by Katie May
We move to the front of the house, and I spot Christian’s car idling near the end of the driveway. Fortunately, he’s ducked over his phone, the screen light illuminating his face, and paying no attention to anything around him.
It only takes two minutes for the cab to show up, and I all but shove Karsyn’s big ass into the backseat. I wait until the driver rolls down the passenger side window before handing him all of the money in my purse, easily twice as much as the cab fare.
“Just in case he throws up,” I explain, and the man wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Address?” he queries, and I recite Karsyn’s address from memory.
“How do you know that, princess?” the man in question asks from the back. His cheek is smooshed against the leather seat as his large body hangs half off and half on. It’s so fucking adorable that I want to take a picture.
“Because I stalk you,” I deadpan. “I tie cameras to the claws of ravens and then send them out of my window with the offering of fresh hearts when they return.”
Silence reigns as the driver stares at me in abject horror. Karsyn just snorts in amusement.
“You’re fucked up. My pretty, fucked up, black-hearted princess,” he murmurs sleepily. “I think that’s why I loved you.”
His words cause my entire body to freeze as if ice has been injected directly into my veins and is wreaking havoc on my system. I tell myself that it’s just the ramblings of a drunk man. That he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s saying. That he’s delirious and so fucking out of it, I could be wearing a penis suit and he wouldn’t notice.
But my traitorous heart jumpstarts in my chest, before dropping through my stomach and landing in a discarded heap at my feet.
“Goodbye, Karsyn,” I whisper, backing away from the cab as it begins to pull out of the driveway. The passenger window is still rolled down, so I’m able to hear Karsyn’s voice, clear as day.
“Goodbye, my princess.”
My princess???
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter 27
I wake up with the hangover from hell…though it shouldn’t be at all surprising, considering that the second I got home, I raided Nana’s fridge and stole every last bottle of beer. I needed to drink the confusion away. The chaos. The stormy clouds hovering at the edges of my mind, just waiting to roll forward and release heavy torrents.
Regretting all of my life choices, I throw off my covers—my stomach turning queasy, as if dozens of tiny hands are twisting up my insides—and squint at the sunlight shining through the small, triangular window. Usually, I love the feel of the sun’s rays warming my skin, but today, I wish I invested in a curtain or something. The sunlight brutalizes my too sensitive eyes.
I fell asleep wearing the pretty green dress, so I quickly strip it off and change into a pair of sweats and a ratty T-shirt. I don’t bother with my hair, allowing the snarled, tangled strands to hang limply down my back. I’ll shower as soon as I get food in my system.
My head throbs as I descend the ladder, my footsteps threatening to burst my eardrum. When did I become so fucking loud? Where’s the silence when you need it? Feeling disgruntled, I waddle to the kitchen, continually wincing at the blinding lights and every loud noise.
Surprisingly, Nana, Christian, and Polo are already seated at the dining room table, deep in conversation. For a brief moment, I worry they’re going to reprimand me, or hell, even punish me for getting wasted. An apology is on the tip of my tongue when Nana whips her head in my direction, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
Like a cold bucket of water being dumped over my head, the drowsiness abates, leaving me alert and cautious.
“What’s going on?” I ask tersely, moving forward until I’m directly behind Christian’s chair at the table. “Is it Gabriel?”
Nana shakes her head silently, tiny tracks of tears continuing to rain down her red cheeks. I can’t quite understand the expression on her face. Her lips purse as she nods towards the seat opposite her, and I don’t hesitate before sitting down.
“What’s going on?” I repeat. “Is it Mom? The coven?”
The silence is so fucking pronounced, it seems to cover all four of us like thick syrup. I can feel it sticking to my arms and legs, to every bare inch of skin exposed, and try as I might, I can’t rid the substance from my body.
“There was another murder,” Nana admits in a choked voice. She focuses on her hands, currently ripping apart a blank piece of paper. I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it; the movement is almost mechanical, as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the here and now. Overwhelming guilt and pain shadow her features as she drops her gaze back to the tabletop.
