28. Brontë
House of Serpents (Trust in Lust) - Matte Blvck
M y father’s words are met with silence.
He remains where he is at the other end of the corridor, studying me like he so often does his patients. He’s considering how best to proceed when dealing with the son he’s detested and hidden away for years.
I’ve ruined his charade by showing up to the Midnight Games. It’s much more convenient for him to keep me stashed at the psychiatric hospital, where I live in the shadows of the basement, and the world never knows what truly happened to me.
My family has always cared deeply about their reputation in circles like the Midnight Society.
Having a disfigured monster for a son typically doesn’t bode well.
The corridor is too dark to distinguish his features, but I sense the faint smirk that makes its way onto his face. Hear it laced in his otherwise measured tone.
“Still playing guard dog, are you?” he asks. The cool voice slithers through the dark corridor, the cadence deceptively calm. “Or have you finally found the courage to confront the person who did this to you?”
My father steps forward, falling into the dim light from a sconce on the stone wall. The flickering flame highlights his pale complexion, glinting off the glass of his round spectacles.
Even like this, among the shadows and sparse light, he looks exactly as I remember him—tall, severe yet intellectual, meticulously dressed in a patchwork blazer and turtleneck. His ash-brown hair is neatly cut and combed, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the natural malice it carries.
He tilts his head slightly to the side. “It’s been some time since we last spoke. I heard all about how you left the hospital when she did. Haven’t you grown tired of disappointing me?”
I don’t provide him an answer nor take the bait he’s putting out.
I remain where I am, posted outside Jael’s door. It’s where I’ll stay for the rest of the night.
My father takes another slow step closer. The scent of expensive cologne fills the tight-knit space, the familiar smell conjuring instant memories of not only times at the psychiatric hospital, but of before.
When I was a boy still trying to impress my father and follow in his footsteps. He and my mother were certain I would make them proud. I would be like the other boys in our circles, becoming an Archer Hurst, Nolan Ramsey, or Klein Fairchild.
Once the accident happened, those hopes were demolished. I had the audacity to survive.
The fall didn’t kill me—it left me broken instead.
The pain is a constant reminder, the aches and pin pricks sharp and almost unbearable. Few people could stand this level of torment wrecking the body. This level of suffering is what most would consider inhumane.
The damage is permanent and will never truly be repaired.
I would’ve ended it myself a long time ago if not for two things.
Jael and the pain medications my father has always given me.
The one gesture of his that could be considered kind. But whether he’s provided them all these years because he seeks to alleviate my pain or use me for his own devices is unclear. The latter has been what instinct points toward.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have so often used them as leverage over me. A manipulative method of blackmail as he implanted the tracking device behind my ear and kept me hidden in the hospital basement.
He knows the levels of pain I deal with. He knows how it’s kept me obedient all these years.
His lips curve. “Did you not realize I would figure out you’ve removed the tracker? Did you not even think she still has hers? That I would know you two were showing up here? But you never have been very bright.”
Tension thickens through me, beating harder like a pulse. I still give no real reaction, causing his smirk to fade. His features twist into a sharper, colder expression. He takes several more steps closer until only a few inches separate us.
I tower over him, twice his size, yet he’s fearless. Possibly the only man on the planet who isn’t intimidated by my size and strength.
He knows I could never hurt him and uses it to mock me.
“If you were smart, you would return to where you belong. You would take this warning and go running back to the hospital basement and I will do as I’ve always done to care for you—I will provide you the meds you need.” He leans toward me, hands deep in his pants pockets. “No one else would help a freak like you and you know this. You know your life would be agony without me.”
It’s not an empty threat.
It’s a threat he would be more than happy to carry out. He would be willing to let me suffer in debilitating pain if it meant he was finally rid of the son he was ashamed of.
Whatever use I’ve served no longer matters.
I clench my jaw from under my mask, the rage inside me screaming for release. I could lunge at him and wipe the smug satisfaction off his face. I could crush him in the palm of my huge hands and make him experience some of the agony I’ve felt.
I resist by steadying my breaths and thinking of my allegiance to Jael. She can’t handle the Midnight Society on her own. She needs me to help her find her sister. For now, it’s best if we continue to do what we’ve been doing, fulfilling the role we have been assigned within the Midnight Games.
My father makes a sound of disgust when I don’t give him what he’s looking for. He shakes his head and turns away.
“Remember what I’ve said,” he warns. “Don’t test your luck.”
There might be a time soon where I’ll have to, where I’ll have to choose between the one person that’s given light to my dark world and the person who has pushed me into the shadows in exchange for the meds I need to survive.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I watch him turn, his footsteps thudding against the stone floor, and I push down the rage burning up my insides.
The final game begins at the entrance to the massive hedge maze on the Hurst estate.
