Possessed: A reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 3)

by Steffanie Holmes

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Because we’re the murderers.

  What did she mean by that? Loretta wasn’t a murderer. She was a super-intense orphaned Southern Baptist girl with severe depression and suicidal thoughts.

  Who wasn’t dead.

  Loretta wasn’t dead.

  And it sounded to me as she was keeping it a secret.

  I longed to ask her exactly what happened in that cavern beneath the gym, but she’d never tell me, so I had to guess. They lowered her into the god’s prison, into that void of infinite blackness, and he was supposed to drink from her tortured soul until she was dead, and then Ms. West was supposed to bring her back to the frozen life of the edimmu. But if the god didn’t kill her…

  That meant Ms. West knew Loretta was alive. She knew something was wrong with the god, and she hadn’t told the Eldritch Club. Interesting. I remembered my dream from the other day and the conversation I’d overheard in her office where she’d complained about not being rewarded for her work. I wondered if perhaps Ms. West and Vincent Bloomberg were no longer working toward the same purpose.

  What interested me the most was the god’s decision. If the god spared Loretta, then it meant he acted of his own free will, if such a concept as free will existed for a cosmic deity. It meant that Ms. West didn’t control him. Vincent Bloomberg didn’t control him.

  I could use that. I didn’t know how, but I could use it.

  I shuffled around the perimeter of the graveyard in a half daze, searching for other signs of a ritual. But the trees were so dense, vines twisted through the metal fence and weeds choking the roots, that I had no hope of finding anything in there. Besides, maybe I had a much easier way of figuring this out.

  Maybe I could just ask the god.

  He showed me things in my dreams. Sometimes those things were true – like when he sent Trey to me. Sometimes they were things other people wanted me to see. But I had a feeling the communication went both ways. When he’d shown me Ms. West and Dr. Atwood when I was on the bus, that hadn’t come from them. The god meant for me to know.

  And he’d tried to speak to me. He’d tried to have a conversation even though neither of us could comprehend the other. Loretta was right – he was curious.

  Maybe there was a way I could get the god to reveal more of his secrets.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Here!” I jabbed my finger at the page in Rebecca’s book.

  “Read it out,” Quinn demanded, slouching over the bed. Trey leaned against the wall, frowning at the book.

  I held up the page and exalted in my best Shakespearean accent. “The Nurse sigils cannot be used to summon spirits or beings from other planes of existence. We do not believe in dragging others between the realms against their will. Instead, these sigils allow open communication through the veil by way of dreams, where the magician’s mind is most open and receptive, and where the spirit has access to the full spectrum of weird imaginings with which to find a common ken. The magician’s earthly form and worldly concerns will not hinder communion—”

  “Sounds like a load of magical twaddle to me,” Quinn said. “So what you’re suggesting is…”

  “We draw one of these sigils on the wall,” I said. “And then I go to sleep and talk to the entity in my dreams. And I get him to tell me where Greg is.”

  “No.” Trey frowned.

  I glared back at him, ticking off points on my fingers. “A. You’re not in charge here, so I don’t have to listen to you. B. It’s not dangerous. I’m not actually going to talk to the god. I’m just dreaming and you’ll be here to wake me up if anything seems wrong, and C. If this is going to help us find Greg, then we have to try it.”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” Trey growled. “Besides, how do you know you’re a magician?”

  I touched my hand to my scar. Trey’s frown only deepened – a fact that should have been physically impossible given the sheer amount he was already frowning.

  I sighed. “Look, I know you guys don’t give two fucks about Greg, but I do. And I’m not—”

  “We care about Greg,” Quinn piped up.

  “No, you don’t.” My hands balled into fists. I was done with this. Done with sitting in this room while my friend was out there having cosmic-god-knows-what being done to him by Ms. West. Done with the Kings not understanding why it was important. Tired of them not giving Greg or Andre the respect and friendship I knew they were capable of, because they didn’t think my friends deserved it. “You barely even remember his name.”

