“The whole manor was rotten. The inside of the house smelled musty, the paneling damp and slimy, dappled with black mildew stains. He’d wanted the manor so much, he got in bed with the Hand for it. Fucking freaks. He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shed the memory of their magic, hot and sharp, brushing against him like a bunch of heated needles. And all for what? For this piece-of-shit house. The only reason he’d wanted the damn house was because it belonged to Gustave. Gustave had everything...: he ran his family and they worshipped him, he was respected, people asked him for advice . . . And Cerise lived in his house. Chad appeared from behind the house, hands clutching the rifle. “What is it?” “I can’t find Brent.” Lagar followed the guard around the house to a garden overgrown with weeds and ickberry. A small puddle, burgundy-dark in the gray dawn light, slicked the mud on the edge of the bushes. Blood. Chad shifted from foot to foot. “I came to relieve him ...” Lagar raised his hand, shutting him up.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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