by Lana Kole
I’ve got it handled. Just do what you’ve got to do tomorrow. But be smart about it.
Hope didn’t look happy at his words, but he’d have to suck it up. They only had so much longer that they could stall.
Chaopadós was a cult that worshiped Chaos and had existed for what seemed like forever. If Death’s memory served right, there had been no specific occurrence or time that brought them into existence, they always just were, like chaos itself. They’d always been reckless in their mission to bring chaos to honor the one thing they idolized. At one time, that hadn’t been so hard, not before him and the other demons were imprisoned in Pandora’s Jar. And then they’d been crazy enough to betray Pandora… Death almost grinned at the memory of her husband’s death, the revenge she’d taken for his betrayal.
From what he’d seen of the modern day cult, he hardly recognized them from what they had once been. Now they were organized, with masses of followers all over the world, using technology to their advantage, and had a specific plan of action. Death could only stall so long.
He just hoped he didn’t run out of time.
If his plan worked, it’d have them out of here in the next forty-eight hours.
Daria just had to die again.
DARIA
Showers seemed to be Daria’s favorite place to contemplate things. It made sense, she supposed. Naked, she was bare to the elements, in this case scalding hot water that washed away the sweat of the club goers, and at the same time, made room for thoughts to cloud her mind.
Or images. Or scenes.
Mayhap from the fight in the alley beside the club?
In the shower, alone, she was free to worry and fret to her heart’s content.
Why the fuck hadn’t Misery used his powers to end the fight early?
What the fuck had happened there at the end? All of that crazy shit at one time? And so perfectly timed as to make a way out for them?
Daria needed answers, but Truth and Misery had seemed as lost in their thoughts as she was her own. So when they’d told her to shower first, she’d happily agreed to the use of hot water.
Her eyes narrowed against the hot spray, glaring at the bottle of conditioner on the shelf as a thought occurred to her. What if they’d offered her the shower first so they’d have a chance to talk? Without her.
Oh, hell no.
Daria rinsed her hair in a hurry, slammed the water off, and jumped out of the shower, thankful for the bath mat on the floor, else she would’ve ass planted due to her haste. Grabbing a towel on the way out, she barely wrapped it around her in time as she stalked down the hallway, borderline running.
“Stop it!” she shouted as she landed in the living room.
Sure enough, Truth and Misery lifted their heads from where they’d been conspiring together, a flush coloring their faces as they caught sight of her.
Suddenly self-conscious, she glanced down to see her towel was threatening to slip right down her chest. Tugging it into place, she shot them a positively withering glare, and pointed a finger at them.
“I knew there was a reason you wanted me to take a shower first!”
But before she could get another word out, Misery was smirking in her direction, “What? So we could catch a glimpse of you in that towel as you trotted back to your room? Uh, duh.”
Anything she was going to say got caught on her tongue, until, “Who are you?” spilled out accusingly. She shook her head. “No! You won’t distract me! Truth! What are you two talking about?”
He grimaced, knowing he couldn’t lie, and Daria felt dirty for using that against them, but she refused to be left out. She was in this just as much as they were.
Popping a piece of candy in his mouth, he refused to answer.
“It’s not fair if you leave me out of this.”
Truth looked to Misery and muttered, “You know she’s right.”
Daria barely stopped herself from cheering.
“Fine. Go put your clothes on and we’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Narrowing her eyes at them, she didn’t know if she trusted them to really keep her in the loop. With a flick of his hand, Truth shooed her away. “Hurry up. I can’t focus when you’re dressed like that. Or not dressed, it seems.”
Daria felt her cheeks flush as she realized she really couldn’t have a conversation with them as she was. The color in her cheeks definitely wasn’t because she was secretly pleased at the knowledge she had an effect on Truth. Nope, not that.
Rushing back to her room, she tossed on a random shirt and some yoga pants. When she made it back into the living room, Truth and Misery were already seated on the couch, so Daria settled for the recliner across from them. It was only when they stared at her blankly that she glanced down and abruptly burst into laughter. The shirt she’d grabbed in a rush was printed with “sometimes I wrestle my demons, sometimes we just snuggle.”
“Well, you have to admit it’s pretty accurate,” she teased.
Then she waved them on, refusing to be distracted any longer. Truth and him shared a look before he nodded to Misery.
With a deep breath, he started to explain. “You saw how I was when I incapacitated the assassins at Andrew’s house, yeah?”
“Yeah… ” She trailed off, goosebumps pebbling her arms as she thought about the eerie screams and the smile that’d twisted his lips. He’d been lax and loopy, drunk, almost.
“It feels good to release all that,” he admitted in a whisper, his words quiet but no less vehement. “The misery. It wants to be let out, to be inflicted on those around me. If I give in to it, it won’t stop.”
His dark eyes pulled at her as he glanced up from where he’d braced his forearms on his knees and hung his head. The emotion in his gaze filled in the space between the lines for her.
He was afraid of it, of himself. What would happen if he couldn’t keep it inside.