  “Barely remembering is still remembering.” Quinn pointed out. “Besides, why do you think the god would even know where Greg is?”

  “Because the god knows much more than he’s been given credit for.” I set down the book and picked up my chalk. “I’m doing this, with or without your help.”

  I stepped across the room toward my old bed, Loretta’s damning words echoing in my head. Because we’re the murderers. I had to find out.

  Trey moved in front of me, pressing his body against the wall. “No.”

  I grabbed his shoulder and shoved him aside. “Maybe the rest of the world bows down when you issue a command, but I don’t.”

  I knelt on the bed, trying to control the shaking in my hand as I drew a large circle. It was slightly lopsided, but I wasn’t an artist like Ayaz. I glanced down at the diagram, following the instructions for the order in which to draw the lines.

  Behind me, Trey tapped his foot against the floor. Quinn sucked in his breath. As I drew, heat flared along my arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flicker of blue flame arcing down the lines.

  I resisted the urge to pull back, to push the fire back down inside me. Back in the cave with Zehra, I’d seen flames like this around Rebecca’s sigil. And then again when Trey set the boundary sigil on the table in the RV. Maybe the fire was a sign it was working.

  My hand buzzed with heat. An invisible force gripped my fingers, dragging my hand over the wall, dipping and swooping and forming beautiful, perfect lines.

  With a final flourish, my hand flew off the wall. The chalk sailed across the room, hit the other wall, and broke into two pieces that fell on Quinn’s head.

  “Voila!” I struck a pose. Trey shook his head. Quinn picked up the broken chalk and pretended to draw a penis in the air.

  I didn’t ask them if they could see the fire. If Trey knew it was there, his face would have given it away. He’d make a big deal about it, and I couldn’t deal with any more tantrums tonight. I needed to get this done, for Greg.

  I lay back on the bed, kicking off my socks and diving under the covers. I downed the glass of milk Andre had snuck down for me. I’d warmed it over the radiator so it went down easily. Above my head, the rats circled with renewed vigor, their tiny feet scratching and scrabbling in their haste.

  “Goodnight, boys.” I waved at the Kings from beneath the covers, then reached out to flick off the light.

  “This is a bad idea,” Trey muttered from the darkness.

  “I don’t know how you even sleep with that racket in the ceiling,” Quinn added.

  “I find them comforting,” I said. “I can’t explain it. When I came here I was so lonely. Not even Loretta would talk to me, and when I lost Dante’s journal… I lay on this bed and stared at the ceiling, and the rats were doing their thing. They’re always there. I like that.”

  Quinn wrinkled his nose. “Nope, doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “It doesn’t have to.” My head hit the pillow. I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. But I was too wound up with worry over Greg and with unspent energy from being cooped up inside all day. Quinn fidgeted and Trey coughed, and I threw the covers off in annoyance.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I muttered. “I need sleeping pills or something.”

  “Let me help.” The bed creaked as Quinn sat down. He lifted the corner of the blanket. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  Quinn climbed under t
he covers with me, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his whole body against mine on the narrow bed.

  This was a guy who didn’t do true affection because affection meant admitting some deeper connection that terrified him. And I couldn’t blame him – I knew what it was like to hold back, to put my trust in one person in the world who was supposed to love me and to have that ripped away. I used anger and Quinn used humor to push people away, but they were two sides of the same fucked-up coin.

  This embrace was Quinn starting to let his guard down, to drop the facade he’d so carefully crafted. And the boy beneath that mask was more fragile and more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.

  He snuggled against me and nuzzled my neck, his breath hot against my skin. And without realizing it, I relaxed into his body. My eyelids drooped, the comfort of his affection cradled me…

  My eyes flew open.

  Bitter-cold wind tore at my skin, ripping me from the safety of Quinn’s embrace. I was alone. And freezing my ass off.

