by K. A Knight
Writhing back against Trey, chasing the friction I need to reach the orgasm hovering just out of my reach, my eyes fly open just as a knife comes crashing down from the drying rack hanging above the sink. I throw myself backwards into Trey’s chest.
Grant’s cock plops out of my mouth, leaving a very unflattering string of saliva dripping down my chin and Patrick throws an arm out in front of all of us as more pots and pans fall into the sink and bounce off the counter.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper, staring at the knife where it stands. It’s stuck in the counter in front of the metal sink, standing at attention. I swallow hard, knowing my head had been there only moments before.
“Jesus,” Grant whispers, pulling me into his arms. I hide my face against his chest, slowing my breathing while the other two begin picking up the mess. He quickly pushes my dress back down my hips as the door to the kitchen swings open.
“You guys okay in here?” a vaguely familiar voice calls out. I know it’s one of my friends, but my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t think straight. I’m too unsettled to care.
“Yeah, we’re good,” Trey answers, tossing me a wink.
My fingers dig into Grant’s arm and he picks me up, setting me down on the kitchen table. “Breathe, Misery.”
“I’m breathing,” I snap, glaring at the knife that has me so unnerved. I’m also more than a little annoyed that my pussy is still aching. What a cosmically annoying cock block!
“You’ll be fine,” he laughs, pulling a bottle out of nowhere.
“Oooh, what’s that?”
Grant pours an inky black liquid into shot glasses and hands them out until each of us has one. He holds up his glass and winks at me, decidedly ignoring my question. We’re supposed to drink this? Black liquor? I screw my mouth to the side, eying the questionable liquid.
“To Misery and the fantastic foursome.”
“Like the Fantastic Four? That cheap, Hollywood hero knock-off?” Patrick shakes his head in disgust before he slams his shot back.
“No, like the four coolest people in Alabama, idiot.” Trey shakes his head and swallows his own. “Happy birthday, Mizz.”
“Happy birthday to me, love you guys.” I pinch my nose and close my eyes before I down my shot. The liquid burns as it moves down my throat. Ugh.
“Shew. That’s terrible,” Grant mumbles as he looks at the bottle he’d just poured. “Where did you get this stuff, Trey?”
“It’s some kind of absinthe. I don’t think it’s technically legal here?” He grins sheepishly at the rest of the group, then grabs the bottle and runs off.
Of course it was Trey’s doing. I hop down from the counter, grab my plate of nachos, and run after him. “Wait for me! I need another sip before the goodie-two-shoes toss it!”
“Who is she calling a goodie-two-shoes?” Patrick mumbles behind me.
“I think that’s us.” Grant pinches my ass and I yelp, running faster between my guests while I shove nachos in my mouth.
“Excuse me!” I mumble as I bump into someone.
The older woman peers down at me with agitation. I recognize her, but I’m not sure from where. Two women behind her grab her attention and I half-run after Trey again.
I find him sitting on the stairs, bottle turned up while he waits for me. Snatching the bottle from his lips, I turn it upwards with a smile on my face as Patrick and Grant finally catch up.
“Really, you two? We have guests.” Grant shakes his head and steals the bottle from me, taking a long swig before he passes it to Patrick. “That’s the last of it. These two greedy jerks drank almost all of it.”
“I would never!” I lay a hand over my heart, my best Scarlett O’Hara look of shock in place. “How dare you impune my honor?”
“Oh, excuse me. It must have been the other sexy birthday girl.”
“Must have been,” Patrick agrees before he downs the last swig of whatever alcohol that was.
“I’m offended.” I pout my lip out, digging through my nachos for another jalapeno. They’re the best part. Absolutely delicious.
“Poor love.” Trey wraps an arm around me and pushes me down the stairs toward the make-shift dance floor. “I’ll make up for those barbarians. Want to dance with me?”
“Of course, I do!” Laying my plate down on the closest piece of furniture—a thin table with a fancy name I can never remember—I follow Trey toward the small group of people dancing. I know most of these people from the bar.
Trey puts his hands on my hips, already bobbing his head with the music. His fingertips dig into the silk dress.
I wrap my arms around his neck and swirl my hips in time to the song. I can’t hear the words over the loud bass, so I have no idea what we’re listening to, but the beat is sexy. Every few beats, I think I can hear a scream. This Halloween mix is legit. I glance over my shoulder, making sure my wings aren’t hitting anyone while we grind like teenagers.
“Holy crap,” I mutter, taking a step back from Trey’s grinding hips.
“You okay?” An arm comes around my waist and I lean into the steady frame of one of my boyfriends—I don’t even know which one it is at this point. It’s not Trey, I know that much.
“I’m drunk as fuck.” I press the palm of my hand to my forehead, taking deep breaths. “I think I need to sit.”
“Holy shit, she hasn’t been this fucked up in years,” Trey laughs as he pushes gently on my back until we make our way toward the couch.
Grant sits down first, pulling me into his lap. My feet end up in Patrick’s lap and Trey sits on the arm of the sofa, pushing my hair behind my ears.
“You gonna be alright, gorgeous?” Trey looks concerned.
