The Day She Married His Killer, I Brought the Coffin

My brother and I were twin hex-craft masters from the Southern Highlands.

I was born rotten. A killer, a skin-flayer, a terror to everyone within a hundred miles.

My brother was the opposite. Gentle. Kind. Three years ago, he married into the Sanchez family as a live-in husband, joining the wealthiest household in the region.

I never imagined the next time I'd see him, it would be his body, sent back to the Highlands by a corpse courier.

He was stuffed inside a battered coffin. Every fingernail had been pried off. The Corpse Courierre wasn't a single patch of unbroken skin left on his body.

The corpse courier looked at me. Something like pity flickered across his face.

Lloyd Manning asked me to pass along a message before he died. He said you absolutely must not go after the Sanchez family.

They're not the kind of people we can afford to cross.

I lowered my head, staring at my brother's ruined body, and felt the red creeping into my eyes.

The corpse courier sighed, turned, and walked away, muttering as he went.

What a shame. Such a good young man, tortured to death by Myron Henson.

Word is, Lloyd's wife is marrying Myron next month

I raised my eyes slowly. My pupils had gone a vivid, unnatural red, bright with something far past anger.

So that was how they'd treated my brother.

On the day of Naomi Sanchez and Myron Henson's wedding, I carried the coffin on my back all the way to the venue.

I dropped it on the ground and spoke, voice flat.

There won't be any vows exchanged today.

Not until you've knelt before my brother first.

I hadn't raised my voice, but every head in the room turned toward me.

A woman among the guests was the first to laugh.

Who is this guy? Some hick from the sticks? Look at what he's wearing to Ms. Sanchez's wedding.

No idea. Must be from out of town. Look at those cloth shoes. How embarrassing.

I looked down at my shoes.

Black cloth uppers, tight even stitching, a small white camellia embroidered on each one.

I'd kept this pair for three years. Today was the first time I'd worn them.

They were spotless. Not a speck of dirt.

My brother made them for me. I could never bring myself to get them dirty.

Naomi Sanchez frowned at me, her face pinched with impatience.

That expression. I knew it well.

Because I'd swallowed my brother's Natal Hex-insect and absorbed scattered fragments of his memories.

The very first day Lloyd married into the Sanchez household, Myron showed up.

He claimed his family had fallen on hard times and needed somewhere to stay for a while.

My brother smiled and agreed, then personally tidied up a room for Myron.

Three days later, my brother was heading downstairs when Myron, standing at the foot of the staircase, stuck out his foot and tripped him.

Lloyd tumbled down the stairs. His forehead split open, and blood ran down the bridge of his nose.

Naomi heard the commotion and came out of her study. She tore into my brother without a second glance at the blood on his face.

Myron is in poor health. Can't you watch where you're going? What if you'd knocked into him?

The worst time was when Myron's cat died.

He stood there with red-rimmed eyes and told Naomi that Lloyd had used hex-craft to kill it.

Naomi ordered my brother locked inside the freezer. Three days and three nights.

When the cold had nearly killed him, Lloyd clawed the door apart with his bare hands. Nine of his ten fingers snapped.

He sobbed and told himself that Naomi just felt sorry for Myron, that once Myron recovered, everything would be fine.

But Myron never recovered.

Every time Naomi showed Lloyd even the slightest warmth, Myron collapsed.

Coughing. Vomiting blood. Fainting. Always something new.

And every time, Naomi found a new way to punish my brother, sending people to beat obedience into him, again and again.

Three years. My brother lived like that for three years.

Naomi's voice pulled me out of the memories. She was frowning, her tone sharp with irritation.

Lloyd.

Today is my wedding day with Myron. Stop this superstitious nonsense. You actually carried a coffin in here? Are you trying to ruin things for Myron on purpose?

I already told you, this marriage is just to fulfill his wish. Why do you have to be so petty about it?

I narrowed my eyes and studied Naomi Sanchez's face.

Three years ago, she'd been hunted down, and by the time she stumbled into the Southern Highlands she was barely breathing.

It was my brother's kindness that saved her.

He believed her promises, her vows sworn to heaven and earth, and left the Highlands to follow her back to the Sanchez family.

Too bad Naomi Sanchez turned out to be worse than my hex-insects.

At least my hex-insects knew how to repay the hand that fed them.

In just three short years, she'd already forgotten her oath to protect my brother for the rest of his life.

And the truly laughable part?

She couldn't even tell our faces apart. She'd mistaken me for him.

The moment the name Lloyd left her lips, a wave of recognition passed through the guests, followed almost instantly by open contempt.

Oh, so that's him. No wonder he looks so rough around the edges.

He's from some village in the Southern Highlands. What did you expect? I heard he married into the Sanchez family three years ago and barely left the house the entire time. Even they were embarrassed by him.

So this was how my brother had been mocked and humiliated for three years.

And he never once mentioned it to me.

