33. Veil
33
VEIL
T he surge of pride coursing through my veins at the Oracle’s words is incomparable. It’s as if I’m sensing my god’s power for the first time in its entirety. Unadulterated and infinite.
I feel invincible.
“Thank you,” I reply demurely. My smile drops as countless other questions try to clamber out of me all at once. I start with the one at the forefront of my mind. “Why did my family get banished?”
Again, I’m almost convinced I see a sliver of a smile on the Oracle’s lips before she answers, “Long ago, your ancestor killed a servant of the god of trickery, thus resulting in damnatio memoriae .”
“Trickery?” I repeat as a cold chill travels down my body. “The Foley family?”
She nods.
I try to gather my thoughts quickly, not wanting to waste more of the Oracle’s time. “Is this why I found myself as Gemini’s sacrifice during the Feast of Fools?”
“Perhaps,” she answers. “The gods have their reason.” She pauses, tilting her head and peering upward, as if listening. She then pins me with her pale blue eyes. “It isn’t the first time your paths have crossed.”
“Do you mean?—”
She gives me a short, dismissive wave, and I know my time is running out, so I change the subject and ask one final thing.
“I must know more about my god. I still feel so disconnected. How can I learn more?”
“Your god is always speaking, child. Listen. Feel . And trust that all that needs to be revealed shall be revealed.” Then she looks to my right. “Mercy can teach you how to listen.”
Mercy’s brows lift in surprise, and we both sputter to politely dismiss the invitation.
“Leave,” the Oracle declares.
Her command is final and we snap our mouths shut, whispering thank-yous before walking out on quiet steps.
The silence as we make our way back up to the ground floor of Mount Pravitia is stifling. However, this time, I’m not as affected by it. I’m beginning to wonder if this is simply more a part of Mercy’s personality and less to do with me than I originally thought.
Before reaching the large doors of the main entrance, someone who appears to be an employee scurries up to Mercy and hands her a blood-red envelope. She opens it in front of me and audibly groans when she reads the letter inside, the parchment matching the color of the envelope.
Her attention reluctantly falls on me. “Tinny is inviting us to high tea.”
“Tinny?”
“Constantine,” she responds with an impatient puff of air.
“Us?” I ask incredulously.
It seems I can’t utter more than a single word at a time, let alone fully process what she’s telling me. She nods, her gaze as hard as the stone floor beneath our feet.
“When?” I rasp.
“Now.”
“You’re here!” Constantine chirps, followed by happy little bounces as she stays seated on one of the chaises, her injured leg elevated on a pouf. Her dress is a cloud of pink ruffles and gauze, paired with equally eccentric platform shoes.
“Did we need to have high tea in this particular room?” Mercy huffs as she looks around in disdain.
If I focus only on the rugged area near the fireplace—with its chaises, divans, and short tables containing towers of scones and macarons—the atmosphere is inviting.
That’s if I ignore the countless shelves of Victorian dolls, locked behind glass cases, all around us. Then the atmosphere turns from inviting to uncanny. I have the strange feeling of hundreds of eyes on me as I find my way to where Constantine and Belladonna are sitting.
Constantine makes a vexed pout, as if Mercy is hurting the dolls’ feelings. “They wanted the company.” She turns to the dolls. “Didn’t you, darlings?”
Belladonna lets out a dry chuckle, but her gaze is fixed on me, a delicate hand perched atop her crossed knee. She’s just as mesmerizingly beautiful as ever in her silver satin shirt, white pencil skirt, and red stilettos. Her green eyes hold the same bottomless depth as the ocean.
I turn awkward, but she casually waves to an empty seat, and I take the invitation, sitting on the chaise beside hers.
A tense silence settles between us four, and my intuition tells me that conversation wouldn’t be so strained if I wasn’t here.
Constantine takes a sip of tea, her lace-gloved pinkie primly raised, before she asks, “So, you can steal our powers?”
Her question is innocent, but I feel the air shift once again. Three suspicious pairs of eyes fix on me while I deliberate how to answer.
I decide on the blunt truth. “Yes.”
Constantine’s mouth falls open, as if she’s barely containing her excitement, blue eyes sparkling. She bounces in her seat. “Do me! Do me!”
“Tinny,” Mercy interjects, her voice stern, as if scolding a child.
I’m surprised by the lethal stare Constantine sends Mercy; it’s quick and gone in a flash, but it sends a chill down my spine. It’s as if unexpectedly glimpsing her true nature—the one behind all the pink and bubbly personality.
“She’s a servant ,” Constantine says slowly. “Let her act like one.” Her voice is devoid of warmth, and I can’t do anything else except stare at Mercy to gauge her reaction.
Her upper lip curls into a subtle grimace as she looks away and crosses her legs. When she brings her attention back to Constantine, she says, “I’m not doing anything.”
I’m hyper-aware that they are discussing me as if I weren’t in the room with them, but I don’t dare interrupt. After a lengthy pause, Belladonna starts to laugh softly, breaking the tension. But Mercy doesn’t seem to approve of the shift in tone and pinches her lips at her.
“And you,” she says hotly, “why did Gemini tell you before me?”
Mercy doesn’t spell it out, but I can still sense the wordless implication that the two aren’t as close as her and Gemini.
Belladonna’s smile drops. Her gaze slices to me, then back to Mercy. The silence has time to curl and slither around us before she says, “It’s not for me to say,” then quickly adds, “and frankly, it has nothing to do with you.”
Premonition prickles at my nape. She’s holding on to one of Gemini’s secrets, and it must have something to do with me. I have the ridiculous thought of falling to my knees and begging her to tell me, but thankfully, Constantine interrupts my train of thought.
“Macaron?”
I stare at the offered plate of pastries for a few seconds too long. Finally, I choose a lavender macaron and take a bite while the stuffy silence returns.
“So tell me about your first kill.”
It’s Constantine again. And for a split second, I think she’s joking, but the innocent expectation on her face indicates otherwise.
I swallow my bite, suddenly wishing I were anywhere but here. “I’ve never killed anyone.”
“Never?” Mercy repeats, wrinkling her nose at my response.
I sneak a glance at Belladonna, and she’s sporting a similar expression.
“I would have thought after last night …” she starts.
I shake my head, confirming that the man I attacked is still alive—if barely.
“Well then,” Constantine says with a honeyed laugh, “we must rectify this immediately.”
“That’s not necessary,” I respond awkwardly.
“Nonsense. Killing is the best part of living,” she says flippantly. “You poor thing — you’ve missed out on so much!” She sucks in a sharp gasp while her gaze skates around the room. “Why don’t we come with you? Wouldn’t that be so fun?”
Feeling whiplash by this odd turn in the conversation, I fail to find the right words to politely decline her invitation.
“I’m sure Gemini would want to share such a moment with Veil — don’t you think?” Belladonna says before taking a slow sip of tea.
“Right,” Constantine says with an annoyed pout. “Her lover. ”
I smile, appearing to agree with Belladonna’s comment, but inside, I’m reeling from the entire exchange. Shockingly, it has a lot less to do with the idea of taking someone’s life and more about the realization that Belladonna is right.
If it is bound to happen … then I would want Gemini by my side, witnessing it all.