Everything looks slower than normal. The lights from the strobes blur together until everything is covered in a light haze.“I don’t know man,” I answer honestly, my fingers digging into Grant’s arm.
“Sheeeeew,” Patrick mumbles, rubbing a hand over his low-cut hair. “I’m feeling it too, babe.”
“Damn, you light weights.” Trey stands up from the couch, wobbling only a little before he leaves.
“Where you going?” I call out.
“I’m going to get you guys some water, you look like you need it.” Trey blinks a little too slowly and then turns toward the kitchen.
I lose sight of him in the crowd. Rubbing my temples to ease the headache that’s building, I hide my face in Grant’s neck.
“Does the music have to be so loud?”
“You already hung over, beautiful?” Grant rubs his hand up and down my back, soothing me.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I like absinthe.”
“Probably shouldn’t have drank half the bottle then.”
“Shut uuuup,” I whimper. “You’re supposed to feel bad for me.”
“I feel bad for you. I also feel like shit,” Patrick groans, holding his arms out.
I stick my tongue out at Grant and crawl into Patrick’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. I’m still hiding in his arms when Trey makes it back.
He tosses a water bottle first to Grant, then to Patrick.
I lean up, waiting for him to toss me one. Our eyes meet the second before he stumbles backward, shaking his head.
“You alright, baby?” I jump up from Patrick’s lap, intent on checking on Trey when the dizziness hits me. “Oh, God.” I cover my mouth, reaching out for the first thing I can find to keep my balance.
My fingers drag across a random lady’s arm and she turns to look at me with disgust and concern. Everything is blurring, even worse than before, and I can’t make out her face. Is that the lady from across the street?
“I broke your car,” I mumble as I begin to fall.
“What was that?” The lady grabs me under the arms and helps me toward the couch.
I blink, falling into a coughing Patrick. Everything seems loud and slow. My chest feels like it’s on fire, I cough into my hand, trying to cover my mouth.
My hand comes away
covered in blood. I turn toward Grant, slapping him on the chest.
“Babe!” I try to say the words, but no sound comes out.
Grant isn’t moving. I scramble into his lap, fumbling over his knees until I can see into his face. He’s passed out.
Shaking my head to try and clear this drunken fogginess, I look back at my bloody hand and blink. Did I bite my lip? Is my nose bleeding?
Trey digs his fingers into his knees. My eyes rocket up to his face, only to notice blood trickling from his nose, and smearing the corner of his mouth.
“Fuck,” I mumble, trying to stand once again. “Help!” I try to scream the words out loud, but my throat doesn’t work. Grabbing Patrick’s hand, I pull. His eyes slide shut, dark blood collecting in the corner of his mouth and smearing his baby blue suit.
“Baby,” Trey whimpers from the ground.
Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. My heart pounds against my chest so hard it hurts as I reach for him. My legs aren’t working the way I need them to! I have to get to Trey! Something is wrong with my guys. Two of them are unconscious, we’re all bleeding, and Trey can’t reach me.
I fall to my knees trying to get off the couch, again. My eyes meet the older woman’s. Something in her eyes is familiar. I know I know this woman. She’s evil. Pure fucking evil.
“G-g-get away from us!” I whisper-scream. My throat is on fire and I can barely push the words past my lips.
“Alright then, Misery Nelson.” The beautiful, dark haired woman steps back, smoothing her lipstick. The wrinkles on her hands are the only thing that gives away her age.
“Trey!” I slide my hand across the floor, trying to put the strange old woman out of my mind.
“Baby,” he whispers, his eyes locked on mine, his fingers reaching out to me.
My fingertips brush against his the moment before his eyes go still. I slam my fist into the floor, trying to reach him. Is he breathing?
“Help us!” Tears burn the corners of my eyes. I wipe at them but my fingers come away with more blood. “What is happening to us?” My arms ache under my weight, trying to hold myself up.
Grant and Patrick’s legs look limp. My vision is blurred, trying to reach them. I can’t breathe. My chest hurts. A frail looking hand reaches across my vision and wipes my eyes. The hand grabs my chin and turns me to face her.
“You’re not favored anymore, Misery Nelson,” she whispers, almost too low for me to hear.
I try to respond, to ask this woman what she’s talking about. Someone needs to help us! Help them! Something bad is happening. I wrap a hand around Patrick’s ankle and pull. I pull harder, trying to make myself stand up, but another coughing fit takes over.
I roll onto my back, coughing as I stare up at the familiar face.
My parents’ neighbor.
Two more faces come into view as I wipe away the blood on mouth, struggling to breathe. That rasping sound can’t be good.
“What was in that absinthe, sister?”
“Nightshade.”
“Oh, Attie,” one of the women groans, and moves away from the group.
Darkness crowds into my vision from the edges. I blink away the tears. I know what’s happening.
I’m dying.
I drag my eyes away from their faces. I don’t know why they’re doing this to us, but I just want to see my guys one more time.
Grant, my sweet, sweet man. He was the first to go, wasn’t he? I sob at the thought that he’d died and I didn’t even realize it. Patrick’s dark features are hard to make out in this low light, but I know them by heart. My eyes trace over the lips I know hides the best smile in the world.