“So last night, if I’d taken the easy way out, I could have just unleashed my own misery on them. But I couldn’t guarantee that I’d have been able to stop there. In the end, it wasn’t worth the risk.”
Daria understood that. She didn’t want Misery to lose himself.
Rising from the recliner, she padded around the small coffee table to squeeze between Misery and Truth. Their gazes followed her the whole way, though Misery didn’t move from where he was half curled over. Without even thinking about it, she placed her hand on his back and began scratching small, comforting circles into him. Instantly the tension left his shoulders and he slumped forward to place his head in his hands.
“I don’t blame either of you for last night. Those guys were just being assholes, and I sure as shit wasn’t any help. But here’s the thing… we haven’t really had the best luck so far, so what was up with all that perfectly timed shit at the end?”
Truth laid his head back against the couch as his jaw worked over another piece of candy. The soft crunch of the demolition of the sweet piece sounded in the quiet of the room as they mulled it over.
“I don’t have an answer for that. But I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe we should just avoid alleyways from now on, huh?” Truth nudged her in the side with his elbow and she lifted her gaze to his own to see mirth dancing in his eyes.
“I’ll say I don’t seem to have the best luck in alleys.” All the tension eased out of them at her playful words.
“Except you know we have to go back tomorrow. It’s the only lead we’ve got. Death and Betrayal were both there. Do you think Hope will be too?”
Misery sat up and leaned against the couch, and Daria removed her hand at the motion. But then it was enveloped in warmth and she glanced down to see Misery’s hand curled around her own. “There’s only one way to find out.”
DARIA
As she dressed in the second sluttiest dress she owned, Daria wondered what her life had become. How just six months ago she’d been at the top of the most desirables list in the PR firm she worked at, and now she was slumming
it in nightclubs, trying to save the world from psychotic cults and cuddling up with demons at night.
There didn’t seem a point in making either Truth or Misery sleep on the couch when they’d already slept in the same bed together once. She knew they wouldn’t try anything, so they’d all slept close again. Sleeping next to them might have resulted in the best damn sleep she’d ever gotten, but she tried not to dwell on it.
Taking another look at herself in the mirror, she nodded at her reflection, deeming herself ready for hunting down her demons.
Another short dress, this one a deep crimson, was paired with the same combat boots from the previous night. Her long dark hair fell around her shoulders and her blue eyes were barely accentuated by a drawn cat eye and mascara.
When she walked into the main living area, she did a double take at both Misery and Truth. Misery was in all black, his usual attire, and Truth in dark wash jeans and a red button up.
“Hey, we match,” she noted with a smile.
They didn’t say anything for a long time, before Truth slapped Misery on the back.
“You look… fucking good, Daria. We ready to find some Hope?”
Pink flushing her cheeks, Daria nodded and grabbed her sling bag containing her mace and switchblade, lest they come across more assholes like those of the night before.
By the time they arrived at the club, they used the back entrance to sneak in, not even bothering going through the line again. It worked out perfectly, an arguing couple stumbled out the back, and Misery caught the door before it slammed closed again and locked them out.
The pounding bass made itself at home inside her skull as they stepped inside, and Daria waited for her vision to adjust to the darkness before they made their way to the main area.
Why this nightclub? she wondered. It was Maleston’s most popular hot spot, so she guessed it had the most impact for… well, chaos. But was that all? Were they trying to lure them in by using the same spot?
If that is their plan, it worked, she thought sourly.
They stopped right at the lip of the hallway, the bar to Daria’s left, the dance floor in front of them, and a few tables lining the wall to her right, leading to the tables dotted underneath the balcony for those who wanted a more casual setting. If there was such a thing in a dance club.
“Daria? Is that you?”
A voice she had hoped never to hear again called her name as they stopped beside a table to survey the club. She tried to ignore it, but a hand she’d never again wanted to feel against her skin grabbed her arm and pulled her around.
“Oh my God, it is you! It’s been, what? A year?” Her former coworker stood before her. Yes, that one.
“Hi, Peter. Sorry, I can’t talk now, I’ve got—” She motioned to Misery and Truth, but he talked right over her. Just like he always had.
“What are you talking about? Let’s catch up, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Uh… No thanks, that’s okay. I’m looking for a friend,” she hedged, trying to brush him off.
Alas, he was persistent. “Oh, come on. It looks like you have two friends right here! And now you have me,” he drawled, and she shot a look of disgust in his direction.
He didn’t miss her look of distaste, but it didn’t deter him either. “Oh, come on, Daria, I was hoping we’d be able to reconnect.”
His leering gaze put a new definition to that word, and Daria slammed a hand against Truth’s chest when he shifted forward. This was a fight she could win, one she’d walked away from already. “Reconnect? After that bullshit you pulled? Keep dreaming, Peter.” She stepped forward, leaning close to his ear and letting the salty bitterness she’d harbored for so long grit in her voice. “You think I have any desire to give you the time of day after you stole my project, claimed it as your own, and then cheated with your secretary? I think the fuck not, Peter. You’re a waste of my time. Now get the fuck out of my face.”
