𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

𝐯𝐢𝐢. 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝒊'𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒚

AN- have i murdered any of you yet? 

♕

They found their way to the library. The world was swaying around Dahlia like the rolling deck of a ship. She should have stayed at the party.

An other person who died because she couldn't save them.

More blood on her hands.

She nearly started crying remembering her face as she died. Her last request. Her last words before she left the world of the living.

James wasn't looking any better than she felt, his knuckles were nearly white. Matthew was next to him, she couldn't expect him to steady her either. One's parabatai duties were above everything, she knew.

"Math," said James, rigid with strain. "Tell—Anna. Explain to her." 

Voices swirled around Dahlia, Anna's calm and measured, Matthew's urgent and musical. Thomas and Cordelia chiming in. I have to get hold of myself, Dahlia thought. 

"Daisy," said James. "Constantinople."

Dahlia's vision started darkening on the edges, her felt sick like she would faint any second now.

"Math." she whispered before the she fell down, unable to balance herself. Matthew was by her side in an instant.

"Dahlia, look at me darling. Yes like that, with your beautiful blue eyes. Thank you. How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm going to die." she muttered.

Matthew shook his head, "No your not." he said, helping her stand.

"You dreamed of Filomena's death?" Anna was saying, perching on the arm of a chair. "And this has nothing to do with your visions of the shadow realm?" 

"I did dream of her death. Pounceby's, too. But they're not dreams of a different world," James said, drawing out his stele. "I dream of London. The details are real. The only death I didn't see was Amos Gladstone's, and I still had a nightmare that night, a sort of vision of blood."

"The Enclave is fairly certain that he was also murdered," said Thomas. "His throat was slashed roughly—they had assumed by a demon talon, but it could have been someone with a serrated blade."

"Perhaps the murderer was still working out his technique," said Matthew. "I suppose even killers have to practice." 

Dahlia shook her head, "Fairchild, killers already have practice." 

"He certainly seemed to be taking more pleasure from killing Filomena," said James. "It was sickening."

Lucie appeared in the doorway, giving them a start. She was very pale. "I'm sorry," she began. "I stayed behind—"

"Lucie!" Cordelia exclaimed, hurrying over to her friend. "Are you all right?"

Lucie rubbed at her eyes, the same gesture she'd once made as a tired little girl. "I saw a ghost," she said, without preamble. 

"Doesn't that happen rather often?" said Matthew. Dahlia shot him aquelling look. "Sorry—I just didn't think it was too out of the ordinary." 

"This one was," said Lucie. "He told me that—that Filomena's ghost is already risen, and where she might be found. He seemed to think she might know who killed her."

"Odd that I didn't see him," said James. 

"Well, you were staggering, rather, and Matthew was holding you like a sack of oats," pointed out Anna. "So where is Filomena's ghost, Lucie?"