Chapter 27
CHRISTOPHER
She didn’t cover her scars.
It’s the thought that’s been haunting me the last twenty-four hours. The sight that kept me tossing and turning, the image of Calista’s toned legs riddled with secrets far heavier than my own.
They were ugly scars. Grotesque and hideous, they screamed out from the bottom of her spandex shorts, the battle wounds waiting beneath the dragon draped across her torso.
A fierce, beautiful creature who isn’t half as powerful as the woman it belongs to.
The woman who wears her scars with pride.
The same ugly scar tissue I try and hide.
“This sounds like the worst team up since Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie took to the screen.” Horace frowns into the camera, his bushy brows taking up most of the frame, “Didn’t you say the one guy stole someone’s eyeball?”
“The Sea Witch’s son is a… different character.” Letting out a sigh, I look at the man responsible for my traumatic experience, “He goes by Marlin Seaborn now. Thanks for the updated information, by the way.”
Jasper winces, “Sorry, mate. There was nothing on file.”
“When you say he removed a guy’s eyeball, do you mean gouged it out or like,” Horace makes a popping noise far too graphic for this early in the morning, “That?”
“He wasn’t there when it happened. The fisherman came running out of the mansion, remember?” Mae rolls her eyes, the exasperated expression so familiar it puts an ache in my chest.
“Right. But did it have the fleshy bits hanging from it-
“Did you send over their profiles?” Jasper quickly interjects before the conversation can get too far out of hand, “You said you had updated pictures on your new team members.”
A loud huff echoes through the screen, “Doesn’t seem fair, now does it? These people get to steal shit and we don’t.”
“No one asked for your opinion, Horace.”
“No one ever asks for my opinion. That’s why I have to offer it freely.” He lifts his chin an inch higher, “Lucky for you, I never have a problem sharing.”
Jasper snorts, “And we all feel so terribly blessed because of it.”
I grin, watching my crew banter it out on my screen. It’s the kind of bickering that’s kept our home warm and welcoming for the last ten years and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it.
God. I miss them.
“All I’m saying is… sweet baby Jesus.” Horace gawks, his eyes bulging and his mouth falling open, “This is your new crew? Fuck me, mate, no wonder you traded us in.”
“I didn’t trade you-
“I didn’t think they made people like this in real life.” Horace lifts his phone higher, as if that will make the apparition disappear, “Holy fucking shit. They’re the better-looking version of our crew.”
“Marlin Seaborn, Calista Drache and Vector Vin.” Jasper sighs, “They even have cooler names than us.”
“Guys. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Look at this divine specimen.” Turning his phone around, Horace holds it up to the monitor’s camera, “That’s a real man right there.”
“Oi. I’m right here.”
“Look at his suit. And that hair.”
Mae sighs, “Are we sure Horace isn’t the gay one of the group?”
“And look at his jawline!” He gasps, throwing up a hand to cover his mouth, “If I took this photo to a surgeon, do you think he could make me look like this?”
Jasper snorts, “You’d need a lot more than surgery, mate.”
“Fuck, it might be worth it.”
“We are supposed to be adjusting the plan to better match our crew, not admiring their appearances.” Clearing my throat, I try in vain to recapture their attention, “Let’s try to be serious for a few minutes, yeah?”
“You’re right.” Horace wipes his brow and does his best to look pensive, “It’s time to get serious because I have a question that’s burning a hole through my ass.”
Silence descends upon the group.
“How the fuck did Christopher pull a woman this fit?”
Horace holds up a picture of Calista Drache and my stomach fucking somersaults.
“Now wait a minute-
“I mean, you’re alright. I’d personally rank you as a London seven, maybe an eight on a good day, but this goddess?” He looks at her and sighs, “An easily ten across the board.”
“She’s way out of your league, mate.” Jasper nods in agreement, “I’m surprised she looked at you at all.”
I glare at the pixelated assholes I call my family.
“Well, this has been a marvellous conversation but I think I’m ready to leave now.”
“Awe don’t be a poor sport! We’re just having some fun.”
There’s laughter and jostling in the background. The screen remains the same, the small square that bridges the hundreds of thousands of miles between us.
A bridge that’s starting to feel smaller every damn day.
“Shit. Is it that time already?” Shifting the monitor so it better faces him, Jasper leans forward, “Sorry but we’ve got to go.”
“Burnout?”
“Every Thursday.” He sighs, running a hand through his wiry hair, “Trying to keep these kids in line without you is a pain in the ass. We need dad to come back home.”
