A sniff came down the line. “About bloody time, you bloody arse.”
My heart beat stronger.
I might have failed Nila.
I might have been dead for a few days.
But Jasmine had achieved the impossible. If she’d kept me alive, I had to trust she’d done the same for Nila.
“You al—always had a gr—great way with your t—temper, Jaz.”
“God, it’s truly you…” Her voice broke then she burst into noisy tears.
I found out later what she’d done for us. How she’d saved us. How Flaw had kept Kes and me alive long enough to smuggle us from the estate unseen. How he’d hidden us in the crypt, providing medicine, leaving us to slowly fossilize and turn into skeletons beneath the house I’d lived in all my life—working against the clock to get us somewhere safe.
I owed Flaw a huge debt. I would pay him handsomely. But I would also never underestimate my sister or take her for granted ever again. I couldn’t believe she’d willingly left Hawksridge.
After a lifetime of chaining herself to the Hall, she’d commandeered one of the many vehicles in our garage and somehow delivered Kes and me to the hospital. From the way the doctors spoke, it sounded as if she’d only just made it. Another hour or two and Kestrel would’ve been dead and me not long after.
How she managed to do that, I had no idea. The phone call had been brief, hushed—a quick catch-up so Bonnie wouldn’t overhear. Her relief had been genuine, but she’d also kept something from me.
Something I meant to find out.
After I hung up, the nurse had slipped back in and against my wishes fed more sedative into my drip.
I couldn’t try to run. I couldn’t assess how weak I was. All I could do was slip into empty dreams like some drugged arsehole. Nila didn’t come visit me and I awoke pissed and hurting a few hours later.
Kestrel stole my thoughts for the billionth time since I’d woken. My heart splintered for my brother.
According to Louille, he still hadn’t woken up. He was in intensive care and an induced coma. The bullet I’d saved Jaz from had been a clean shot. By Louille’s own admission, I was a ‘luckster’, a fluke of nature, a fucking miracle. No bones shattered, no organs ruptured. A single entry and exit wound leaving me bleeding and infected but otherwise intact.
But if I was a miracle, then that came with certain obligations and privileges.
Privileges I would call on in order to end the man who’d killed me.
Obligations I meant to uphold now I was free.
I’d returned from the dead.
And I’d bring the wrath of hell toward my enemies.
DIARY ENTRY, EMMA Weaver.
He told me tonight. Lying in my arms, believing he was safe, he told me what he did to his brother. Part of me can understand it—to spend a lifetime being told you’re second best, only to snap when something you want more than anything torments you. But another part of me could never understand because I could never be that selfish, self-centred, or cruel. One thing is for sure—his children are damned. Even the ones not infected with his madness are ruined because of what their father did to their mother and uncle.
A shrill ringing pierced my concentration.
No!
I had to find out what Cut did. Why were Jethro and his siblings damned? What the hell happened all those years ago?
Three days had passed. Three nights where I slept in sheets fading with Jethro’s scent. Three mornings where I’d paced and fretted and begged. Daniel had been offsite, leaving me to boredom rather than torture. I hadn’t seen Vaughn or Cut, and I’d been kept isolated, locked inside my room like a true prisoner.
Wasting three days in limbo was sacrilege. I wanted vengeance. However, my mind couldn’t stop swimming with worry. Jethro, Jethro, Jethro. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was important.
The discordant ringing persisted; I wrenched my eyes from the remaining blank page. There was no more. My mother had left the mystery unsolved.
The Weaver Journal was the only thing with the power to steal me away from repeating thoughts of Jethro. However, reading the journal’s pages gave me the strangest sensation—as if I’d lifted up the veil of time and looked at Hawksridge in a capsule of then and now. Hearing about Jethro when he was young, about Bryan loving my mother, and even Bonnie thanking Emma for making her dresses—it was surreal.
Wrong.
Ring. Ring. Ring!
Tossing away the journal, I scrambled out of bed. Dashing across the room, I peered at yards of apricot fleece, searching for the origin of the ringing. Pushing aside fabric and opening a small cubby inside the storage cupboard, I found the source.
What on earth? Why have I never seen this before?
Plucking the phone off its tarnished cradle, I held it to my ear. “Hello?”
Instantly, a female voice said, “He’s awake.”
My knees gave out.
Slamming against the dresser, I clutched the edge. Adrenaline drenched my system like a tropical rainstorm. No matter how much I’d prayed and hoped he’d stay alive, I hadn’t truly believed it.
“Are—are you sure?” My voice was quiet as a mouse. “How can you be sure?”
Don’t give me false hope. I won’t be able to stand it.
“I’m sure.” Jaz sniffed happily. “I spoke to him myself.”
My heart leapt over mountains of joy. Bending forward, I placed my forehead on trembling hands. “Thank heavens.”
Jaz didn’t speak for a moment.