “From what I see, Reyna Felton is square in the middle of this. Either she’s involved somehow, or someone is targeting her specifically. Everyone killed or missing so far has had some kind of connection to her. That’s no coincidence.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’ll call in to the Conclave, brief them on what we’ve found so far: Aria Forbes’ murder, Mannix being involved, the Roan Black connection,” Indra said. “Maybe you don’t want to be here when I do?” Her tone grew softer, and it took me a second to figure out what she meant—I thought she mentioned it because I had a connection with Roan, but she couldn’t know that since I hadn’t told her.
She was talking about Mannix. With everything going on with Roan, Mannix being involved had slipped my mind completely.
That thought gave me some comfort, at least. Six months ago, I was swooning over Mannix. Now, I didn’t feel anything about him but contempt and hatred. And now, he had showed up again with a cryptic message.
“You want me to leave, so you can tell them how royally I screwed up by not telling you Mannix had contacted me.” I got up from the bed and walked toward the door. “I get it.”
My jaguar stirred, finally. Thoughts of Mannix seemed to have brought some life back to her. She got up and growled low and angry. I’d never seen her this terrifying before—she looked ready for the kill.
“No, no.” Indra stopped me, her hand on my arm. “I’ll tell them about Mannix, but I don’t think you ‘royally screwed up,’ Marisol. I think Mannix is a manipulative bastard who is intervening in this investigation and who is extremely dangerous. That’s what I’ll let them know.” She gave me a weak smile, one that said she understood and she wasn’t mad at me.
I smiled back, nodded, and left the room. She might act like she understood, but I wasn’t sure if she did—for all I knew, she could rat me out to the Conclave right this second. And I wasn’t just being suspicious of her because she was a snake, although she liked to mention my prejudice against her species.
I just couldn’t trust anyone anymore. Not even myself, sometimes.
My jaguar clawed at the door in my mind, her eyes set in determination, her ears low.
I couldn’t let instincts take over, though. Only logic could defeat Mannix; I could only trust the logical side of myself.
I contemplated eavesdropping by the door, but then decided against it and instead headed over to the common room. Each hallway had its common room, a small seating area where you could read a book or talk to others. Wyatt had showed it to us on our first day here.
Two days ago, but it seemed a lifetime ago. My mind was exhausted, my body completely numb. My frozen heart still ached, but it was a dull pain now and one that I guessed would keep throbbing for a while.
I found the seating area empty and sat down on one of the recliners.
For once, my brain was almost empty. At the same time, however, it was swarming with thoughts and possibilities. I tried to focus on the investigation, but my thoughts kept circling back to Roan’s disappearance.
If Mannix wasn’t responsible for Roan’s vanishing and Elise and Aria’s murder, then I was zero steps closer to who was.
Except…
I grabbed the paper Mannix had left me, the one clutched in Aria’s Forbes ice-cold hand, and opened it, turning the corners so I could read the message.
Terrible vent et pluie.
It was French for “Terrible wind and rain,” which said absolutely nothing to me.
I mulled over the message a bit. It had to mean something, but what? I tried a few other adjectives, synonyms for terrible, and then…
Dreadful Wind and Rain
I knew that. The title “Dreadful Wind and Rain” sparked something in my mind, a memory I’d tried to forget, tried to repress.
A memory of Mannix, and that night I’d wanted to forget.
Because after he’d killed that innocent man, sacrificed a life to potentially gain favor of a demon, I’d seen him one more time.
I’d had one chance to catch him and turn him in to the Conclave, so he’d spent the rest of his days wasting away in prison for his crimes.
And I’d let him go.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The memory of the last time I’d seen Mannix replayed in my mind like a movie, and the longer the memory stretched on, the more it hurt me, shattered my heart.
Mannix was standing in my mother’s penthouse. In my home. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when I walked in and saw him standing there, near the window. His short black hair stood up in spikes, courtesy of a heavy dose
of gel. He had his back toward me, and I could scarcely make out the wolf tattoo on his muscled arm.
He wore all black clothes, but like everything else, he looked good in them, handsome, refined.