“Daddy Deville.” Horace quips up, grappling for a shred of attention, “That’s got a nice ring to it. Maybe you could ask Calista-
“Get out of here.” I cut him off with a laugh, “Before I hop on a plane and beat your ass.”
“You promise?”
A glimmer of hope shines through the screen and it hits me right where it hurts.
“I promise.”
A heartbreakingly wide grin spreads across his face.
“Good. And before you leave, make sure to applaud the scary dragon lady for giving her daughter the perfect name.”
I frown, “What do you mean?”
“I mean her first name is a prophecy come true, just like the movies.” He sighs, ever the dramatic, “Clearly my parents didn’t put much stock into my name. It means-
“Horace, focus.”
“Right, sorry. Calista means fairest or most beautiful.” He holds up the picture again and lets out a low whistle, “Talk about manifestation.”
My brows pinch together, “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would the Dragon name her daughter-
The call ends and I’m left staring at a cracked screen.
A cracked screen that looks an awful lot like a broken mirror.
Will he stumble, will he fall? Or will he catch the fairest one of them all?
Everett White’s riddle echoes through my mind, the creepy child voice singing the words back to me. It’s a memory of his voice cloning device but there’s something wrong with the memory.
Because instead of a little boy singing the words, it’s a little girl.
Unsettled with my thoughts, I roll out of bed and wander into the hall. Distant voices chatter in the distance, my mother’s screech penetrating the walls between us.
With renovations being close to finished, tarps and construction equipment are piled in all corners of the lavish Chateau. Black and white prints consume every available wall space, their modern style an aggressive contrast to the classic chandelier and polished furniture.
There is nothing Cruella Deville loves more than a stark opposition, and based on the headache forming behind my eyes, I’d say she achieved it.
“How would I know where to keep them? Invest in a warehouse and store them there. I don’t care how you do it, just get it done!”
She throws her phone down on the table, cheeks pink with the aftermath of her temper.
“Un-fucking believable.” Huffing angrily, she shoves her hands into red gloves and pulls the sleeves up to her elbows, “I try to do something charitable and they can’t even organize the stupid thing.”
A pretty black woman is standing next to the kitchen table, her elegant pencil skirt and soft composure no match for the hurricane stomping around the room.
“I am sure they are trying their best, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s about time they try harder! What do I look like to you? A fucking charity case?!” Flapping her hands wildly, my mother fumbles through her pockets in search of her cigarette case, “And so help me God, if you call me ma’am one more time…”
“Ma… I mean, Cruella.” Sucking in a breath, the woman straightens her blouse with a determined nod, “Before I depart today, I need you to sign the adoption forms.”
“Adoption? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
The sound of my voice has Cruella’s eyes pinching shut, her head tilting back to mutter a curse at the ceiling.
“Just what I need, my estranged son coming to ruin my day… What do you want, Christopher?”
Wandering over to the row of unused appliances, I pull out the kettle.
“Am I not allowed to visit my mum?”
“Not when she’s busy.”
“Ah. So just like old times then.” Turning on the faucet, I run the kettle under water, “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”
The sound of a lighter clicks on and off.
“Anita, darling, would you give us some space?”
“But the forms-
“Can wait.” Heaving a sigh, Cruella adjusts the shawl wrapped around her shoulders and pulls out a chair, “Tell the shelter to start tagging the puppies. I’ll see that they’re gone by the end of the week.”
Anita scribbles something before nodding, “I’ll ensure it’s done, ma’am.”
A scowl and a gloved hand waves her off, “It’s Cruella. Now, get out of my sight.”
I watch Anita scurry away with a slight tremble in her step.
“It’s astounding people are still willing to work for you when you treat them like that.”
She sighs, brushing the wrinkles free from her dress before taking a seat.
“Pour me a cup of tea before you start the lecture. It’s been a trying day.”
Steam trickles out of the kettle, the high-pitch squeal fading to a dull wheeze when I lift it off the stove.
“I’d say. Since when are you in the market for a pet?”
“They’re not for me.” She accepts the mug with a nod of thanks, “They’re for my image. My last fashion show was deemed devastatingly cruel to those who walk on four legs. Ridiculous statement considering I don’t butcher the animals myself. I pay someone else to do the ghastly work for me.”
Keeping my tongue in check, I bite back a grin, “And I suppose that title did not sit well with you?”
She huffs, “I couldn’t care less about the title. It’s my brand that’s taking the hit. Suddenly all my support groups are transitioning to fashion icons who push an environmentally friendly image or some shit like that.”