Priest and his Anarchist

Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

priest

T he weight of it sits in the palm of my hand, a persistent tale hidden on the other side. One my father disregarded and one I knew I couldn’t.

Wrapped in a porch that withered over time, the blatant neglect was obvious by the cracked paint webbing across the surface. It was once a farmhouse, alive with laughter and hidden beneath an oak tree. I’d seen the photos.

Wind pushes the swing with a creak as if time itself couldn’t remove the ghosts that still wanted to reside here.

With a heavy clunk, the key slides into the slot like a missing puzzle piece. I twist it, pressing the door open and into a narrow hallway decorated with moss and growing ivy.

My foot stops over the threshold when the marking etched into the wood draws my attention. The EKC emblem flies over most people. Most usually assume it means something edgy, but it is more sinister than that. The simplicity of city buildings before the truth of what lies beneath. In dark, heavy strokes, the skull is scratched through the wood in angry lines. It’s not New York, the logo symbolizes everything that we touch. It’s the embodiment of our society. It simply says Long live the EKC because for as long as you can see us for what we appear to be, you’ll be blinded by what’s below the surface.

Perdita.

Riverside.

Our schools.

All of our schools.

Soon, that pretty island Halen got from Pop would be the gateway.

The very blood that runs through every King’s veins.

“Wasn’t sure whether you’d come.” Pop is waiting for me on the other side, his face withered around the edges as he dodges the passages of time. Even when he handed the gavel to Dad, he took it with the knowledge that Pop would always have a place within the Kings. He lives and breathes it in a way that’s disturbingly difficult to tear away. No one wanted to take him away from all that he’s known, especially not Dad, because when Pop is bored, he does crazy shit. Shit like try to kill my mother.

“Stella fell down a fucking hutch, so I need to pull her back out.” Twisting, I shift dust off the logo, my finger grazing the deep hollow lines. My chest feels tight, the tension in my muscles strained enough to snap. “I can’t fucking believe this has been neglected.” Rage. It fills me like acid. “Why didn’t Dad open it?”

Pop shifts through, kicking the door closed behind himself until the heavy metal locks back into place. “Your father had his reasons, I’m sure. What happened with Stella? She get lost?”

“No.” I blow out a cloud of smoke, pulling the cigarette from my mouth. “She was being an idiot.”

“You pushed her?” Pop raises a brow.

“She talked too much.” I follow the footprints that lead down the hall.

Pop doesn’t bother to hide his laugh. “I’ve never been prouder in my life than seeing you with the gavel.”

“Dad?” I ask, stopping outside a door where the footprints stop. Someone has been here, and it doesn’t look like a size—whatever Pop’s is—in Oxford leather.

He follows but doesn’t engage or fuel my suspicions. “Your father taking the gavel made me proud, yes, but it was different.”

“Because he hated you?”

He stands beside me, his brows pinching in when he notices what I’m looking at. “Yes. He hated me for most of his life. It doesn’t matter. I deserved it. When you were born, my own selfishness thought I’d been given another chance.” He shuffles to the side. “No one should have been in here.”

Like an overworked puzzle, I shuffle the pieces around in my head, hoping to see them clearer. “Where do they go to?”

Pop shoves his hands in his pockets. “Everywhere.”

“And what did you find about who is currently running it?”

“No one, son. I found nothing and no one.”

Why did she keep looking at me like I had the answers to all the questions? I didn’t. God, I was so sick of her. I wanted Darling back. Her reckless laugh and the way she’d look at me in challenge. Even at a barely memorable age, the holidays passed slowly, and each time I had to see Luna, it was a reminder of what therapy had forced away.

I hated her. I hated whoever it was who fixed her.

“Priest,” Luna whispered, tucking her hands beneath her pillow. Why was she annoyingly soft? If I yelled, she’d flinch. Or cry. I hated that I thought she was pretty.

“What?” I snapped at her, pulling my focus off her face and staring up at the ceiling. We’d come to Aspen a few times over the years. Our parents thought that if they forced us to all be around each other, we’d like each other. I had no problem with the rest of them.

I just hated her.

I hated the way she made me feel every time she looked at me. I wanted to tear her eyes out of her head and throw them off the cliff.

“I can hear things.”

I almost laugh. Almost. I didn’t because she’s not funny. She’s fucking annoying, and was seconds away from waking Vaden. He needed his sleep, or he’d be hell to deal with tomorrow.

“Can you hear me when I tell you to shut the fuck up and go to sleep?”

The cabin had twelve bedrooms, but oh no. Our parents had to build one large enough to fit bunk beds into every wall.

“But they’re loud,” she whispered again as if trying to make a point. I didn’t have the patience to tell her she’s imagining things or that she was pure fucking madness. What did she mean she could hear things? Hopefully it was Darling coming back to me.

“Can I sleep with you?”

I turned to her, the disgust lifting my lip in a snarl. “Fuck no!”