“Is it someone I know?” I can barely speak above a whisper, pain bombarding me from all sides. Is it Yoselin? Uriel? Someone else? Death is such a funny thing. In our culture, we often celebrate it, considering the death of a witch a renewal of sorts. They give their energy back to the coven, and we lap it up like hungry, desperate carnivores. But when the life is snuffed out before it’s time, when the witch is brutally murdered like with the case of the Bloods, it’s mourned. There’s nothing natural or serene about the way these witches are dying now. Their energy isn’t simply recycled back into the population, their spirits living on. It’s destroyed completely, consumed by men and women with a god complex.
“It’s no one you know,” Nana rushes to reassure me, but she still won’t meet my eyes. Her hands continue to rip, rip, rip at that small paper, watching as the pieces flutter onto the table like snow.
“There’s something we need to tell you,” Christian blurts, and Polo shoots him a look, as if annoyed with his less than tactful approach.
The last bit of fogginess in my brain dissipates like a fan in a smoky room. I sit up straighter in my chair, allowing my gaze to travel over the three adults present. Nana, with her violet hair and eyes laden with worry. Christian, his normally jovial smile nowhere to be found. And Polo, looking uncharacteristically distressed as he reaches forward and places his hand on top of Nana’s.
“There’s a reason why the witch’s council asked Gabriel to investigate the recent string of Blood murders,” Polo begins softly. When Nana pales even further, her bloodshot eyes standing out starkly in her face, I feel my heartbeat ratchet up a dozen notches. I can barely hear over the pounding of it.
“And why is that?”
And I know, right then and there, that I’m not going to like their answer. It’s going to change everything I ever thought, everything I ever knew. It’s going to so effectively rattle the very foundations of my being, I’m going to be left as nothing but a shattered shell, smaller than even the ripped paper raining down on the table like confetti.
When Polo doesn’t immediately respond, eyes dropping to his thumb stroking Nana’s knuckles, Christain takes over. “Because my brothers and I were once Bloods.”
His words send a cold, electric shock racing through my system, skittering down my spine, before settling in the pit of my stomach like a watermelon-sized lump. All I can do is stare at the man who I considered a friend, family. I always thought Bloods would be noticeable at first glance. That I could distinguish them with one speculative look.
What did I honestly expect? For them to have the word BLOOD tattooed across their foreheads? For their eyes to be crimson in color, the evil they hold reflected in their gazes?
But Christian, Gabriel, and Polo look normal. Healthy. Hot, even.
“W-What?” I manage to stutter out, and the urge to run away as fast and as far as I can hits me.
“It was a long time ago,” Polo rushes to say, but I can barely hear him over the sudden roaring in my ears.
Because if what they told me is true, they’re murderers. They killed humans and witches alike, consuming their blood like filthy, fictional vampires, all in the name of power and immortality.
“How long ago?” I whisper, white-knuckling the edge of the table.
Sil
ence descends as the two men exchange wary looks. Nana continues to rip apart the paper even further, until each piece is the size of her nail. I can’t help but stare at her in betrayal. In pain. How could she not tell me?
“Nineteen-forty,” Christian confesses at last, his words a low sigh.
“Nineteen—” I release a dry laugh, one that quickly transforms into something borderline hysterical. Nana appears even more distraught with every passing second, wincing as if my laughter is a physical punch to her lying, traitorous gut. “So you really are old men?”
Polo purses his lips. “We met your grandmother when she was eighteen, and we fell in love with her.”
I turn my accusing stare towards the woman in question, the woman studiously avoiding my probing gaze. I know from the wrinkles on her face and the gray streaks in her hair that she, unlike the others, isn’t a Blood as well. But she knew. There’s no doubt about that. She knew this entire fucking time and allowed me to sit and talk cordially with a bunch of murdering assholes.
