Chapter 14 #2
Buried alive, you stupid witch, rang through my head.
Them the whole time, huh?
Fuck the Blackthorne Boys. Fuck my lack of pride.
I left the room and wandered down the hall, hoping to run into one of them.
One very tall, shimmering white, and surly boy in particular.
Purple wisteria blooms waved within a moving canvas next to a suit of arms. Further down the hall, another painting rippled to life.
A hand picking cherries and dropping them into a wicker basket.
The images mesmerized me. The Blackthorne Castle was nothing short of spectacular.
Every turn revealing another swirl of simple yet extraordinary magic.
Who bewitched all these items? How old was the castle, anyway?
How did skeletons prepare and serve meals and tiny mice act as keepers of libraries?
A large part of me longed to know more. To explore the rooms without abandon.
I wished I could spend weeks, months, years reading through every book hidden on the immaculately kept bookshelves.
As much as I’d raged against being captive here, despite their unstable attitudes, the Blackthorne Boys had treated me well.
It hadn’t been so terrible to live amongst the mystery and intrigue of their worlds.
Did they even think of me in my time buried underground?
Arguably, Twenty did, at least. He’d found me in my sleep, curling up in his cat form.
Spade came for me, taking me up the mountain where we shared a moment so divine…
If they perhaps cared… why did it eat at my consciousness that Riot hadn’t? Like it didn’t have better things to worry about. My sister needed me. My sister who was too busy falling for monsters, hexing her only living family, and storming off like a spoiled brat into the rapture fog…
I kicked at the boot of a suit of arms as I rounded a corner. The knight crossed his arms in disapproval. “Sorry.” I winced. “I forgot you all were… animated…”
Rows and rows of doors awaited. I opened one, finding an ordinary looking drawing room. Moving on to the next, the door wouldn’t budge. Locked. Were any of these rooms Spade’s or Riot’s? Or were they all just meaningless spaces amongst a sea of furnishings and lavish, magical items?
Something sounded down the hall. I startled in surprise, pausing by a colorful moving tapestry that covered the wall, floor to ceiling. A woven scene of squirrels, birds, and mice having tea, while men with butterfly wings fluttered by. Absurd as it was, it was kind of beautiful.
The sound of a man’s voice echoed down the hall again. Pulling my attention away from the woodland scene, I followed the noise. As I neared, the muffles took audible shape in my mind, and I deduced that it was a man laughing.
Pausing outside the door, I rested my hand on the knob, my heart racing in my chest. The man laughed again, saying something I couldn’t quite understand.
On a burst of bravery, I pushed inside a pitch-black dark room.
The only source of light was an illuminated wall.
The wall flashed moving images of an ocean—seagulls audibly cawing overhead.
It didn’t make any sense… but what made less sense was the man splayed out on a long, velvet sofa, gazing up at the moving images.
Riot glanced up at me, his eyes dropping to scan my body for the briefest of moments, before reaching into a bowl and tossing popcorn in the air and catching it in his mouth.
Stomping over to stand in front of the arrogant asshole, I pointed a finger. “You,” I accused on a shaking breath that was more emotional than I wanted to portray. “Buried me alive.”
Riot raised a pale eyebrow, his arm casually flung over the back of the sofa.
His shirt was half unbuttoned and wrinkled.
The usual straight, shining tone of his long, white hair was disheveled and not in its typical meticulous order.
Riot lifted an amber bottle from the side table.
“That I did. And did you rest in peace, darling?”
A cool tingle of his magic dripped down my spine like a long, bony finger caressing my skin. “You have some nerve, Riot Blackthorne.”
Taking a long chug straight from the bottle, Riot motioned for me to move. “Would you mind? You’re blocking my favorite film.” He straightened and patted the seat next to him. “Sit, join me, ’tis a wondrous thing you’re about to behold.”
“You are so… so… infuriatingly difficult to stay mad at.” I took a seat next to him and crossed my arms. “Don’t think this means I forgive you. It doesn’t. I’m just curious about what all this is.”
And curious about where you’ve been, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, offering me the red bowl. “It’s popcorn.”
“Yes, I know what popping corn is,” I snapped. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to the moving images. Now, men dressed in odd attire were on what looked like a boat.
“This, my dear little rat, is the cinematic masterpiece that is Jaws.” The aire reeked of alcohol. I pulled my gaze from the dark circles under Riot’s eyes and to the wall.
“What is a cinematic masterpiece? This… this is like the moving paintings?”
