Danny waits for him to break out into another one of his chuckles, but Gant stays distressingly straight-faced. Oh, hell. Danny isn’t just at the mercy of a killer – he’s at the mercy of a madman.

Gant raises an eyebrow. “Judging by your silence, you don’t have the first clue as to what I may be talking about. Very well. Try not to let it concern you overly. Forget I ever said anything. Pretend we’re just two people in a house, making conversation and passing the time.”

“What are you going to do with me?” asks Danny.

“Probably kill you.”

The admission hits Danny harder than any iron bar. His throat tightens. His stomach lurches. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been an obstruction,” says Gant. “You’ve been an annoyance. And you’ve seen my face, Danny my boy. You can identify me, describe me to the authorities and make my life very awkward.”

“I don’t even know your full name.”

“Cadaverous,” the old man says. “Cadaverous Gant. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” says Danny.

“We both know you’re lying. You shouldn’t lie, Danny. Lying is bad.”

“So why … why am I here? Why aren’t I dead yet?”

“You may yet prove useful. I have heard many things about the person you know as Stephanie Edgley – many contradictory things. Some say she is noble; others say she is evil incarnate. If she is noble, I can use you to lure her into the open. If she’s evil incarnate … well, a drastic rethink would be in order. I am, of course, hoping that she’ll be noble. Noble people are easier to predict, easier to provoke, and easier to kill.”

“What has she ever done to you?”

“To me?” asks Gant. “Nothing.”

“Then why do you want to kill her?”

“Because of what she is, and what I am.”

“And what are you?”

Cadaverous Gant just smiles.

30

FORGIVEN

alkyrie Cain looked at herself in the mirror. She slowly tapped a finger against the glass, touching her own reflection.

Her again. It was her again. No more looking through Darquesse’s eyes. No more fighting to hang on inside her mind. The person she saw in that mirror was the person she was. It was an odd feeling, but a welcome one.

Reverie Synecdoche walked in. “You’re dressed,” she said.

Valkyrie picked up her jacket, slipped it on. “I am. I need to go home. I haven’t been home for … a while. You can let me go, can’t you?”

Synecdoche hesitated. “Well … yes. If the Sensitives cleared you—”

“They did,” said Valkyrie. “They poked around my head all afternoon, making sure there was no trace of Darquesse left inside. Or that I wasn’t pulling a double bluff. They concluded that I’m me again.”