A Poised Nuisance (Lithe Book 1)

by Iris RIvers

  Clarke dragged her into a shadow, saying, “No one’s coming for you, Lowri. It’d be best for you if you didn’t fight.”

  And then he placed the damp rag over her nose, forcing her to breathe in the toxins.

  Lowri passed out a moment later.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.” ––Walter Scott

  The leaves were soggy and the air was cold, and as the sun set, fading into the starless sky, a balding man carrying a red-haired woman walked into an abandoned building, thinking of death.

  ANA’S PLAN WAS A DANGEROUS one.

  But when were her ideas ever not? Rarely, she thought.

  “Violet,” she called from her living-room couch, staring up at the ceiling.

  “What?” Violet replied loudly. Ana had interrupted whatever she’d been doing, but she didn’t care.

  “Do you know what Lara is doing tonight?”

  “Why would I know that?” Violet scoffed. “I don’t talk to her. Ask Evelyn or something.”

  A very good idea. “Hey, Siri!” she yelled. “Call Evelyn.”

  “Okay,” Siri’s voice said back. “Calling Elle Nguyen.”

  “No, you dumbass!” Ana shouted. “Call Evelyn Brown.”

  The phone rang once, then twice. Evelyn didn’t answer. Ana grumbled, moving from the couch to grab her phone.

  Where are you? she texted. The clock ticked.

  Ana dialed her number once more, agitation filling her mind. Still no answer.

  “Evelyn,” Ana said, scowling, into the voicemail box. “Please call me when you have a chance. It’s about Kai and Lara. I need you.” She shut off her phone.

  Ana waited ten minutes before rising from her couch, restless and impatient. If Evelyn was busy, then so be it. She could do this without her—she had to. There was simply no other choice.

  Ana sauntered into Violet’s bedroom, not bothering to knock. Violet sat at her desk, hunched over a large book. When she realized Ana was in the room, she shut it immediately, pushing it away from her.

  “Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Violet asked, crossing her legs in the chair she sat in.

  “No,” Ana said impassively. “I need your help.”

  “Ask someone else,” Violet said. “I’m busy.”

  “Are you fucking someone?” Ana asked, searching the room.

  Violet raised her brows. “What? No.”

  “Are you killing someone?”

  “No,” Violet huffed, clearly confused.

  Ana leaned against the door, her curls wild and untamed around her jaw. “Then you aren’t busy.”

  Violet opened her mouth, but Ana raised a finger. “I said I need your help, so help me. I won’t ask again.”

  Violet narrowed her hazel-colored eyes. “Fine. What is it?”

  “I need you to find out where Lara is, and I need you to tell her to go to the tower now. I don’t care if she refuses. Make her come.”

  “Okay,” Violet said, nodding slowly. “Why? Are you planning something?”

  “Yes,” Ana said.

  “Tell me.”

  Ana puckered her lips. “I can’t. It’s unsafe.”

  Violet stood from her chair, offended. “Seriously? Don’t play that game, Ana. Not with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ana said, her voice sorrowful. There was no doubt that Violet was a strong girl—perhaps the strongest one in Lithe—but she couldn’t get her involved. Not when there was so much at stake. “But I won’t tell you. Don’t try to force it out of me. It won’t work.”

  Violet scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m only doing this because I trust you.”

  Ana smiled tenderly. “Thank you.”

  Violet nodded, saying nothing more.

  Ana left Violet’s room, turning the corner to walk into her own. Without bothering to switch on the lights, she headed straight to her closet, reaching for the top shelf. Her fingers met an old keypad. She typed the numbers: 0013. The lock clicked open.

  Inside was a gun, covered in dust from years of unuse. She gingerly plucked it from its case, feeling the weight in her hands.

  “Violet?” she yelled, her reflection shining in the cool metal of the weapon.

  “Yeah?” Violet yelled back.

  “Find my shoes. I’m leaving now.”

  KAI WAS SHOWERING WHEN someone knocked on his front door—loud and maddening.

  He had been vigorously scrubbing his skin, attempting to erase the memory of only a few days before.