I should hate him. His appearance should make me want to throw up. But back then, the butterflies still fluttered, still danced their silly love dance, even though he’d betrayed me in so many ways.
My jaguar growled at him, low and threatening, her eyes spitting fire.
“Why did you do it?” I asked his back. My voice came out weaker than I intended, so soft I feared he might not have heard me.
My jaguar sent me a mental image of leaping out and killing him, but how could I? How could I shift and kill the person I loved…or had once loved? It hurt so much to think about what he’d done to me, but I felt shattered about the prospect of having to kill him.
He had heard me, because he answered, although he didn’t turn around. “Does it matter why? I killed your cousin. She’s dead. Should the reason why she’s dead make a difference? It doesn’t to her, I can assure you.”
“It makes a difference to me.” My voice broke as I walked toward him, tears streaming down my face although I tried so hard to keep them in, so hard to keep up my composure.
He stood in front of the window, watching the rain fall and the thunder clash over our heads. This was in my mother’s penthouse, in one of the most well-protected places I knew, with more security guards than personnel, and still he’d managed to sneak in. Conveniently, when she wasn’t even at home.
“I did it because I wanted to.” He turned around now, facing me. His face was gorgeous, a Greek statue come to life, perfect in every way, except for the scar crossing through his left eyebrow. But to me, that scar made him look even more entrancing. He was a prince of darkness, and he’d seduced me and lured me into his shadowy world.
“Because you…wanted to?” I choked out the last words, fury building in me like a raging tornado. My jaguar threw her head from left to right, her teeth bared, ready to pounce on him the moment I let her, the moment I allowed myself to shift. “You can’t kill people just because you want to.”
“Oh, but I can.” He smiled, a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s quite easy when you’ve realized that you can.”
“I’ll call security.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be gone by the time they’re here.”
“You belong in prison.” I balled my hands into fists and willed myself not to cry.
The man I’d loved had never existed. The person standing here was the real Mannix, and he’d betrayed me in so many ways. He’d hurt me; he’d used me… And he’d killed Amaranth.
My jaguar and I howled at the same time, and I willed myself to shift, to become the magnificent creature of the jungle, powerful enough to take him down, upset and angry enough to rip him apart.
But I didn’t shift. I couldn’t shift.
What had once came easily for me, now seemed impossible. Before, I only had to “will” myself to shift, and my body already began transforming. Now, I stayed human.
My jaguar wailed, her eyes wide, and started pacing around in panic.
Why couldn’t I shift anymore?
“Do I?” Mannix shrugged, a sly smirk on his lips, and I wondered… Did he know I couldn’t shift anymore? He could always read me so easily. What if he’d noticed I had tried to shift but couldn’t? “Where do I belong?” he said. “I don’t know. Often, I feel as if I don’t belong on this world. Until I met you, that is.”
He reached for me, for a loose strand of hair, and tucked it behind my ear. I realized I stood too close to him, had let him get too close again, but at the same time, I couldn’t back away.
I was so foolish back then, so enthralled by him that I couldn’t face the truth, that I didn’t want to realize how cruel and wicked he was, and had been from the start.
“Since the moment I met you, I’ve wanted you. I never met anyone remotely like me before, until I saw you. We’re the same, Marisol, you and I,” he said as he moved even closer to me, bending his head so he could look me straight in the eyes. “You just have to let go of everything that is holding you back.”
“We’re both too smart,” he continued, the eyes that once looked so loving now appearing empty and void to me. “Geniuses who are misunderstood. We think so fast no one else can quite catch up. We live in a world different than theirs, a world all our own. We don’t have to abide by their rules, Marisol. We don’t have to endure their sense of morality. We can create our own world, love, far superior to theirs.”
“We’re not the same.” Yet, I couldn’t find the strength to back away. My legs wouldn’t move, stubbornly refusing to do so. Without my jaguar to back me up, I felt lost, a ship adrift at sea, with part of me missing.
“Oh, but we are.” He caressed my cheek, and I closed my eyes, savoring his touch even though I ought to loathe it. My jaguar growled, telling me to back away, to retreat, that this wasn’t right, that I was stronger than this… But without her, how strong was I really?
I was weak. I’d been weak the day I had let Amaranth die. Maybe I didn’t deserve to have my jaguar by my side anymore.
“One day you’ll realize that. One day, Marisol, I’ll give you the world.” He smiled at me sadly, then leaned in and kissed me on the lips.
Despite myself, despite knowing I shouldn’t, despite knowing that this was against everything I stood for, I gave in. The touch of his lips on mine sparked something inside me, an anger, a hatred even larger than anything I’d felt before, but not just toward him. Toward myself too. Because I was weak, a failure, because I had been too arrogant for my own good, because I had thought that if anyone was tricking me, I would be smart enough to catch up before it was too late.
My jaguar kept sending me images of tearing him apart, of ripping his heart out, while she growled at me, angry for not fighting back.
But how could I fight back? I was… broken.
“For now, I can only give you a simple gift.” He pointed at the dining room table.
I looked in that direction and saw a book lying on the table. The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited by Francis James Child. The copy looked vintage, antique, easily one hundred years old.
“I loved reading these when I was younger,” Mannix said. He was talking about books, about random, everyday things, as if any of that mattered, as if any of that changed anything. I stared at him, bewildered.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy them, too,” he said. They’re stories of heartache and woe.” The sad smile returned. “Kind of like our own. Some of my favorites are The Three Ravens, The Boy and The Mantle, and Dreadful Wind and Rain. I recommend those.” He turned back toward me and reached for my cheek again, caressing it softly.
Sadness clouded his eyes, and I wondered if he was sad over the way things ended between us, or sad that he had to let me go. He certainly wasn’t sad over the one thing worth being sad about: my cousin’s death and his role in it.
“Goodbye, Marisol. Until we meet again.”
And I—weak, pathetic, stupid, emotional Marisol—I let him go. I let him walk out of the door. I watched him leave, and did nothing to stop him.
He was a murderer, and I let him go.
Because I was broken. Because I was only half of the person I’d once been. Because he might be a murderer, but I, the stupid, foolishly in love teenager, was the real guilty party, because I had believed him. I had let him in, and I had believed that a person like him could love a person like me.
The guilt weighed me down, and I slumped to the floor, fat tears dangling down my cheeks while my jaguar cuddled against me in my mind, trying to comfort me. Yet, I couldn’t read her thoughts anymore. I felt her presence, felt her being there, but her thoughts, which had once been clear as day in my mind, were gone.
The memory faded, making room for the present. And then, as I opened my eyes again, back in Waynard Academy, I curled my hands into fists and took a d
eep breath.
I’d made the mistake of trusting Mannix once already, and it had cost me my jaguar and Amaranth her life. I swore I would never make the same mistake again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I’d left the book Mannix had given me, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, back home. I’d never opened it, had instead hidden it in a drawer below a pile of clothes.
Opening it would rip open old wounds, and I didn’t want that. I hated myself for letting him go and not notifying security. I hated myself for still caring about him, even if just a little. He could still push my buttons and rattle me.
The library would probably have a copy, but I wouldn’t be able to sneak in without being stopped by one of the police officers guarding the door.
The more modern way, then. I grabbed my cell phone and looked up the ballad on the internet. After browsing for a while, I found a synopsis of the story Dreadful Wind and Rain. As I suspected, it was a ballad from the book Mannix had given me when I’d last seen him.
The story told of two sisters who went down to a body of water. The oldest one pushed the youngest in and refused to pull her out again, intending to drown her. The youngest sister drowned, and when the body floated ashore, someone made a magical instrument out of her body—a harp or a fiddle, depending on which version of the story you read, with a frame of bone and the girl’s golden hair for strings. The instrument played itself and sang about the murder.
I read the story and sat back in my seat, unsure of what to do next.
A tale of sororicide. Of one sister killing the other, out of jealousy over a guy, according to the story.
If I believed Mannix, and if his clue was the truth…
Then Reyna Felton had murdered her sister.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I sat still for a few more moments, contemplating this latest information in my brain, this enormous hint Mannix had dropped on me, that Reyna could’ve murdered Elise.
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