“Not quite,” he answered. “This is film.” He squinted as if looking for the words. “Imagine capturing a story, through people acting out scenes, and saving it to replay over and over again. That’s film. That’s what this is.”
“So, it’s not real? It’s… some sort of magical trick?”
“It’s real, but not real.”
I watched the fishermen fish as a fin cut through the ocean’s surface. “Moving theater,” I marveled for a moment. “Is that a sea monster?”
“Indeed, it is. Your matri was a sea witch, correct?”
“Yes,” I answered, mesmerized by the monster and the ocean scene flashing before my eyes. “I’ve never been to Night Gale, though.”
“Well, I can assure you she’s seen these sea monsters.”
I swallowed. The creature was large, gray and white, with horrifyingly dead black eyes above rows and rows of jagged teeth.
If Matri had battled one of these… she was even stronger than I’d ever comprehended.
“How is this happening?” I asked. “It’s reminding me of my mother’s scrying stone, yet I’ve never gotten it to work for me. ”
“Not magic, not like a scrying stone, it’s all just technology from another realm. Well, another realm and another time entirely, really.”
I pondered a moment. “Like the plumbing and electricity?”
“You catch on quick, rat.”
The stupid nickname made my stupid heart flutter. We watched in silence as the boat bobbed along a dark ocean at night. After a long while, I finally asked, trying to sound casual, “Where have you been?”
Why did you bury me? Why didn’t you come back for me? My mind screamed what my lips were too cowardly to voice.
Riot’s gaze pulled from the film to my hips. Suddenly, his hand was on my thigh, skimming up my hip atop my dress. My breath caught in my throat in a gasp of heat and unspoken desire. Noticing the corner of his mouth lifting with that devastating smirk of his. “Just checking.”
“Checking what?”
“You’re not wearing the dagger I gave you.”
“Planning on giving me a reason to use it, Blackthorne?”
Riot paused a moment before doubling over in a laugh. Falling over onto my lap, his wide back and shoulders shook as he couldn’t contain himself.
I bit my lip so as not to laugh at his merriment. “You’re ridiculous,” I teased, patting his back.
He turned over, shimmying down so his head was on my lap and he was staring up at me. The movement so intimate and natural. I wanted nothing more than to rake my fingers through his long, pearly hair and untangle it, but I refrained.
“Oh, my dear, Rumor,” he slurred. “I would love nothing more than to give you a reason, any reason, to shove that wretched dagger through my heart.” He patted his chest, his eyelids closing.
“Right here. Go ahead, it’s yours anyway, may as well put an end to it.
Roll credits, pull the curtain, put away the animatronic shark. ”
“You’re drunk,” I chastised, but something warmed in my chest nonetheless. It’s yours anyway, he said, referring to his heart. Was it? Did I want Riot Blackthorne’s heart?
His hand dropped to the floor below the sofa and rooted around before pulling up triumphantly with the amber bottle. “Not, in fact, drunk enough. I’m clearly having visions. You aren’t really here, are you?”
“I’m here, alright.” I wrenched the bottle from his fingers. “And that’s enough alcohol for you.”
Riot pursed out his lower lip and teased, “Mommy, don’t take my juice.”
“You’re impossible.” I shoved him to sit up. Standing, I brushed popcorn kernels off my dress and offered him a hand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“Want to make out?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
I huffed. “No, I want to put you to bed, so you can wake up with a wretched hangover, and I can storm in and yell at you while you feel awful,” I smiled sanguinely.
“Sounds lovely,” he slurred. “Punish me, mommy.”
“Goddess,” I exhaled, taking his wrist and pulling him up. He didn’t budge, solid as a statue, until finally he gave in and stood. “You are so annoying.”
He wrapped his heavy arm around my shoulders. “Yes, and you are a pure and perfect peach.”
A small laugh huffed from my throat as we left the room. My eyes squinted, taking in the bright light of the hall. “Which way is your room, jerk?”
He pointed left. “That way—wait.” He pointed right. “No, that way. It’s one of the ways.”
“Oh, goddess,” I sighed, holding him upright by his thick middle.
Riot’s nose nuzzled the top of my head. “You smell like mine. Your white hair is mine. Not wearing the dagger, though? Very bad. Not mine, not mine at all. Running off with Spade? So very naughty, aren’t you?”
My soul sank a bit. “How did you know I’ve seen Spade?”
“It’s that way! I remember,” he said enthusiastically, pointing to the left. “Just up the stairs.”