  Even before my eyes adjusted to the gloom I knew where I was – in the cavern, facing the scaffold once again, staring down the trapdoor beneath which the cosmic god slumbered in its prison.

  This time, I didn’t hesitate. Greg’s life was at stake. I kicked out the bolt and flung open the trapdoor, bracing myself against the onslaught of vile darkness.

  The god’s touch was like being caressed by hatred. It was as if every dark thought in the world had form and mass. It wrapped around me, its shadow blocking out the light until I swam in its bleak embrace.

  You found me. Its thoughts appeared inside my head, not words but made of a tangled web of screams – a nightmarish mockery of our language.

  “How do you do that?” I whispered, digging my nails into my scar in a desperate effort not to slam my hands over my ears.

  I have listened. It is nothing to me to learn your primitive tongue. The voices of my sustenance provide the vocalizations. You have returned to me.

  I choked back a scream of my own. The voice I heard was made of the screams of all those sacrifices. “Y…y…yes. I was hoping you could answer a few questions. Did you… have you had a sacrifice recently?”

  I have not consumed for some time. I starve alone in my prison, for I must wait for the one I crave.

  Relief washed over me. I’d guessed correctly. Greg was safe. For now. My agreement with Ms. West was still binding. But knowing that only brought up more questions. “Am I the one you crave?”

  Yessss.

  The way he said it, like teeth crunching against bone, made me realize that something about me was different to him.

  “Do you want to consume me?” I asked.

  I want to understand you.

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I’d take it. “Ms. West told me that when I am hurt, you hurt, too. Why is that?”

  I am heavy with the weight of my greed. You are heavy, too. You have gorged yourself on the life of others. We have an affinity.

  “Because you think I murdered someone?” I asked. I pressed my fingers to the scar on my wrist. “You think we’re the same because you devour souls and I… I…”

  The darkness and the hatred stole the words that staggered to the edge of my tongue. The words I hadn’t been able to utter since the fire.

  Luckily for me, the god didn’t seem to expect an answer. The screams crashed against my skull. You want to ask me about a particular soul. My servants have seen him alive and intact. Would you like them to show you?

  “Yes.” My heart leaped with hope. “Very much.”

  The darkness closed around me, squeezing me, pulling me backwards until I stumbled and toppled over. Instead of slamming into the floor of the cave, the god caught me in his dark embrace. Before my eyes, the darkness resolved itself into a pack of the shadow creatures that chased me in the gym. They drew back snarling lips to reveal teeth made of midnight. Tenebrous claws sliced the air, cleaving holes in the world from which more of their vile number spilled. They surrounded me, leaping on top of me, tugging my clothes and squeezing the air from my chest.

  As one, they tossed their heads back and howled. The sound wasn’t of wolves, but of a great maelstrom battering the prow of a flimsy ship. From their mouths burst forth a net of oily strands that crossed and stretched out in all directions. They quivered and twanged against each other, and some even emitted a low hum – as if they were violin strings pulled taut.

  A string wobbled in front of my face. Heat flared in my palms, and I didn’t know how I knew to do it, but I reached out and grabbed it. The string coiled around me, wiping the repulsive oil all over me as it swung me forward, dragging me through a maze of darkness until a shape resolved itself in front of me.

  Greg.

  His head slumped against his shoulder. His hands had been tied behind him, and one leg was pulled to his chest. Marks along his arm glowed red in the god’s vision – precision cuts, and small puncture wounds that looked like blood draws. Blood streaked his pale skin, and his blue eyes swam with pain and defeat.

  My heart snapped in two. Greg came to this school for a second chance. He was kind and fun and wonderful and funny. He might be alive, but he was in great pain, and he didn’t deserve any of it.

  “Greg?” I called out, thrashing against the oily threads. “Can you hear me?”

  Greg turned toward my voice, but his eyes couldn’t focus. I tried to discern something about his location that could help me find him, but all I could make out was that he was tied to some kind of metal frame before a dark shadow moved in front of him, its doglike limbs long and lithe as it leaped toward my head.