He paled when she pulled back, and she liked to think it was because she looked that fucking scary, but she had a feeling it was the males behind her. With that, she turned and walked away from what had been the worst mistake of her life.
Ever the demons in solidarity, Truth slid a hand around her waist while Misery leaned down to place a kiss on her shoulder, right there in front of the ex-fiancé who’d ruined her life. She could practically feel his gaze taking in the obvious scandal of her pretend sex life. The judgment too. Or maybe jealousy?
“What was that about?” Truth asked her a moment later, when she was regrouping by the bar with a vodka cranberry. They squeezed beside a couple who’d just met, if the handshake was anything to go by.
“Nothing. My past trying to haunt me.”
“Want to talk about it?” Misery prompted from her other side.
Glancing between the two of them, she sighed and figured the truth was going to come out sooner or later. She chuckled at the joke, considering her current company.
Daria had grown comfortable enough that she didn’t mind sharing her past with them, but she wondered if it was worth it. That was the past, and she had enough to deal with as it was. Their curious gazes burned into her, and try as she might, she had to give in.
As she spoke, she was unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Peter and I went to the same college and pursued the same communications degree. Our paths crossed eventually—how could they not? Then it wasn’t long before we were dating, and after a while, moving in together. When we graduated, we both got accepted at High Rise PR, which at the time was a small firm. We compromised and told ourselves it was good to gain experience in the market.”
Daria took a sip, washing away the lump that tried to crawl up her throat. Their lives had been so tightly woven together, school, work, and then home. In her eyes, Peter had made the moon set and the sun rise.
Gesturing with the glass, she continued, “I’d heard stories about women being looked down in the workplace, discriminated against, but figured that would never happen to me. I worked hard, put in the hours, came up with the ideas. I didn’t think that it mattered that we were living together, didn’t think it mattered that I was a woman in a male dominated industry. We were both doing well, both doing our jobs, even though I was better at mine.”
Daria took a gulp this time, bitterness acrid and chalky on her tongue. “There was only one problem. I wasn’t a man. My ideas weren’t making it to the board simply because I didn’t have a dick. It didn’t help that I was fucking my coworker—it didn’t matter that we’d been together long before we came to work there. So, Peter presented a solution. He thought if we got engaged it would help them see me as more than an office lay. I was in love with him, so of course I was blind and stupid, and said yes. We picked out a ring, he proposed, we set a date.”
Tension burned, bright like a flame to her left, and she could see Truth’s fingers pressing white against the bar, but Daria couldn’t bring herself to look at either one of them directly. Not while speaking such humiliating secrets.
“Then came the big news. The firm was bought out, disguised as a merger with a larger one. We were asked to put forward pitches, prove our worth.” Wistfulness fought its way into her voice, the memory raking vicious claws against her heart. Daria was surprised that even now, it still had the power to hurt. Another sip soothed the burn in her throat but did nothing for the one in her eyes.
“This was my big break. My opportunity to show them I was more than just Peter’s fiancée. That I had worth and value of my own. I worked my ass off. I devoted every spare minute to that presentation, refining and perfecting until it shone. I shared it with Peter, of course. Why wouldn’t I, right? He was my fiancé. He knew how much it meant to me, how proud I was to finally have this opportunity.”
Her name was a near-silent groan under Misery’s breath. Truth remained silent, his fingers creeping into fists, and the heated weight of his stare boring into her skin.
Daria drained the drink and shrugged. �
��Yeah... he stole it.” She set the drink down gently, precisely, on the dark counter.
Truth cursed and she felt his anger, but oddly enough, it didn’t feed her own. She’d been angry about what Peter had done for so long, blaming him for her circumstances. But if she was honest with herself, he didn’t get the credit. He didn’t deserve to have such an impact on her life.
“All the bigwigs were assembled in the meeting, our peers, everyone. I was so confident, I radiated it, because I knew this was my time... Right up until Peter opened his mouth and my presentation came out.”
Daria fell into the memory, her palms sweating in remembered nerves, stomach cramping with the ghost of the trepidation she had felt. Anxiety had rooted deep in her chest, and her hand drifted up to rub at the phantom ache. Nothing had worked to relieve the pressure when Peter had risen to take a position at the head of the table. When he had carefully and craftily outlined her plan for subliminal, targeted advertising, his gaze bouncing from one side of the room to the other, completely avoiding her own. And then, as her chest grew tighter and disbelief and heartbreak cracked her wide open to spill out onto the table along with her presentation papers, the weirdest thing had happened.
A soft laugh tumbled out. “Peter started to sweat, tugging at his collar, stumbling and stuttering. We’d just had lunch, and I recognized the signs right away. He must have had something peanut related. He was rushed to the hospital for the allergic reaction. I stayed and finished the presentation. My presentation. I executed it flawlessly, competently. I thought I could salvage my position at this point, so I explained what had happened, what he’d done, to my bosses afterwards.
“They called a meeting. Executives, the board, all the decision makers. I was so excited when they called me in. And completely disgusted when they suggested that Peter should head up the project, my project, because a man was better received in the workplace.”