Face of Murder

“Well,” Wardenford said, turning back from the glass and sitting on the—bench. “Some people just don’t have any sense of what’s right, do they? I imagine there was barely any reason for them to hit the horn at all. You know what these road-rage inner-city drivers are like.”

Wardenford gave his happy smile. Matthias looked at him and smiled back, and behind it all the snakes were foaming. He knew. Wardenford knew.

What a stupid mistake.

But maybe all was not—gone. After all, his mentor could guess about the snakes. The mind snakes. That didn’t mean he knew about the blood snakes.

“I try not to drive,” Matthias said. He had to be careful because he could not find his way to the word for the thing that people drove, the—refuge, and he had to control his expression as well. Wardenford might just think it was a one-off mistake. Not snakes but silliness. Maybe Matthias could pretend it was a—funny.

It wasn’t true, anyway. He’d been driving a lot, lately. But at least if he said he didn’t, he could distance himself from the suspicion. A killer didn’t get on the sub-sub—coach.

Wardenford hadn’t said anything for a minute. He was looking at his coffee. Matthias wondered if he was figuring it out.

“I haven’t driven at all, since…” Wardenford began, then stopped. “Well. All that unpleasantness. Best left in the past. Anyway, how are your studies going?”

Matthias picked up his coffee and sipped. Best left in the past too. But a direct question needed an answer. “Dropped out,” he said. Immediately he was unhappy smiles, raging at himself, the snakes all hissing and biting their own tails. Such an answer would mean—following. He would have to talk more. He looked into the black coffee and hoped it would end there, knowing it wouldn’t.

Wardenford set his coffee down on the table, ringing, ringing, ringing. “You dropped out? Matthias, what happened? You were doing so well when I left. One of my best students. Are you planning to study somewhere else?”

Matthias shook his snakes slowly.

“Good god. It must have been bad, whatever it was. Is it money? You can’t afford the tuition anymore? Please tell me it’s something like that, something we can fix. There are grants I can help you to apply for.”

Matthias shook his snakes again, slow, slow, slow.

Wardenford swallowed. His—pear bobbed up and down in his throat. He must have been nervous, Matthias realized. He was trying not to show it.

“Just let me know if there’s something I can do to help,” Wardenford said at last. “If you don’t want to talk about it just now, I understand.”

Matthias looked down into his coffee. Drank a bit. Wardenford knew about the snakes.

Not just the head snakes.

The blood snakes.

“Actually, you know, I do have to get somewhere,” Wardenford said, his voice suddenly pepping up. “I hadn’t realized the time. But what with it being so far on, I should really get ready. It’s been wonderful to see you, Matthias. Do come visit again. And consider my offer for help, yes?”

He stood up, a gesture that was clearly designed to show Matthias it was time to leave.

Could he leave?

Matthias didn’t want to do it but the head snakes, they needed it. They couldn’t stop with the blood and the headbox couldn’t contain them—not his headbox, not Wardenford’s headbox. They had to come out. There was an ache in Matthias’s chest, in his—his chestbox—his ven—ca—what was it, the thing in the chestbox—the thing… oh, it ached with the thought of ending him. The snakes were wrapping around it and squeezing their tails tight, but what could he do?

He couldn’t spare him. If it wasn’t for all of the others—but the snakes were on his hands, written in letters so big Wardenford could read them now, and he knew. He would tell. Even if Matthias begged him not to, he would tell. He had to be stopped.

It was a mistake, coming here. He had wanted comfort, the words of an old mentor. Now Wardenford would pay in blood snakes, would pay for them like all the others. It was his fault. He shouldn’t have come. But there was no going back. Matthias had to do it. He had to do it now.

The—buzzing box on the table rang, a fun happy tune ringing out across the space, lighting up the display. In a flash, Matthias had to think: think, think. If he answered, Wardenford could tell them. Could bring the flashing lights and men with guns and put him away forever. That couldn’t happen.

That couldn’t be.

He saw an empty wine bottle sitting beside the sofa, down right by the edge, where Wardenford missed it when he was cleaning. He saw it clearly. Everything was aligned.

Matthias took the bottle and lunged forward and smashed the full force of it over Wardenford’s headbox, and the man fell to the floor with a startled groan, and it was done.

The buzzingbox rang again on the table, into the silence now of the room. Matthias stood above him, catching his breath, feeling the snakes writhe around in his own headbox in anticipation of the blood to come.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT