by G. A. Rael
"It'll be the death of you both," Colton said in a grave tone. "Just don't say you weren't warned. Whatever it is, whatever it wants here, I can guarantee you it's looking for more than domestic bliss."
"What if you're wrong?" asked Jordan. "What if that is what he wants?"
"Then have a nice life, but don't expect me to hold the grandkids."
Jordan winced at his biting tone. Colton walked toward the door and opened it. "If you don't mind, I've got some broken spines to repair and I'm sure your opinion on doilies and place settings is gravely needed in the other room."
Jordan paused at the door, offering the blue book to him. He shook his head and pushed it back to her. "Consider it a loan. I can't in good conscience welcome anyone who’s foolish enough to want to become part of this family, but I suppose an amateur history enthusiast isn't the worst addition."
"Aren't you worried I'll tell someone what you said about...her?” Jordan asked, catching herself before she could say Jessica’s name. She didn't like humoring a murderer's accomplice, but Colton Wylde seemed to be tormenting himself enough without stirring the pot. Besides, she could understand the appeal of pretending like something that troubled you didn’t exist. She had spent most of her time as a free woman convincing herself that her power wasn’t real. Maybe Colton would have a better time of it.
He laughed bitterly. “And what did I say, exactly? Nothing that'll convince anyone you're anything more than an opportunistic and overly imaginative girl trying to dig some new gold out of an old mine. Besides, even if someone did believe you, my son is dead. If they were to reopen the investigation and uncover the truth, the only ones rotting in jail would be me and that thing you call by his name. I don't think you want that."
"You're right," Jordan said quietly. "I don't."
"Goodnight, Jordan. "
"Goodnight, Mr. Wylde."
Jordan lingered in the doorway long after it was shut. Colton Wylde was wrong about one thing. His son was very much alive, in one capacity or another. She just didn't think it was beneficial for him to know.
Or that he deserved to.
Chapter 27
Jordan
It had been two full weeks since Jordan had stuffed her emotions inside The Box, as she had decided to name it, so she told herself that there was nothing wrong with taking a few sips from the flask she kept tucked inside her sweatshirt pocket every now and then. You needed emotional baggage to develop an addiction, as far as she understood it, and she hadn’t allowed herself to feel anything since learning the truth about Chase. A little escapism couldn’t hurt, and it would ease the nausea that accompanied the dread she had already silenced. After all, it was her wedding day.
The venue was set and the guests were already seated in pews that flanked the pathway leading into the labyrinth of the country club. Jordan would have ideally selected a different location, but it was a last-minute affair and it was better than a church. Unlike more casual sinners, she had valid reason to fear bursting into flames if she stepped inside of one.
A few cautious taps at the door made her heart lurch. She told herself it couldn't be her groom. He was far too superstitious to see the bride before the wedding. She had never even seen him step on a crack in the sidewalk.
That left one other possibility, which made her venture another sip. Lilian came into the room before she could put the flask away and her mouth gaped dramatically as she wagged a perfectly manicured finger at Jordan. "Naughty girl, sneaking a nip on your wedding day," she said, planting her hands on her hips. Her dress was the picture of respectability and good taste with pale peach fabric and a fitted bodice that flattered her svelte frame without showing too much of anything. Lilian was the kind of woman who would have made an excellent first lady, and ambitious enough that the fact that she had settled for a barrister’s wife was a testament to the love she had once held for her husband.
"Don't worry, it'll be our little secret," she said in a conspiratorial tone. "I had a serious case of the jitters before I married Colton, too."
Jordan smiled stiffly. She very much doubted that Lilian's jitters revolved around the mystery of her groom's identity and whatever black ritual her impending mother-in-law had turned a blind eye to regarding it.
"Look at you, not even dressed," Lilian said, shuffling over to the rack where Jordan's dress was hanging. She hadn't even looked at it since the fitting. That dress had been the source of her nightmares ever since the wedding date was set. It didn't help that when the gown had finally arrived, it was in the exact same white garment bag Jordan had unzipped in a recurring nightmare only to have it explode with thousands upon thousands of awful gray moths.
