Chapter 32
32
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E verything is numb. My hands, my feet. My face. The only thing that isn’t numb is the rage inside me. The darkness that’s slowly smothering every bit of humanity I have left. I hate my curse. I hate my father. I hate this town. And Ava…
No. I won’t think about her.
My breath streams out of me in a plume of smoke with every exhale. I had to get out of my house. The walls were closing in on me. Even though the temperature is in the negative, I threw on my running gear and took off.
They’re going to bulldoze my house tomorrow. It’s already destroyed, so it shouldn’t matter, but it’s just one more thing in my life that’s been taken from me.
I have no destination in mind, and I’ve already been running for forty-five minutes when my feet shuffle across a familiar driveway. Looming ahead of me is Blackthorn Manor.
The house was built in 1906. It was fashioned to look like a suped-up Cotswold cottage. The sandstone siding, steeply pitched slate roofs, and arched windows all give the home its character; it has nothing to do with the people living inside it.
The family home. What a joke.
My father and his wife Diana live in separate wings. My father didn’t stop cheating on his wife after my mother. She was just one in a collection of many.
I stop at the steps that lead to the front door and stare at the heavy doors and arched windows overhead. Roman was the only reason my childhood has good memories. My father treated us both as an annoyance. When he snapped his fingers, we needed to be ready for him to show us off to his golf buddies or other cronies. Otherwise, we were to remain out of his sight.
Diana hated me from the first moment I stepped foot in this house. I was six years old when my mother died. My life was uprooted, and I lost everything familiar that day. My father showed up at the cemetery and took me away. I didn’t even get to return home to get my clothes or my toys, books or blankets. It was all labeled junk.
I managed to sneak away not long after and found our landlord cleaning out our apartment. I grabbed a stack of photographs and a few of my mother’s belongings. Then I lost them in the fire that burned down my house.
Why am I here? Giana, the family’s housekeeper, is the only adult who ever showed me an ounce of kindness. Maybe I’ll sneak into the kitchen to say hello. She’s probably baked something.
The front door opens without protest, and I wipe my feet. I don’t need to leave a snowy trail pointing out that I’m here. The smell of baked goods warms my insides when I step into the kitchen. Giana is bent over the counter, writing something on a pad of paper. While born in Italy, she grew up in Germany. She moved to the states with her husband when she was just nineteen and then lost him in a car accident a year later. She started working for my family not long after that. Her strange mix of accents and gruff love is comforting.
Giana looks up from her list with an emotionless face that cracks a small smile when she sees it’s me. “You look terrible. Sit. I have cake.”
You don’t mess with Giana. She tells you to do something, you do it. I pull out a chair at the counter and slide into the seat. Giana delivers a slice of chocolate cake and a glass of milk before I get settled. Her eyes dart to the doorway. The kitchen is down the hall and far from the main part of the house, but that doesn’t mean my step-mother won’t come stomping in at any point. My father doesn’t visit the kitchen.
“Your father and Diana have a guest.”
“I didn’t even mean to come. I’m not sure why I’m here at all.”
Giana cocks her head. She’s short and a little bit more rounded each year. Her dark hair is just starting to really show gray at the temples. It’s usually pulled back in a clip and up off her neck.
“You’re here because you need my cake.” Giana nods at herself as if that’s the truth and there will be no convincing her otherwise. She’s not a witch, but she’s aware of the goings on in our community. There’s no way you can work for one of the coven council for as long as she has and not know. Non-witches tend to chalk magic up to cloak and dagger bullshit or convince themselves that they’ve imagined things. Giana is too practical for that. She figured out we have magic and moved on with her life.
Sometimes, I suspect she has a touch of magic, because her food can be healing. With the first bite of cake, a warmth spreads through my stomach, and I feel the smallest bit better.
“Woman troubles.” Giana is back to her list, writing things down, crossing out others.
“Why would you say that?” I scoff.
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
“A woman is the least of my worries.”
“Ah, but there is a woman.” She points her pen at me. I shovel a huge bite of cake in my mouth to avoid answering. I don’t want to talk about Ava. Not because she isn’t wonderful. I’m the shithead in this situation. I’ve treated her like crap, made her feel bad, dismissed her like I was ashamed. And I am, just not of her. I’m ashamed of myself.
“It never could have worked out.”
Giana jiggles her pen between her fingers. “When you first moved into the manor, I could tell how broken you were.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she stops me with one steely glance.
“That woman was a monster for not loving you. You didn’t control the circumstance of your birth, but she controlled the circumstances of her love. I know you have darkness in you.”
I set my fork down, my appetite disappearing. Giana knows that Roman and I are both cursed, but she doesn’t know the specifics.
She hums and gives my half-eaten cake an unhappy glare. “I met your mother once. Did you know that?”
“What? No. Why didn’t you tell me?” After all these years, why am I just now finding out.
“Because I had nothing of worth to share. But I think now it is important to tell you about her. Your father is a very accomplished liar. Your mother didn’t know about Diana. I imagine whatever falsehoods your father fed your mother, she believed him. She was a victim just as much as you were. This town has a way of eating people up and spitting them out.” She nudges the plate toward me. “Eat. You’re too thin.”
I snort. I’m no scrawny boy like I was when Giana first met me, but I obey just the same.
Giana pours herself a cup of coffee, even though it’s evening. She has a pot brewing all day. I’m not sure she actually drinks water. Roman and I have been after her for years to give up the habit. I raise a brow, and she flaps her hand. “Settle down. It’s decaf.”
With her back against the counter, she lifts her cup and takes a sip. It’s hot enough that a wisp of steam curls off the top, but that doesn’t stop her. “I’ve overheard something.”
I clean the last bit of cake off my plate and set down my fork. “What now?” I finish my milk and take my dishes to the sink. I already feel better.
“No, leave them,” Giana commands when I move to wash up my plate and glass. Fighting her is not worth the energy and she’ll win in the end, so I go back to my seat.
“Vincent and Diana have been plotting.”
“About what?”
“Right now, they are in the den with that foul snake, Anastasia Lexington.”
I look over my shoulder as if I can see through walls. “Why would they bring her into this house?” Anastasia Lexington is a rapist and all around horrible human being. On the outside, she looks like a typical party girl in her mid-twenties, with long blonde hair and tan skin. She and her family are social climbers from a middling magical family. They’re determined to find their way into the founding families’ circle. I guess they’ve had some success because her father now sits on the Luminara coven council.
She kidnapped my brother and tried to force herself on him. At the very least Diana has some care for her son, so why would they meet with her? Unless there’s something her family can offer that’s worth dumping their morals down the drain. I’ll admit, I doubt it would take much.
Giana wraps her fingers around her cup. There’s a touch of arthritis that bends her knuckles. “I heard them talking.” Her gaze narrows. “I wasn’t listening in. They were loud, and I was there to deliver food.”
I wave her on. I don't care if she was eavesdropping. “What did you hear?”
Giana’s hands wobble as she sets down her mug, stepping closer to me. As her gaze darts around the room, there’s a glimmer of fear in her eyes. “They were talking about what happened with Roman a few months back.”
Alarm bells start ringing. My parents know my house burned down. They know that Anastasia tried to attack Roman, but that’s the extent. That still doesn’t explain why she would be meeting with my parents.
“They set it up.”
“Set what up?” There’s a dull ringing in my ears. My shadows are restless under my skin and my curse is waking up, humming with hunger.
“The fire. What she did to Roman. Your parents knew. They worked together.”
Misery and pain pour off Giana and my curse sucks in the negative emotions, feeding the darkness inside me until the rational part of me is squeezed tight.
“Why would they do that?”
Giana shakes her head. “Something about children. I don’t know. I was afraid they’d catch me.” She reaches out to touch my hand, but I snatch it away. I don’t want to be coddled or pitied.
I push away from the island and stand, unmoving, for a moment while thoughts of what this means try to coalesce in my brain. Children. Anastasia kidnapping Roman. My house burning down. The curse. The ritual. They’re all connected.
Well, actually, the burning of my house was just a distraction. One likely sanctioned by my father. Roman is thirty-two. If he doesn’t have a child by thirty-five, does that mean his curse will rebound onto his parents? Is this all about controlling the fucking curses?
I’m dazed as I walk out of the kitchen. So much so that I nearly don’t hear my father coming into the foyer. I slip back into the darkened hallway. I’m not in the mood to talk to him or interact with Diana in any way. But it’s the third person who really makes me frown.
“I’m ruined. No magic has worked.” Anastasia’s voice is weepy, her breaths choppy as she points to her chest. I barely smother my chuckle. Anastasia tried to sexually assault my brother. He repaid her actions by magically branding her chest with the word “predator.” He used his soul magic to drag the mark out from inside her. I highly doubt she’ll figure out a way to be rid of it.
“It’s a small price to pay. I know you want power.” My father dismisses her moans.
“I want what was promised.” She stomps her foot like a bratty child. “You told me Roman would be mine. Now he’s with that pathetic light witch. I did my part, now you owe me.”
“I think you’ve gotten exactly what you deserve.” I step out of the shadows, my curse burning through my veins. I want to shred, to devastate, to leave nothing but an unrecognizable scrap of a human behind.
Anastasia and my father both turn around with shock on their faces.
“Anastasia, give my regards to your parents.” My father opens the door and gestures for her to leave. Anastasia nearly protests, but scampers out when she takes another look at my face.
My father’s chin lifts as he closes the door. “Abraham. What are you doing here?”
“Why am I cursed when my mother died from her curse?” There’s an inherent threat in my words, even though they’re low and steady. I lean my shoulder against the elegantly wallpapered walls. Diana just redid them last year, saying the house was growing stale.