  Her touch. His plea.

  Kai stepped out of the shower, water dripping from his limbs, and raced into his room, finding dirty clothes lying on the floor. He slipped on a wrinkled gray tee and a pair of sweats, rolling on a pair of socks as he left his room.

  With his skin still covered in soap, Kai looked through the peephole of his front door. No one was outside. Stepping into a pair of Adidas, Kai opened the door and advanced into the hall, craning his neck to each side. Behind him, his door slammed shut.

  “Shit,” Kai hissed, cursing at the automatic lock. He slammed his fists on the wood and rattled the knob, knowing it would do nothing. Groaning, Kai turned and ventured further into the hall, toward the lobby.

  A sound came from a secluded corner, hushed and quick. “Hello?” Kai said into the air. Someone moved in his peripheral vision, and Kai turned, feeling dizzy and perturbed. “Is anyone there?” he asked.

  Suddenly, a bag wrapped around his head, masking his vision and suffocating his breaths. Kai struggled against his attacker’s hold, trying his best to knock them over, but his eyes had gone droopy, his limbs weighed to the floor beneath him like rocks. He tried to yell, but his speech had slurred, his tongue feeling sticky and cemented.

  When he could no longer move, Kai shut his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him like an old friend, sweet and amiable.

  CLARKE HAD CARRIED Lowri’s lifeless body into an abandoned parking structure, her pale arms hitting his sides with each step he took.

  The elevator ride to the very top was slow and painful. He watched the numbers tick every minute in a sluggish agony, waiting for the desperate chime that would reveal his set-up.

  A chair waited for him in a dark corner, worn rope resting on its seat. Across from the chair, his investigation board stood on a wooden easel, red string connected to each note and picture like a twisted sort of fate.

  Clarke brushed a finger across Lowri’s tired face, tracing the lines beneath her eyes and the thinness of her lips. He sat her on the chair, holding her up as he tied her arms and legs to the metal, then stepped back, admiring his effort.

  Lowri’s head, hanging low, began to shift, moving slowly from side to side.

  “Time to wake up,” Clarke said, reaching for a blade he’d placed beside the chair. He tested its sharpness, pushing the tip into his finger. Blood welled from his skin.

  Lowri groaned, lifting her head. Clarke was the first thing she saw as she peeled open her eyes, shaking her head against the blur of her vision. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Where am I?” she yelled, shaking in the chair, rattling it across the floor.

  “Hello, beautiful,” Clarke said with a grin, ignoring her question. “Miss me?”

  Lowri squinted, still delirious from the toxin, and shook her head. “Who are you?”

  “I’m offended,” Clarke said, stepping toward her. “I’ve been following you for months, and you’ve already forgotten me?” He clicked his tongue, crouching to meet her eyes.

  “I don’t...” Lowri trailed off, taking in Clarke’s features. “I don’t know who you are.”

  Clarke’s face was only a few inches from Lowri’s, his lips almost touching her skin. “Look closer,” he whispered, sadistic and wild.

  Tears slipped from Lowri’s eyes as she flinched, leaning away from his nearness. “You’re the detective,” she whispered, turning her head.

  “Ding, ding!” Clarke laughed
loudly. “One point for Lowri.”

  Lowri shuddered as his breath enveloped her face, warm and smelling of old coffee. She swayed her head back and forth, taking in her surroundings. Clarke watched as she noticed the board he’d set up, her eyes tracing the words bell tower and murder.

  “Do you like it?” Clarke asked. “I’ve been working on it for a very, very long time.”

  “What do you want?” Lowri whimpered, refusing to meet Clarke’s eyes.

  Clarke grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her face was soaked with tears, salty and thick. “What do I want?” he asked, his forehead already gleaming in sweat. He released her chin and moved to the board, tapping it with the sharp force of his knuckles. “I want this. I want to find your little friends—the cult that murdered my father. Lithe.”

  Lara looked down at her lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice shook with the words. Clarke grinned, amused at her inability to lie.

  Isn’t liar one of the requirements for a group of murderous girls? He laughed at his own thought, the sound booming throughout the empty lot.