In every letter he wrote, all he ever did was remind me, over and over, to stop killing, to stop doing terrible things.

Before I could say a word, Myron's tears fell first.

He dropped to his knees with a thud, choking back sobs.

Lloyd, I'm so sorry.

I really didn't mean to steal Naomi from you. But my health is failing. The doctors say I don't have long.

I only had one wish. Just one. To marry Naomi and wear a suit for her. Just once.

Lloyd, if you need to blame someone, blame me. Don't blame Naomi. It's my fault. My rotten luck. I shouldn't have fallen for her while I was still alive.

Naomi's face crumpled with tenderness. She pulled him into her arms and murmured soft reassurances.

You've done nothing wrong. He's just petty. That's why he's always picking on you.

I looked down at Myron kneeling on the ground.

The hatred inside me hit its peak, and I found myself smiling instead.

You say you're dying.

So why aren't you dead yet?

The crowd erupted, voices piling on from every direction.

What is wrong with you? The man is on his knees apologizing!

He's dying, for God's sake. Can't you show a shred of decency?

No wonder Ms. Sanchez ditched him. Vicious to the bone.

Those two sentences of mine set Naomi off.

She stormed over and slapped me hard across the face, her voice a raw snarl.

Lloyd, are you done?!

Myron has been more than gracious to you. You were fed and clothed under the Sanchez roof. How exactly were you wronged? If you want to throw a tantrum, do it somewhere else. Stop making a fool of yourself here!

Fed and clothed.

I lowered my gaze to the coffin.

My brother's face was a mottled blue-purple. Every strand of hair was gone from his head. There wasn't a single patch of unbroken skin on his body.

I almost laughed.

Fed and clothed?

Naomi's expression turned colder, as though she'd burned through her last scrap of patience.

Lloyd, the way you're acting right now is disgusting.

Myron is ill. You can't be bothered to show compassion, fine. But hauling a coffin to a wedding to cause a scene? What exactly are you trying to do, drive him into his grave?

Before I could open my mouth, Myron was already walking over with reddened eyes, tugging gently at the edge of Naomi's sleeve.

Naomi, don't blame Lloyd

He probably just cares about you too much. That's the only reason he'd do all this.

He bowed his head, dabbing at his tears, his voice thin and trembling.

It's all my fault. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't have come back

Naomi immediately pulled him behind her. She raised a finger and pointed it at me, her eyes full of revulsion.

Look at him. Then take a good look at yourself.

What has Myron ever done to wrong you? For three years he bent over backward for you. What more do you want?

The guests piled on instantly.

Ms. Sanchez has the patience of a saint, keeping a man like that around this long.

Exactly. Country trash with a rotten heart.

I heard he kept insects in the house. Gives you the creeps. Mr. Henson putting up with him this long is a miracle in itself.

I stood where I was. The cold crept into my fingertips one joint at a time.

My brother never mentioned any of this in his letters.

All he ever wrote wasStay warm when the weather turns, and stop running barefoot into the mountains.

Stop killing people. Stop piling up sins. Save some grace for yourself.

I shifted my ears toward the service corridor, where two servers were whispering with their heads together.

Hey, you see him? That's the first husband.

Yeah. Poor bastard. I heard last winter they ripped every last hair off his head. Nearly took the scalp with it.

Wasn't that his own fault? The butler said he stole one of Mr. Henson's watches and tried to put a hex on him.

Stole my ass. A friend of mine works for the Sanchez household. Said they found that watch in Mr. Henson's own closet later. Pinned it on the husband anyway

The other one hissed a quick shh.

Keep it down. You want to get fired? Last time a housekeeper stood up for him, she was gone the next morning.

My eyelid twitched.

Every hair ripped out.

The watch.

The housekeeper, fired.

None of it was in my brother's letters.

Naomi took my silence for fear. Her tone sharpened.

Apologize to Myron. Now.

Then drag that coffin out of here. You're dirtying the venue.

She paused, then added in a lower voice, like tossing a coin to a beggar.

For the sake of having once been married, I can pretend today never happened.

For the sake of having once been married.

I looked at her and wondered how she could say those words without choking on them.

That was when the Natal Hex-insect inside my sleeve pulsed warm.

A faint residual trace of my brother's hex energy, reacting to something.

I followed the thread of that weak pull and turned my gaze toward the groom's dressing room on the second floor.

The door was half open.

Through the gap, a young maid was being dragged by the hair, sobbing and begging

It wasn't me who let Lloyd out of the basement! I followed your orders. I never brought him food or water, not once. I don't know how he got out!

Then Myron's male assistant let out a cold laugh

Then explain how he got from the basement to the wedding to cause a scene.

Mr. Henson told you to starve him to death!

The crying upstairs cut off. All that was left was a single dull smack, like a body hitting the floor.

The maid was innocent.

My brother never made it out of that basement alive.

Only a corpse, carried home to the Southern Highlands by a kind Corpse Courier.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, the blood in my veins pulling tighter inch by inch.