Lilian dragged the zipper down with great ceremony and from the way her jaw hung open in profile, her expression could have just as easily been ominous. Jordan cringed in anticipation, but no moths emerged. Just a dress she barely remembered trying on in an ironically brilliant shade of white. She had protested the customary color, since scarlet would have been far more fitting, given her occupation, but Lilian was adamant. Chase had been Jordan’s first lover, so maybe that counted for something.
"Hurry dear, no time for modesty," Lilian said, tugging Jordan's sweatshirt over her head. Jordan finished undressing before the other woman could strip her down completely.
In a flurry of silk, taffeta and lace, Lilian had her dressed with the effortless expertise of a girl playing with her favorite doll. In their numerous interactions over the course of planning the wedding, Jordan had come to realize that was exactly what she was to Lilian. A doll to place in a perfect little house to be the perfect little wife for her perfect son.
"My, you do have some hips on you, don't you?" Lilian mused, tugging upward until the bodice settled on Jordan's waist. Her nimble fingers laced the corset in back, pulling it tighter than Jordan thought necessary. “Put on a few pounds since the fitting, too, but don’t worry. Having a little meat on your bones will just make it easier when the kids come."
"We haven't even talked about having kids," Jordan said warily.
Lilian gave her a patient look in the mirror as she finished the lacing. "Of course you will, dear. You're young and pretty. You'll make an excellent mother."
Jordan failed to see how either of those traits had anything to do with being a good parent. They certainly hadn't improved her own mother's performance. Nonetheless, the very few times Jordan had given her imagination permission to venture to her wedding day, she had always imagined that it would be her mother in the dressing room, helping her prepare for the rest of her life. Maybe even offering a word of advice to quell her nerves as she prepared to give herself wholly to the only man she would ever love. So many things about this day were different than she had imagined, not the least of all the fact that it was actually happening.
"As for Chase," Lilian continued, fluffing out the multilayered skirt that made Jordan feel like a cartoon princess. Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing whether Prince Charming would be waiting for her at the altar or his evil twin. Even worse, sometimes it was difficult to tell which one qualified as which. The man she loved was something, but he certainly wasn't human. "He's smart and responsible, he's got an excellent job, and I think having a wife and a little one to care for will incentivize him to pursue an even better one."
It was hard to miss the pointedness in her tone, but Jordan pretended to. "Chase would be a wonderful father," she admitted. Father of what was the pressing question.
"Will," Lilian corrected, arranging Jordan's long dark curls around her shoulders. Jordan had thought of cutting her hair to have one less reminder of her stay in Paradise, but Chase's look of mild distress upon her mention of it had been enough to keep her from going through with it. He so rarely expressed a preference for anything that she felt like humoring him in matters of vanity was the least she could do. Especially since he couldn't possibly understand the reason behind the distance she’d put between them lately.
"You look so beau
tiful," Lilian breathed, resting her hands on Jordan's bare shoulders as she gazed at their reflection. "To be that young and pretty again… You have all the best things in life ahead of you and you don't even realize it."
Jordan thought that might be true. After all, it was hard to imagine many things worse than the life she had behind her. She gave Lilian a placid smile and prayed they were done with bonding.
Lilian turned her around and her gaze was more intense than it had been in the mirror. "I know Chase has his... quirks," she said, raising far more suspicion in Jordan's mind from her careful choice of the word than the word itself, "but he's a good man and he loves you. Trust me when I say no other man is ever going to love you the way he does."
Jordan found herself struggling to determine whether the words were meant as a compliment or a threat. She chose to make the safe assumption. "I know he loves me. Sometimes I don't know why he does, but I love him, too." She hesitated, wondering if this was her one last chance to get the truth out of her impending mother-in-law. There was a crack in Lilian's veneer, however thin, and Jordan knew it wouldn't last. "In fact, I'd love him even if he wasn't as perfect as he seemed."
Lilian's mask faltered almost imperceptibly. "Well, no one is perfect," she said in a tone that suggested she clearly didn't believe that old adage applied to her son. She smiled and patted Jordan's shoulders before walking to the door. "Come on, it's time for Jordan Adams to take her last walk."
Time for Jordan Adams to take another drink, she thought, forcing a smile. "I'll be right out. I forgot to put on my blush."
"Hurry, everyone is here," Lilian said, tapping an imaginary watch on her wrist before she disappeared. Jordan breathed a sigh of relief when the door fell shut. She turned around to grab her flask when something flashed in the mirror. When she spun around, there was only empty space.
"I'm losing my mind," she muttered, raising the flask to her lips. She savored the burn of the vodka as she poured it down her throat, careful not to risk smudging her pink lips on the rim.
"You've lost more than that and yet you still have the gall to wear white."
The biting words came in an Arkansas drawl Jordan would have known anywhere. She spun around to find the tall, brunette woman dressed in the same austere gray gown she had been buried in. The edges were singed as if for dramatic effect, even though the dress she had actually died in had been covered in yellow flowers. Jordan knew because she remembered it peeling away with some of the burnt flesh on her thigh as the EMTs slipped her and Daniel's bodies into black bags.
"Mama?" The word caught in Jordan’s raw throat and she coughed. A vile liquid came up through her esophagus, a mixture of bubbling acid and blood. Jordan fell to her knees and the flask spilled over, leaking the same green acid that was pouring from her throat onto the carpet. It ate a hole into the thick Berber as Jordan felt her esophagus eroding and blood trickled onto her bodice.
"Didn't I tell you alcohol was poison that would eat away your insides?" Mara asked in cool indignation.
Jordan retched as she clutched her throat and struggled to breathe. She looked up, her eyes pleading even if she no longer had the vocal chords to do so audibly.
Mara rolled her eyes and the acid stopped gurgling, but Jordan could only take the shallowest gasps of breath. The woman took several slow, menacing steps toward Jordan before kneeling on the carpet in front of her. She grabbed Jordan's chin and jerked her head up, her clipped nails digging into the younger woman’s flesh.
"Did you think you were done with me when that demon broke you out of the attic?" she asked, her lips curved into a scowl. "You can't escape God's judgment. You're back on earth now. If you think what I did was bad, just wait until your father gets ahold of you."
"Mama, please," Jordan choked. "I didn't mean it. It was the angel. I never meant to hurt you or Zeke, please believe me!"
The elated grin that twisted the woman's sharp features filled Jordan with more terror than choking on acid. "You think this is your penance for the fire?" Her shrill laugh rang in Jordan's ears like a siren. "I consider it a mercy that my boy and I were taken before I could watch my daughter turn into an abomination. God detests a whore, Alyssa, and you are the whore, the one who'll bring judgment on this entire world."
Every word was a fresh wound. When Jordan thought she had finally been cut to nothing, Mara found new flesh to strike. It seemed her newfound ability to feel nothing stopped at Mara’s ability to terrorize with a single glance. “I've been trying to put it all right," Jordan said between gasps. "I know you don't understand, but please, just give me a chance."
"Put it right?" she sneered. "Like you did by raising that vet from the dead? If you're an abomination, I shudder to think what that makes him. Oh, but don't cry, baby girl," Mara said, taking on a strangely gentle tone. Even though it went against every ounce of reason, Jordan still found herself wanting to believe the compassion was genuine. "There's a way to put it all right."
Jordan grimaced. She knew what was coming.
“You can die," Mara said sweetly.
Jordan's spine stiffened. “Mama, please…”
"You can throw yourself into the lake before you can hurt anyone else," Mara explained, her voice almost pleasant. "I'll even show you the way myself."
Jordan pulled away. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm going to stop the Apocalypse. The world isn’t the way you and daddy raised me to see it. The angels, they're not all good and the demons aren’t all evil. God, He... He just lets it all happen. He's not even doing anything to stop it."