“What nonsense are you talking about?” My father scoffs and takes a step away, as if he’s about to leave me standing here. I slide in front of him, cutting him off from escape. Vincent is over six feet, but he’s not as tall as me. I cross my arms and glare down at him.
“The ritual. Is that what you call it? Does it have a special name? The fuck over the next generation spell? Or maybe the I’m a horrible fucking person potion?”
My dad shuffles back, but I don’t ease up and close up the space. “You know, the one you did to ensure that your curse was lifted, and your child was forced to suffer instead?”
My father’s jaw tightens. “I did my time with the family curse. It’s only fair.”
“Fair? To put that burden on a child.” Incredulity drips from my words. How have they convinced themselves this is okay? I can’t imagine. What if I got Ava pregnant and we accidentally passed this curse onto our child, even if we didn’t do the ritual? It happened with my mother. It could happen again. I need to know why, and how.
“Please. Roman was sixteen when his curse kicked in. Hardly a child.”
“He wasn’t an adult. And he didn’t deserve his curse. I don’t deserve mine.”
Vincent stumbles back another step, his back hitting the door. “None of us deserved the curse. It was that stupid Briar bitch.”
I shake my head and a low, unhappy laugh escapes. Nearly four centuries later and we’re still blaming a woman for wanting to live her own life. The consequences of her curse are what happens when you play with fire.
“How does the ritual work?”
My father’s mouth bends in a sour line. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath. “There is no ritual.”
“You just admitted you did it. That you cursed me and Roman.”
“How is that possible? It’s only the firstborn who are cursed. You aren’t my firstborn. Perhaps you should look at your worthless mother’s history before blaming me for her mistakes.”
I roar, my anger a living pulse under my skin. My shadows explode from my body, but my magic is not unique. The shadows are a Blackthorn family inheritance. Although, mine work differently to both Roman’s and my father’s. While Roman can suck the very soul of a person and leave them a husk, my father can use his shadows to control others.
My shadows feed, like magical vampires. I can siphon the magic out of another witch with a flick of my finger. My father throws out his hands, his shadows following their path until they wrap around my arms, twining like dark vines. They burn as they sink into my skin, and I lose control of my limbs. I throw my head back, struggling so hard against his magic that my body vibrates with anger.
My curse is a searing flame through my veins, feeding on the hate from my father, drowning my humanity in a flood of disgust.
“You think you’re better than me, boy? Stronger? I am the head of this house. I am a Blackthorn. My family has been a major player in Mystic Hollows since the inception of this town. You were one jerk off away from never existing.” His magic burns as he commands me to head toward the door. “That’s right. Do as you’re told.”
I strain against the actions, my steps slow and sluggish. With each moment that passes, his hold diminishes, because my shadows feed on his magic. Slowly sucking away his power. He’s a frog in a pot that doesn’t know he’s being boiled.
A bitter laugh bubbles up as I shake my arms out and stop moving. The smug smile drops from my father’s face. I snap out my hand, wrapping it around his neck and slamming him into the wall. His toes just barely touch the ground. I lean in until we’re nose to nose. His breath tastes like the cigarettes he claims he doesn’t smoke, and liquor.
“Whatever the fuck you’re doing with Anastasia and Roman, it ends now.”
“It’s already ended,” my father chokes out, his face turning maroon.
“You’ve already fucked up our lives enough. I’ll let you stay in this town for now. Play your golf, jerk off with your little council friends, but stay the fuck away from me and Roman.” I can’t really kick my father out of town. Technically, the resort is in the family name. He can’t fire me and Roman, but he can do damage. His threats to our staff are how I got into this masquerade planning mess in the first place. Magically, I might be more powerful, but he does have the council on his side. He’s not thinking clearly enough to realize that right now, though.
“Fine. Fucking fine.” Spittle dots Vincent’s lips and when I let go he slumps over, gasping and choking. Diana picks that moment to come running down the hall.
“What’s the meaning of this? How dare you come in here and threaten your father.” My stepmother stands over her husband, not helping or touching him. Her words are superficial, if anything.
“I was just leaving.” Without another word, I spin on my heel and leave Blackthorn Manor.
I don’t even remember the run home. No, not home. Roman’s house. My place was burned to the ground by some sick fuck working with my parents. For what? To keep a curse from rebounding? And tomorrow it will be gone forever.
I slam the door, wanting to destroy something. Someone. I rip off my sweatshirt and throw it on the ground as I kick off my shoes. It’s dark inside and so fucking quiet. There’s no one here. I’m alone, just like I deserve. I tug my shirt over my head as I walk into the spare bedroom, only to stop short when I turn on the light. Tucked under the covers of my bed, holding a bottle of whiskey with a note that says “have a drink” is the fucking doll.
Swiping it off the bed, I glare down at the wide-eyed toy. Fucking hell. I turn, ready to throw the reminder of everything I can’t have at the wall…and find Ava sitting on the chair in the corner.