  “Tell me the name,” Clarke demanded, “of your leader. Of the one you look to when making decisions.”

  “I don’t know what you want with me,” Lowri cried. “I don’t know anything you’re talking about!”

  Clarke moved the blade he still held to Lowri’s neck, lifting her face up. The tip dug into her skin, drawing a hiss of pain from her.

  “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

  “I don’t,” Lowri said, her lip quivering, “know!”

  Clarke’s vision flashed with fury. He pushed the knife deeper into her skin, drawing red-hot blood from her throat, and Lowri cried out, attempting to leap from her chair. The rope bound to her wrists scratched against her skin.

  “Tell me!” he screamed, refusing to move the blade.

  “I...”

  Clarke twisted the blade down, peeling her skin as Lowri yelped.

  “Evelyn!” she yelled suddenly. Her sobs interested Clarke. “Evelyn Brown. That’s my leader—the only one. That’s who you want.”

  “Are you lying to me?” he asked.

  “No!” she screamed. Snot ran from her nose, mingling with her tears. “I swear to you.”

  “Let’s be sure,” Clarke said smiling as he stepped back from Lowri. He thought she looked like a broken angel sitting there—blood streaming from her neck, tears across her red cheeks.

  His bloody, broken angel.

  He pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans, pulling up the contact he’d added only recently.

  Lara Blake.

  Clarke grinned—everything was going perfectly.

  WHEN KAI WOKE, DISORIENTED and tired, the first thing he saw was a bell.

  It loomed over him, large and threatening, like a weapon waiting to be used. His head ached as if his skull had repeatedly met the force of a hammer, cruel and unabashedly.

  Had it? he wondered. He could remember nothing.

  But as a tall girl entered his vision, smirking and beautiful, the memories flooded back, suffocating him. Kai immediately stood, attempting to run, but the girl stepped forward, placing a gun to his forehead.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said, her lips red and brutal. Her skin was smooth, a light shade of brown compared to the dark of Kai’s. She looked painfully familiar.

  “Recognize me?” she said at the widening of Kai’s eyes. “I’m Ana—Lara’s friend. Do you know her? Lara Blake?”

  Kai drew in a breath as he stepped back. Ana laughed, twirling the gun in her hand.

  “Oh,” she said, “I’m just messing with you. Of course you know her. The girl who stabbed you; the girl you love.”

  Love. Kai’s heart thumped against his ribcage, fast and unsteady. “Excuse me?” he breathed, narrowing his eyes.

  “Speaking of,” said Ana, looking down at her bare wrist as if a watch rested there, “she should be here any minute. I think she’s waiting outside.”

  Lara was here?

  “What do you want from me?” Kai asked, eyeing the gun still in her hand.

  Ana laughed, the sound bouncing across the bell. “Kai, Kai, Kai,” she tsked. “What don’t I want?” She walked toward the bell, the edge of her gun tracing the metal. It rang in Kai’s ears like a broken record player. Kai noticed words etched into the metal as Ana traced them with her gun—they were small and close, barely recognizable from where he sat.

  “Do you need help reading?” Ana asked, enjoying Kai’s struggle. “Miserere,” she said, pronouncing each syllable like silk, “oblivione delebitur. It means mercy forgotten. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  “Lithe,” he whispered. “You’re a member of Lithe.” He looked around the room, at the spiderwebs that covered each corner, the three chairs that sat in the center.

  This is where they meet, isn’t it? he realized.

  Ana smiled, bouncing the gun in her hand like a toy. “Good job,” she said. “You’re catching on.”

  Kai wasn’t enjoying her insanity. “What do you want with me?” he repeated.

  “I want—” A door creaked open, interrupting Ana. She turned to the set of stairs behind her, grinning. “Well, well,” she said, facing Kai once more. “I wonder who’s here.”

  Kai heard footsteps against the stairs, heavy and hurried, and then he saw her.

  “Lara?”

  LARA NEARLY FELL BACK down the stairs when she saw what Ana had waiting for her.