Mara's eyes narrowed. "I had hoped I could reason with you. A mother never wants to believe her child is too far gone for repentance, even when she's gone to the devil’s bed, but you've left me no choice, Alyssa Marie."
Jordan got to her feet and backed away slowly. The ring on her left hand grew warm, but she was too full of adrenaline to notice. "What are you talking about? You’re not even really here. You’re just a ghost.” Or a hallucination. Jordan wasn’t sure which was worse.
"I'm saving you, Jordan," Mara said firmly, her hand outstretched as she stepped forward. As she grew closer, Jordan noticed a small, swirling dot in her palm that was slowly growing into a portal. Flames lapped inside, some flickering out through Mara's flesh.
"Save me from what?" Jordan cried, horrified. She’d always known her mother was willing to torture her to save her from hell, but throwing her into it was something even Mara hadn’t seemed capable of.
“From yourself. From your father. From your sin," she replied gravely as the portal yawned. "The fire hurts at first, but only until the flesh has burned away. Only then will you know if there's anything left in your tarnished soul that can be saved."
Jordan covered her face with her hands as the heat intensified and the flames grew so bright that she could hardly see. "No!" she screamed as she felt them lapping at her skin. She threw out a blast of energy, but Mara was less affected by it than Samael had been.
The doorknob rattled, followed by pounding. "Jordan!" Darren's voice was barely audible over the crackling flames. A second later, something exploded on the other side of the room. The heat vanished but the flames left Jordan momentarily blinded. She fell to her knees, her face still covered as it felt like her eyes were going to burn out of her skull.
A strong pair of hands grabbed Jordan from the thick shadows bathing the room and she screamed. Her attempts to thrash and push the hands away were met with greater force that crushed her against a firm chest. A familiar scent enveloped her, relaxing her body before her mind finally relented. She let out a mixture of a startled cry and a sigh of relief as she collapsed in Darren’s arms.
She didn't know if her mother’s ghost was still there or not, and she didn't care. Darren was there, and that was all that mattered. He would never let anything happen to her.
"Shh, it's okay," he said in a gravelly attempt at soothing her. It was a good thing that all it took was his presence, because his entire persona was gruff
er than it was consoling. Sometimes she thought that was the real reason he was a vet instead of a human doctor.
Jordan’s vision was beginning to clear, at least enough that she could make out his silhouette. "Darren, I... Where is she?" she asked, looking past him.
He looked around and his shadow swayed in such a way that she could tell he was shaking his head. "I don't see anyone."
"There was a woman. She's tall and she's wearing a burned gray dress.”
"I didn't see anyone in here, but if someone threatened you, I'll find them," he said, moving to stand.
"No," she pleaded, grasping his suit jacket. "Please, stay with me. It was a ghost, you won't find her."
"A ghost?" She could see that he was frowning now. "Who?"
"My mother."
His face fell even further. "She attacked you?" He looked her over, his hands running down her bare arms as he inspected her for signs of injury.
Jordan touched her lips, but all that stained her fingertips was her pink lipstick. She touched her neck and her chest, examining the flawless white silk of her gown, and found no sign of the acid that had choked her minutes earlier. "She put acid in my flask," she stammered, realizing how absurd it sounded only when she said it out loud.
Darren picked up the flask and shook it, but only a few incriminating drops of vodka spilled out. "How much of this did you drink?" He was even more concerned now, but Jordan could tell the ghost wasn’t the cause of his worry.
"That's not what this was," she insisted. "I wasn't hallucinating, my mother was here."
"I'm not saying she wasn't," he said, helping her to her feet. "But that hardly answers my question."
Jordan looked away. "The whole thing."
"On your wedding day?"
"Fuck, Jordan. It's barely noon."
"You're one to talk," she muttered. "You drink way more than that."
He clenched his jaw. "I've seen you tip in a strong breeze, drinking this much could kill you. Speaking of which, why the hell aren't you drunk?"