“So, what?” I glare between the three of them. “You guys fell in love, she decided to keep your dirty, little secret, and you ran off into the sunset to be together?”
“No,” Christian says, voice devoid of inflection. He almost sounds like Lucas. “When she discovered the truth about us, she turned us into the witch’s council.”
“By then, we’d already stopped,” Polo adds, as if that makes me feel any better about the atrocious acts they must’ve partaken in. “And don’t look at me like that, Peony,” he states firmly, only pissing me off further. What right does he have to snap at me? “We never killed anyone.”
“We took the blood from willing witches,” Christian explains tiredly, running a hand through his shaggy dark hair.
“So witches you fucked?” I guess bluntly, enjoying the way Nana jerks, pain splintering her features. Polo’s hand tightens over hers, as if he’s afraid she’s going to try and pull away.
“We never killed anyone,” Polo emphasizes.
“But when Cardinal discovered the truth about us, that we partook in dark, blood magic and were now immortal, she was horrified. We were locked up the very next day.” Christian turns to gaze at Nana, and there’s no hiding the love that emanates from his gaze. The need. Even after she got them fucking arrested, they both look at her like the world starts and ends in her eyes. It’s incredibly nauseating.
“During that time, we were…interrogated by the witch’s council for our crimes.” Polo’s face darkens significantly, and I have no doubt that “interrogated” is just a fancy word for “tortured.”
“And Cardinal met your grandpa,” Christian cuts in. And just like when Polo’s face darkened at the mention of the torture they endured, Christian’s eyes cloud over at the thought of Nana with another man. His hand clenches around his coffee mug.
I don’t know how to even begin processing their words. The triplets are Bloods, for fuck’s sake. And I’ve always been taught that Bloods are the epitome of all evil. They don’t care who they hurt, all in the pursuit of power. And to hear that they’re actually older than Nana, trapped forever in young bodies? My head spins from the torrent of revelations sprung on me. Pain splinters in the center of my chest as my heart quite literally shatters into thousands of irreparable pieces.
“So then what? You guys made some sort of deal…” I trail off, because I know that’s exactly what happened.
Christian tries to smile, a mere twitch of his lips, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “And behold! We can become the resident Blood experts.”
I ignore him, focusing instead on my nana. “And you just took them back? After everything they did?”
Finally—finally—she meets my gaze, tears continuing to run down her puffy cheeks.
“They never killed anyone, Peony,” she begins in a hoarse whisper, but I release a dry, humorless laugh. “Even now, they only drink blood because they have to, and the donor is always a willing participant. Just look into their eyes. They’re not red, see? They haven’t been using dark magic.”
“But they hurt people, didn’t they? I mean, I think it would be pretty fucking painful to be set out on a stone altar and have my blood forcibly removed from my body.” All three of them wince at my tone, but I’m not done. Not even fucking close. “And you didn’t bother to tell me. I’m your fucking family, and you didn’t bother to tell me the truth.”
I want to run and rage and fight. But instead of doing any of that, I push myself out of the chair, squeezing the wooden table so tightly, I’m afraid I’ll break my knuckles.
“Peony, please, I can explain.”
But I don’t want to hear her excuse. Maybe, in time, I’ll be able to look her in the eye, but that time isn’t now. My anger is an almost physical entity, pulsating in my body as steady as a heartbeat.
“Is this about your father?” she demands, but her question only exacerbates my rage.
“It has nothing to do with him!”
“I know that it’s ha—”
I interrupt her. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare say that you know it’s hard.”
“Not all Bloods are evil,” Polo interjects softly, and I spin towards him, vitriol spewing from my eyes.
“No,” I agree with a glare. “But it was still a Blood who killed my father.”
Without giving Nana or the others a chance to stop me, I shove my feet into a pair of shoes, sans socks, and storm out of the house.
Chapter 28
I don’t know where to go.