Naomi didn't notice. She was too busy straightening Myron's boutonniere, impatient, waving me along.

Lloyd.

I'm telling you one last time. Apologize.

I lifted my eyes slowly and fixed them on Myron, shielded behind her.

He was watching me over Naomi's shoulder. A flicker of triumph in his eyes, not quite hidden in time, quick as a snake's tongue darting and gone.

And then I understood why my brother refused to let me come, right up until the end.

Not because he was afraid I'd suffer.

Because he was afraid that if I saw all this, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from turning this place into a real funeral.

Myron let go of Naomi's hand, smoothed the front of his suit, and walked toward me.

His eyes were rimmed red.

Lloyd, stop making a scene, okay?

Today's a big day for me and Naomi. Just apologize and we can put all of this behind us.

He reached out and took hold of my wrist as he spoke.

On the surface, it looked like a friendly gesture. Underneath, his nails dug into my flesh.

I didn't move.

He leaned in close to my ear, that smile still plastered across his face, but his voice turned slick and cold.

What's the matter? Ten days in the basement wasn't enough?

I gave the order myself. No water, no food. You're tougher than I thought.

Those ten fingers of yours should've been ruined a long time ago. You got lucky in the freezer. Should've frozen to death.

Still, it was worth it. Watching you crawl on the floor, clawing at the door like a dog. What a sight.

My knuckles tightened, one joint at a time. Veins rose across the backs of my hands.

The hex-insects inside my sleeve writhed, burning hot against my skin.

Myron looked up at me, savoring my rage like a man admiring a painting.

You've resented me all this time, haven't you?

But what can you do about it? Naomi said it herself. When you misbehave, you need to be taught a lesson.

When he finished, he reached up and straightened my collar for me, the intimacy of the gesture revolting.

Lloyd, just accept it. Naomi stopped loving you a long time ago.

Get on your knees and apologize now, and I might let you keep breathing.

He paused, and the venom in his voice thickened.

Or have you forgotten? You still have a little brother back in the Southern Highlands.

If you don't behave, I'll send men down there to drag him back. Skin him alive right in front of you.

How many cuts do you think that scrawny little body of his can take?

My gaze snapped up to his face.

Myron had clearly never set foot in the Southern Highlands.

Otherwise he would have heard the name Stanley Manning.

Everyone within a hundred miles knew those two words were a nightmare.

How dare he. How dare he use me to threaten my brother.

Myron thought he'd found my weak spot. His smile widened, dripping with triumph.

Then, in the span of a heartbeat, he stepped back half a pace. Tears sprang to his eyes on command, and his voice pitched high for the crowd.

Lloyd, I was just trying to calm you down. Why are you glaring at me like that

Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry. Please, I'm the one who should apologize.

Naomi was at his side in an instant, shielding him, her eyes fixed on me like daggers.

Lloyd! Myron already backed down. What more do you want?

Are you not going to stop until you've pushed him over the edge?

I stood where I was. Said nothing.

The fire in my chest burned so hot it could have eaten through every organ I had.

Slowly, I reached behind my back and drew out an ebony flute.

The wood was old, worn smooth by years. A faded red thread was tied around the tail end.

My brother had tied it there himself.

Naomi blinked, then let out a cold laugh.

Not this parlor-trick nonsense again

She never finished the sentence.

The first note of the flute tore through the air.

A long, low wail

The crystal chandelier overhead gave a single, faint shudder.

Inside one of the flower baskets lining the red carpet, a black beetle the size of a thumbnail crawled over the rim.

Then a second. Then a third.

After that, every crack between the floor tiles, every shadowed base of every pillar, every vent grate in every wall began to hiss and rustle.

At first, the guests didn't register what was happening.

Then someone looked down and saw a dense, crawling line of insects climbing up the side of their shoe, and the scream ripped out of them.

Bugs! There are bugs everywhere!

Oh Godrun!

The hall erupted into chaos.

Chairs toppled. Glasses shattered. People clawed over each other to reach the doors.

And then the hex-insects surged out in a black tide.

Some had thin, veined wings. Some bore crimson abdomens. Others were bone-white from head to tail, save for their jet-black mouthparts.

They piled over one another in a roiling wave, pouring along the red carpet straight toward the ceremonial stage.

The color drained from Naomi's face. Her first instinct was to pull Myron behind her.

Guards! Take him down!

The bodyguards barely made it two steps before the swarm engulfed their legs.

Screams ripped through the hall.

They clawed and slapped at themselves in a frenzy, trousers shredded to ribbons, skin already stippled with blood that spread into wide crimson patches in seconds.

Myron finally stopped smiling.

He stumbled backward, clutching his wedding suit, voice shaking.

Lloyd! You've lost your mind! Make them stop!

I lowered the flute and looked up at him.

You're so good at teaching people their place, aren't you?

Today it's your turn to learn.