I try to turn my face to look at Trey one more time. A muscle in my neck catches. Something inside the muscle short circuits and I can’t stop the twitch that comes next. My fingers clench hard and my forehead creases. Something is very, very wrong . . .
Something deep inside my chest breaks and bloody tears slide down my cheeks. I can’t wipe them. I don’t know what I look like, laying on the floor in my colorful wings with bloodied hands and face. Terror seizes my body, shooting icy cold pain through each vein. No one is going to think this is real, because it’s Halloween . . .
No one is going to help us. I sniffle, trying one more time to turn toward Trey. My eyes meet his glassy ones. The man I’ve loved since I was a child is gone, only an empty blood covered shell remains.
“Shhh, child. Just close your eyes,” the cruel woman whispers.
I obey.
Epilogue
Atropos
I buff my nails on my sweater, staring out at the humans gathered for this wondrous occasion. Misery Nelson is finally dead. Swallowing the smile threatening to break out across my face is hard, but I manage it as we find our seats in the back pew of the service.
Christianity has always eluded me. I will never understand how it became so popular with the humans so fast. It’s mind boggling to me how they can go from worshipping anyone with the brains to call themselves a deity, to believing in a singular god overnight.
These creatures have no loyalty.
“Misery Nelson, Trey Burns, Grant Adams, and Patrick Kemp were taken from us too young. Misery was a local treasure, her success in the business world was this community’s success and she will be missed, forever.”
The man speaking at the podium looks exactly like I expect a southern preacher to look. He’s overweight, has a receding hairline, and his plaid shirt is adorned with a gold cross pin.
Several heads in the rows in front of us nod along to what he’s saying.
“Grant was a light in this community—"
My vision blurs as the dull man drones on and on about each of them. It feels odd to be here for their memorial, but we’d been invited personally by Misery’s parents. It would look odd if we didn’t show up to something that affects the entire community.
“Are those their parents?” I ask Lachesis quietly under my breath.
She leans forward a little, obviously focusing on the people in the front who are sobbing. “Yes, I think so.”
“Shh,” Clotho hisses. “Show some respect.”
I snort and cross my legs, leaning back into the uncomfortable pew as we listen to the preacher detail how each of them were integral parts of our community. Overall, the service is boring. The sniveling and endless lamenting in the packed room is enough to set my teeth on edge.
I busy myself picking imaginary lint from my sweater for a while. Finally, music begins to play and a line begins to form in the aisle.
Clotho tosses me a questioning look and I shake my head no. I have no interest in going to see the bodies of at the front of the room. The sadness in this room has been strangling me for a while.
“Well, you have no one to blame but yourself.” Lachesis pulls her hair over her shoulder, braiding it. It’s a nervous habit she’s had since we were young.
“Excuse me?”
“You look uncomfortable, Attie. It’s your own fault, if you hadn’t—”
I round on her, my eyebrow arches up my forehead as my lips part to put her in her place. I hadn’t done anything to deserve anything. We’d all planned that girl’s demise over the years.
“Come on, you two.” Clotho shakes her head and pushes Lachesis toward the door.
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, smoothing my hands across my hair. The dark locks feel stringy to me for some reason. I cast a glance over my shoulder at the large portraits of the young people whose lives I’d ended too soon.
Misery would have grown her fortune, even after her luck returned to a normal polarity. She would have been a household name, recognized for generations, based on her contributions to the technological world. My eyes close as I remember the cord I’d searched a thousand times over the years. She’d have had two children. One of her boyfriends was infertile—the one from high school—though they never made it far enough to find that out. She would have married all of them in a triple wedding in the C
aribbean, a spur of the moment idea on vacation.
None of those things would happen, though, because Misery Nelson no longer exists. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I try to resist the urge to gloat.
“What now?” Clotho asks as we step through the doors and out onto the sidewalk.
The fall sun hangs low in the sky. These short days and long nights match the somber mood I’ve been in the past few centuries. I smooth my sweater down my thighs against the leggings I’d started wearing a few years ago. Cool wind whips through my hair and I sigh at the familiar feeling of a storm brewing.
“I don’t know,” I admit, quietly.
“We honestly haven’t done anything except plot against your little human in over a decade, Attie.” Lachesis looks between the two of us, her features pale even in the warm light of the setting sun.
“Well, we always have work to do.” I shrug my shoulder, trying to dismiss their concerns.
“I still hate the favored,” Lachesis whispers.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, coming to a slow stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
“She’s dead, Lachesis. Her soul is somewhere beyond the Ether.”
“She wasn’t favored by Mother, Lacy. You know that.” Clotho looks to me for help and I just shrug. We all know the answer.
“I don’t care. She was favored and I hate them. They circumvent our power and make us look like fools before the rest of our kind.”
Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I catch a glint in Lachesis’ eye that worries me. She looks vengeful and she has no reason to. We already ended the problem child. This was my personal vendetta, anyway. When did she become so bloodthirsty?
“Do you know of another favored walking around, Lacey?”
I lay my other hand on Clotho’s arm, eyeing our sister suspiciously. “Don’t you mean they circumvent my power, and make me look like a fool before the rest of the immortals?”