Hell, I don’t even know where I want to go. My body feels like an orchestra, but every musician is brutalizing their instruments with their bows. There’s no harmonious music. It’s simply…chaos. Pure and absolute and dissonant chaos. The instruments don’t play music; they scream their souls to anyone who will listen. Every note is brutal and fierce and unrelenting.
I feel irrevocably altered, and I can’t tell up from down. Left from right. My entire world is shaking on its axis, and I’m helpless to keep my feet planted. I quake and tremble, but it’s like an earthquake is rippling just beneath the ground, threatening to throw me off-balance.
Christian, Gabriel, and Polo…
I know that they claimed they never killed anyone, that all of their victims were willing, but a niggle of doubt echoes in my mind that doesn’t just whisper at me…it screams. And I can’t help but think that the scream sounds an awful lot like a young girl being sacrificed on an altar.
Fuck.
I begin to walk aimlessly down the driveway, the wind whipping at my bare arms. It rained last night, and numerous puddles line the sidewalk, which I stealthily attempt to avoid. There’s a spell I can perform that can warm my frigid body up, but I don’t have the energy or mental capacity to do it. I just feel…tired. So incredibly tired, the exhaustion permeating my mind and body, weighing me down.
My phone in my sweatpants threatens to burn a whole in my pocket. I try to resist, I honestly do, but I can’t stop myself from taking the phone out and dialing Mom’s number. Did she know? I would imagine that she did, considering that Nana is her mother. Why didn’t she tell me? I know that history is naturally horrid, dripping with secrets and lies and deceit, but I never expected this.
When Mom’s voicemails pops up, I all but growl, ending the call and shoving my cracked phone back into my pocket much harder than necessary. Emotions rampage through me, battling and warring, but I have no idea which one will win. I just want to…want to what? I don’t even know anymore.
Escape?
Run?
Cry?
Do I want my mommy to comfort me and tell me everything is going to be all right?
I could scoff with how ridiculous I’m acting. It’s not like it was them who murdered my father, just their species. And honestly, it’s not like I even know the man. He’s just someone who got my mother pregnant…and then died, leaving me alone with a woman who despises me. But fuck, hearing the triplets confess to being Bloods
opened up old wounds, and suddenly, I’m grieving a dad I never met all over again.
Quickening my pace, I realize I’ve gone in the opposite direction of the school and am coming up to the downtown area. Only then do I slow my pace, perusing the various storefronts nestled on a cobblestone street lined with artificial trees and benches. There’s everything from a toy shop to an antique store to a cozy restaurant. For the first time since I heard the news about the triplets, my lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile as a memory assaults me. But unlike all of the others, this one doesn’t leave a sour taste in my mouth or suck the air from my lungs.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Lucas’s cold voice wafted to me, chasing away whatever remaining warmth I felt. I tugged my arms tighter around my chest as I peeked over the top of the garbage can I was hiding behind. I could hear Cassian’s jovial laugh followed by Karsyn’s holler, and Elias’s slow, almost lazy chuckle. But despite hearing them, I couldn’t see them, and that only amplified my fear.
“Why are you hiding?” I jumped ten feet in the air, straightening from my crouch to see a tall, handsome man standing behind me. He appeared to be maybe ten years older than me in his early twenties, with honey-blond hair, vibrant green eyes, and a crooked grin. “Are you okay?” The smile slipped from his face as he took in my disheveled appearance. I’d been running from the Devils for the last two hours, and my body bore the evidence. My white hair was tangled, hanging in limp snarls down the front of my face, and dirt was streaked across both of my cheekbones.
“Just some rude bullies,” I huffed, flushing with embarrassment at being caught in such a disarrayed state by this beautiful man. I lowered my head and attempted to tuck a strand of my sweaty hair behind my ear.
As if on cue, Cassian’s voice rang from the inky darkness. “Where ya at, Pee-ony? Come play with us.”
“Unless you’re scared,” Karsyn taunted, and all four of them broke into laughter once more.
“Peony?” The new guy quirked a brow. “As in, Peony Simone?”