“Why not!” she snapped, and it was the first time I’d ever heard her give even a hint of attitude.

It caught my tongue a moment. “Because I don’t want to.”

She huffed. “Because you’re afraid?”

“Afraid of what?” I couldn’t believe her! Why the fuck would I be scared of little her. The fragile one that would snap beneath my hand and go crying to mommy and her daddies that the bad kid hurt her. She hadn’t done that, but I’d imagined it vividly enough to feel real.

Her lilac-gray eyes searched mine, the glow from the full moon spreading enough through the window.

“The voices,” she whispered, her words weighed down.

I squeezed my eyes closed. Please go to sleep. Fuck.

“Priest…”

“Ugh!” I tore off the cover, cool air whisking over my skin. “Get the fuck in and shut the fuck up.”

She didn’t hesitate, as if my hostility didn’t bother her. Her tiny legs swung over the side of the bed as she pattered the small distance between both bunk beds and slid beneath the cover. As soon as her little body pressed against mine, I regretted every decision that led me to this point. Her skin was warm—too warm—but that wasn’t what I felt when her small body tucked into mine.

I felt.

That was the most disturbing thing of all.

I fucking felt. Something.

I’d been told all my life that I was emotionless. When my sister grazed her knee, I didn’t care.

When my mother was in a car wreck, I didn’t care.

Pop fought for me by saying that it was because in my subconscious I knew that neither of the incidents warranted me to care, since they were so small, but I wasn’t so sure. I never second-guessed them. I felt numb. I felt nothing. An empty void and a heartbeat that barely wanted to beat.

But the second she lay her head down, the perfume of her hair staining my pillow, the smooth touch of her skin grazing mine, and finally, her panted breath against the skin of my arm….

I felt something.

Motionless, locked in a cage of denial and avoidance, I remained still. I could barely move, because every damn breath I took burned my lungs. Minutes passed. Hours maybe. When I couldn’t keep the heaviness of my arm up, or my eyes open, I fell into a deep sleep.

I fell into a sleep so deep, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come back from.

“What is it? Where’d you go just now?” Pop asks from the other side of the room.

“Luna, just something she said when we were kids.”

Pop’s hesitation has me looking up at him. “And what was that, exactly?” His steps draw close.

“That she could hear them. I figured it was the voices in her head or whatever it was that went on up there. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” Pop leans down, his finger hooking into a metal loop. The scrape of concrete screams through the air. “It’s time.”

I’d thought about it the entire time flying here. Luna may be the first thing that I ever felt. Not Darling. Darling was crazy, she excited me, but as quickly as it was there, it was soon forgotten. Replaced by the hatred I felt for Luna. All along, I thought it had to do with my obsession with Darling, skipping right over the important detail of emotional reactions.

Hate was one. And to have it trump what I thought was love, an emotion that fueled even the coldest artists, only meant one thing.

I could love her with the same ferocity. A fucking weakness I could not hold. Since she was gone forever, this would be a hurdle I couldn’t jump every day.

Walls cave in around me the more time passes. The lack of activity means everything feels repetitive.

I hit the end of the path and swing the door open to the cart that takes you all the way to Perdita’s best-kept secret. Everyone assumes that the island itself is as simple as it is. Dark. Alluring. People who live a nocturnal life. If you look close enough, the hints have always been there. The truth of Perdita. Where streets are hidden among overgrown trees with pathways made of dirt, as if stepping into a mind trip of enchantment, and the township smiles to the end, where the leader sits in her castle, surrounded by Lost Boys who help maintain conformity and peace. Small businesses litter the main strip, lined by fairy lights and small cubby cars. Everyone is uniformed in strange attire, and from the outside, it probably seems as simple as that is their allocated style, but if you manage to shift the veil of the island even a smidge, you’ll notice that it has less to do with fashion, and more to do with what sanction each fell into or were born into.

Perdita means to be lost or as our ancestors named, purgatory. It’s neither here nor there. A prison with a lifestyle, and that’s the main wing of Perdita, not counting this side.

Which so happens…to be underneath.

River’s smirk is the first thing I see when the glass doors open onto the Beehive. The main area of Del Morts is an encasement of glass, allowing you to see the earth’s clay. At the very center, a projector with one hundred screens spreads out in tiles before twirling up to the ceiling, where a walkway circles from above, offering a direct view of the happenings down below.

There are three levels, and they’re all occupied for a particular field.

My feet stop when River carries herself down the steps, taking two at a time.

“How’s it feel?” I ask, knowing how much River had been counting down the days to the ritual so she could take over. It didn’t come as a surprise how our fathers decided to split tasks between us all, since we all came in twos.

River is simply the better choice for operating Del Morts, which is the first level of the Beehive in a twist of long hallways and tunnels, doors passage off into separate sanctions that she trains the Slayers in. They live by a code. One I know Luna would have taken with her to the grave, since I never did manage to get out of her what I already knew. A Slayer with disorders as serious as hers is how we landed in this mess in the first place, and now Darling has gone rogue and no one can find her, which brings me to here.