  I screamed and yanked myself back. Malevolent claws scraped against my arm, raising goosebumps against my skin. Teeth made of darkness snapped at my face. I screamed again, throwing up my arms. The threads around my torso tightened, dragging me back into the gloom.

  I flew back through the web of strings until I came to face the god’s trapdoor. The shadow creatures disappeared, leaving me slumped on cold stone. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. I knelt on the edge of the platform, clutching the trapdoor.

  You cannot reach him through his dreams. He is fragile. You will damage his soul.

  “Where is he?” I demanded. “Is he still here on campus?”

  My servants watch over him.

  “Your servants?” I realized he meant the shadows – the foul beasts of darkness that spat those oily strings. “What about the Eldritch Club? The faculty? I thought they were your servants.”

  They are my wardens. Nothing more.

  A shudder ran through my body – part horror, part hope. I never thought I’d say this, but the god and I had something in common. We’d both had our freedom stripped away. We’d both been experimented on without our consent. He was as much a prisoner of Derleth I was – more so, for he had been trapped here for hundreds of years.

  “Why do you give your wardens your power?” I asked. “They only keep you trapped here because you give them what they want.”

  If I do what they want, they will set me free.

  I laughed. “Yeah, right. That’s not going to happen. If they set you free, they don’t get to keep drawing your powers. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but they never had any intention of setting you free.”

  I don’t understand.

  “They lied to you.” My stomach heaved as the god shifted in the prison, agitated. The screams in my head increased in volume, in agony.

  What is lied?

  I remembered then that I was addressing a being from beyond space and time. It might have no concept of deception. I couldn’t think how to explain lying in a way that would make him understand.

  Instead, I pressed my hands to my head and called up the memories I’d hidden down deep, the secret shame that I’d kept to myself. The lies I’d told the authorities, the school, the Kings. The lies I told myself. The rage that grew and grew inside me like a cancer I could never cut out.

  And I gave i
t to him.

  “That’s lying,” I said through gritted teeth as I pushed the truth into his screams.

  The god’s pain came in a silent wave, his screams so loud they had no sound at all. I dropped like a stone as the screams tore the strength from my limbs. It was the scream of a universe burning, of a million souls that had never known peace, of all the agonies of past, present, and future rushing at me all at once.

  I didn’t know how long I lived inside the god’s torment, but it was too fucking long. Finally, finally, his pain rolled over me, and I was able to surface.

  I don’t know, he cried with the screams of his victims.

  “What don’t you know?” I demanded, struggling for breath. “I have told you the truth. You have been lied to. What will you do with that?”

  I don’t know. The darkness shifted uneasily. The god was confused. It had no experience to frame this feeling.

  “I’ll tell you what you do.” I scooted forward on my knees so I leaned right over the trapdoor and stared down into that lightless abyss. It made bile rise in my throat, but it was the closest I could get to looking the god in the eye. "You do exactly what I tell you, and we all get what we want."

  I will listen.

  “First, your servants will protect Greg,” I said. “Because he’s not a part of this. He never lied to you. And then, you will stop. Stop everything. Stop giving them power. Stop taking souls. Stop it all.”

  Without sustenance, I am weakening. I do not want to return to my death-slumber. I wish to be free, as you wish to be free.

  “I can respect that. Can you go back to your own universe?”

  I am too weak. Too changed. I will not survive there.

  “What do you mean by too changed?”

  I have become… not what I once was. The sustenance here makes me different. I have… feelingsss.”

  He hissed the word, testing it on his screaming tongues. He didn’t understand it, and yet he knew that he felt. Of course! When he eats a soul they become part of him, and he experiences all their emotions and memories. Whatever he used to consume in his previous universe, it didn’t have this same effect. “What if I found a way to take away the feelings? It might make you weaker, but you would be yourself again.”