It stretches across the property with leafy walls rising high, neatly trimmed to perfection. Torches flicker along the dozens of narrow pathways, providing a faint glow among the deep shadows that otherwise make up the maze after dark.
The night’s colder than usual, late December bringing a damp chill and wind that refuses to let up.
I stand at my post near the exit of the maze, the large scythe in my hand almost as tall as I am. The minotaur mask looks more terrifying than it usually does in the dark. I’m the final test the players will have to bypass in order to make it to freedom.
I’m the monster they’ll have to escape if they wish to win.
Their deaths matter little to me. The rules of the game are simple—make it through the maze or die trying.
Screams echo through the labyrinth as players fight for their lives. Some are raw with panic while others sharp with agony. At every turn, they encounter a surprise that’s designed to keep them from proceeding in the game.
It’s an hour before one of them finally advances far enough that they’re stumbling into my path. The man clutches an axe as he rushes forward. He picks up the pace once he realizes he’s closing in on the exit.
He doesn’t see me until I reveal myself with a swing of the scythe.
His eyes widen and his jaw drops open, but it’s too late as the blade slashes into his chest and his knees buckle. He crumples to the ground before he can ever get the scream out.
I return to my post by the exit, blood dripping from the scythe’s blade.
There’s a chance that no one will make it past me. They’ll have to not only be agile, but smart about how they move toward the exit.
The Hostess will likely find it amusing if there is no victor. Some of the society members might be more upset, wanting their bets to pay off.
I don’t care what any of them want. I’m fulfilling the job I’ve been given to do and nothing more.
This isn’t about helping the Midnight Society in any way. This is about doing what Jael and I need to as we’ve infiltrated these games.
A sharp breath sounds from down the passageway.
Someone else is coming.
I expect another player like the stumbling man with the axe, but instead it’s the person who’s held Jael’s interest since we arrived at the Isle of Hurst.
Imani moves cautiously in a torn ball gown, heaving air into her lungs as she advances toward the exit. Some part of her seems to recognize that this could be a trap. She’s been through hell tonight, thrown in at the last minute as a player by the Hostess.
I could do Jael a favor. I could take her out myself with a swipe of the scythe.
Jael has been fixated on the girl from the moment the games began. She’s stalked her every move, sought out ways to antagonize her, and even gone as far as to almost eliminate her herself.
Something about Imani seems to upset Jael.
There’s a level of jealousy that’s begun to fester, where Jael seems to believe Imani’s existence threatens her relationship with her sister. If Imani finds Lyra first, then somehow she would take her away from Jael.
They’re insecurities born out of Jael’s paranoia, but I would still do anything to make her happy. If she would prefer Imani to be eliminated…
I take a step forward with my scythe at my side, revealing myself to the girl.
She staggers to a stop once she sees me. She struggles to process what she’s even seeing—a huge man standing well over six feet with the head of a minotaur and a bloody scythe in her path.
I set off at a slow walk toward her and then gather speed the more steps I take. The walk becomes a run.
Imani spins on her heel and takes off. She weaves down different passages in her attempt to lose me, the sharp vines and twigs further tearing at her long dress. Fear grips her so intensely she doesn’t seem to care as she pumps her legs and runs even faster.
She doesn’t even notice once I’ve slowed down and let her slip away. She keeps running for her life.
I could’ve easily overtaken her. I could’ve done it, ripping her off her feet and slamming her to the ground. My scythe would’ve come down and slashed her to pieces.
The kill would’ve been quick, over in seconds.
It would’ve shown Jael that I’ll do anything for her.
But I’m aware who else is watching. The two guardians Imani has had, much like I’ve protected Jael.
One of them appears to me moments later as if he’s sensed what I was considering.
Archer Hurst steps into view like a ghost from the past. He’s grown from a smug, snot-nosed boy to the adult equivalent in a polished black tuxedo and signature smirk.
Neither of us move as we face each other and screams sound from elsewhere in the hedge maze.
“I thought you were dead,” he says.
My grip on the scythe tightens and my glare narrows from behind the slits of the minotaur mask. He seems to sense this because his smirk spreads.
We both know what would happen if the other made a move. It would be bloodier, more gruesome and violent than the fight in the woods many years ago.
I would kill him. I would make him suffer until his body gave out. The revenge deserved.
He takes a step back, deciding not to test his luck. “Stay out of my way or I’ll finish the job.”
Archer disappears down the passage he came.
We’ve reached a stalemate for the time being, but it won’t last long. My thirst for violence and his smug sense of victory can’t coexist. The isle is too small for the both of us.
The scythe drops from my grasp and I turn toward the exit. The games are nearing their end, and there’s too much happening around the estate to remain where I am any longer.
Jael is out there as the night wears on and what sounds like a massacre has begun. Screams that echo from outside the maze, elsewhere within Hurst Manor.
I’ll have to find her to make sure no one dares harm her, but also that she doesn’t do some harm herself, like I know she will.