The honey pot. Even if they don’t know exactly the extremities of how deep we need to go.

Tapping on the keys near the maze of TV screens, one after the other, they all blur to life in a range of static.

River climbs the final step up to me. “You do know Stella is going to kill you for pushing her into a rabbit hutch.”

I snicker, hitting the bottom keys until all screens push through the static. “I tried. My hands just—let go.”

I keep tapping the same key, refreshing after I’ve searched each one.

“You and I both know that she’s got a mean right hook.”

“Left,” I murmur, my head tilting to the side when one catches my eye. “She’s left-handed.”

River’s head swings between me and the screen I’m looking at. Her steps are careful when she draws closer, her long blonde hair pinned up in a high pony. You’d think War would be the one to take hold of this place since he was the one who had no issue playing butcher and River was always the soft, well-spoken of the two. Turns out, her control is unmatched.

“I thought you lost her in the forest?” River asks, turning back to me.

I stare back at the screen. “I did.”

River sighs, lowering herself onto the main chair. The Beehive is dead because we haven’t started the intake yet. Needing to wait out Vaden’s current issue with his demons, we can’t risk opening the doors until he’s back in control.

“This was what you wanted, Priest. Her like this.” She pauses, her lashes fanning out over her cheeks. I never considered how it felt for River to lose Luna. They were closer than close. “You know Dad let me train her. She was my first student.” River’s smile beams wide. “I mean, of course I thought I had her under control. We allowed Killian to come in often, when she needed her”—River twirls her hand above her head—“she was doing fine. I recognized her possible triggers.”

“Which were?” I ask, studying her closely.

River’s body stiffens. River is loyal to her core, a trait she gets from her mother, but I’m not mistaken. The two of them share a bond that I’m aware could very well be the reason why River would keep something from me.

“Uhm, snow. Small spaces—” All things I knew. “Oh, and a sound. It was…weird. As if she could hear.” Our eyes collide. “Anyway.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

I tap at the keys, shutting off her camera. “Sorry. You lost her too.”

“She’s not lost, Priest. She’ll come back.” The main doors open once more and Vaden stands on the other side.

I don’t bother correcting River. “Level two?”

He holds my eyes. “I’m ready to take a look around.”

“Hmm.” I rock back on my heels, looking for any signs. Just one. Truth is, he’s about as far in as he’ll get with the curse. Every day is a battle for him.

I feel for the prisoners. Twenty-four cages spread through the tunnels on the second floor, every single one of them housing the worst of the worst, yet here I am. Worried for their safety, more than I am his.

“Yeah.” I’d smile if I didn’t feel so unsettled. “You’re ready.”

Built back in the whatever-hundreds, Perdita was built on top of tunnels. When the island was named Perdita, it was named for what happened beneath it.

“Do you think we could get away with keeping it in-house? That she could go on? We—I could train her! I’ve got some experience. Priest!” River’s words stop me as I’m about to exit.

I’ve seen what I needed to. She isn’t training shit.

Darkness swallows me whole as my fingers flex in the palm of my hand.

The muscles in her face aren’t strained, displaying a relaxed state of—“Luna?” I hate that it comes out. Like a storm rolling into a perfect day, the corners of her mouth curve upward, but the rest of her face remains frozen.

With ballooning pupils, all color is swallowed whole. “Aw, lover. Color me jealous.” Her bottom lip drops.

Before she can retreat, my hand is on her throat as I force her into my chest. Her pulse beneath my fingertips flutters, a lifeline of memories she’s keeping locked inside.

Her smirk remains, the spark in her eye only intensifying, but that’s always been her. Ever the igniter for chaos. It’s the one thing that drives her.

She flexes her throat, her mouth popping open and her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “You wouldn’t, lover. You wouldn’t because I am her, and without me, you don’t have her.”

Oh, how them tables fucking turn.

“What the fuck do you mean?” I seethe, annoyed once more that she’s not making a lot of sense. “I did this for you, because it was you that I fucking wanted, and what do you do?” My head tilts, her lips brushing mine. Wrath surges through my veins, but the beast in the cage doesn’t show any sign of life. “You remind me why pretty girls lie.”

“Tell me, pretty girl….” I trace her eyes. “Did you think she would be enough to save you?”

Her cheekbones turn to dust beneath the palm of my hand, as if all the pent-up anger I’d had for her came down to this very moment.

The color in her eyes returns, but it’s too late. With a twist against the tension in her neck, I rotate my wrist until a resounding crack! Like the weight of every fucking thing I’ve been holding. The past, the hope for the future, the expectations of me, it all crumbles to the ground with her lifeless body.

Soulless.

Bending down, I shift her long hair away from her face, watching as the color I loved so fucking much drains to a pale shade of death.

“You thought you had me.” I place a single kiss on her lips. “But you’re just a pretty girl.”