  Ana stood at the top of the stairs, looking at Lara expectantly. But it wasn’t Ana who had shocked her— it was Kai. He was here, in her bell tower—in Lithe’s home.

  Kai said her name aloud, face mirroring the same confusion she felt.

  “Ana,” Lara said slowly. “What’s going on?” She was still looking at Kai.

  “It’s time,” Ana said loudly, “to make amends.”

  “For what—” She stopped herself when she looked at Ana’s moving hand. A gun rested in her palm, dark and deadly. “Ana,” she whispered. A warning.

  Maybe even a threat.

  “Do you remember what I told you?” asked Ana, closing the distance between herself and Kai. Lara watched as Kai turned his head, avoiding Ana’s gaze. “I am no longer going to be merciful, Lara. You cannot escape this.”

  Mercy forgotten.

  Lara carefully stepped forward, her hands raised. “You aren’t thinking clearly—”

  “Aren’t I?” said Ana. She raised the gun to Kai’s temple, finger hovering over the trigger.

  “Lara,” Kai whispered again. Ana pushed the gun deeper into his head, indenting his flesh.

  Lara’s heart shuddered, beating violently at the sound of her name falling from Kai’s lips. He had said her name—even at the brink of death—like it was the only thing he could comprehend. It was the key to his shattered mind; the missing piece of his broken heart.

  A prayer. An omission.

  Tears pricked Lara’s eyes at the sight of Kai’s flickering life, held in Ana’s hands. It was horrifying—sickening.

  Why, Lara wondered, when I’ve done the same to him, only with a blade?

  Isn’t this what I wanted?

  Save him, save him, save him.

  “Ana,” Lara said, her voice on the edge of something impossible. “Stop. You wouldn’t do this. You wouldn’t kill—”

  A piercing shot echoed across the walls. Lara screamed as she brought her hands to her ears, covering them from the noise. Kai flinched from where he stood, muttering incoherent things to himself, head bowed to the floor, as if he had already accepted his fate.

  Ana stood motionless at the center of the room, shaky gun pointed to the now fragmented chair Evelyn usually sat in.

  “You don’t know me, Lara,” said Ana. “Not as well as you think you do.”

  Kai extended his arms and tried to grab the gun from Ana’s hands. Foolish mista
ke. Ana saw the movement before he could lift his left hand, punching his nose in response. Kai fell back from the force, yelping a curse, shoulders hitting the dirty floor, and clutched his bruised face. Lara watched the blood smear across his lips, down to his chin, with a dull pain in her heart.

  Was it satisfaction, or something else?

  Her crestfallen Kai, broken and marred.

  “Please!” Lara yelled, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Ana looked to her, eyes enraged. “You’re right,” she said. Lara let out a sigh of relief, but it was ridiculous to think Ana would give up so soon. “I don’t, but you do.” She thrusted the gun into Lara’s hands, forcing her to take its grip.

  It was so heavy and cold that Lara nearly dropped it. She had never held a gun before, and now she was expected to use it against her vector—her sickness and her cure.

  She looked to Kai, her cheeks flushed and red, and let out a sob. “Ana... I can’t.”

  Blood still poured from Kai’s nose, fast and unforgiving. Lara thought back to her freshman year, when Kai had only been a figment of her reality—a chess piece in her sick game of life. She’d placed glass into the soles of his slippers, watching as blood spilled from his feet like ink. Her doing. She thought back to the recital—to the way his blood had coated her hands like a second skin as she broke his flesh, sever after sever. Her doing. She thought back to only a few nights ago, when her blade had pricked the center of his throat as he begged for her to end his life. Her doing.

  But there was also when Kai had seen her blood; when he had licked it from his fingers and traced it down her back. When he’d pushed her against the brick wall, saving her from a brutal death, easily ripping apart her skin like noxious paper.

  So... why? Why—when blood had become such a vital piece to the ghosts of their arched souls, did Lara tremble as her index dented the trigger, threatening to blow.

  All of the times she had hurt him; all of the times he had hurt her, they all seemed so trivial now, with Lara behind the trigger, pointed toward Kai.