Gypsy Truths (All The Pretty Monsters #6)- Kristy Cunning Page 0,143

gunning for me, I should make it. Tell Violet to call me on Tuesday,” the daft man says, as he shakes his head, his heart still fiercely and rapidly pounding.

He looks over his shoulder like he expects me to formulate an answer, or perhaps stop him, or possibly give him some pointers on not dying in the very near future.

Again, my lips move, but there just aren’t any words.

“I’ll risk it,” he finally says, turning back to hobble away.

It’s quite genuinely the stupor with no end in sight.

I run a hand through my drenched hair, and then I turn and sprint in the direction of the Morrigan House, remembering the howls of the wolves that ceased so suddenly.

“Our mother always said only whores wear red,” the triplets say, appearing across from me. “Unless they’re a Portocale, of course.”

“Who the hell are you?” I demand.

They laugh as they disappear, salt dropping to the ground and quickly sinking into the mud so fast that I would have missed if they hadn’t had my full attention.

I hurriedly drop to my knees, digging into the dirt, as the rain slaps me. I barely catch what can only be described as a small particle of salt powder too fine to last longer than a second against the water.

It dissolves before my eyes, and my gaze lifts to stare through the rain.

Edward the ghost appears next, and I lunge for him, only to hear his laughter echoing in his wake, as he disappears and reappears next to me.

“The wolves don’t need you. But Damien does. Hurry, Van Helsing. The party’s getting too crowded there. You’re missing all the fun,” the cheeky fucker says in what has to be the happiest tone I’ve heard him use.

He disappears after that, leaving me to sink into the muddied earth beneath me, while my mind stumbles all over itself.

“What the fucking hell is going on?!” I shout toward the sky.

“A lot,” comes a rasp voice that gives an answer I wasn’t expecting.

My gaze snaps to the hulking figure that lumbers toward me, and I stare over at Bobo in disbelief.

“But you should help Damien first,” he says, his voice a strained tone full of rough syllables.

“Bobo, you…spoke,” I say, as the world continues to spin faster and faster around me.

Out of everything going on, it’s the one thing I single out, because it’s the least stupefying.

“I did something bad to Violet,” he says, jaw wobbling, as tears gather in his eyes.

If his tears fall, they’re hidden by the rain, because the downpour thickens. Thunder crackles overhead, as though this isn’t already intense enough.

“We all did something bad, Vancetto,” he continues.

“What did you do?” I ask him, slowly rising back up.

With another wobble of his chin, his voice cracks when he answers me, “We damned her for all eternity, because we just couldn’t take it anymore. I’m-I’m sorry.” He hiccups a broken sound, running a hand over his face, as his shoulders shake with his restrained sobs. “We’re all so sorry.”

Chapter 41

DAMIEN

Just as I’m able to lunge to my feet, I catch the sword aimed at Amos’s back, slamming my fist into the side of my third-to-last favorite cousin’s cheek.

He’s downed with the hit, as my fury builds, and I slam my foot into his torso so hard that it propels him through the air. He crashes into a rushing trio, giving Marta a very small reprieve, as she finishes removing yet another head.

“For the record, I’m going to fucking bury you once I’m finished destroying you. Just as you’d do to me,” I assure my father, watching as he pulls out a second sword.

His eyes white out, and he snarls at me, as he lunges.

Kicking off from the ground, I sail right toward him, and we clash swords in the middle.

Sparks fly, and we crash to the ground, with him landing atop me, as my back hammers the ground. My head jerks to the right in time to narrowly dodge the next strike from his second sword.

It stabs the ground next to my head, just as I manage to throw a knee against his bollocks.

“Oh, this boy plays dirty. I like it,” the fucking ghost says from somewhere beside my head.

It.

Marta called the ghost it, as she babbled a bunch of nonsense.

My attention is immediately called back, and I barely get my sword up in time to counter my father’s next strike.

Back and forth we go for what feels like ages, with me tending the biggest threat.

Amos has Zuela and