Chapter 10
The Trickster
T he cemetery gate groans as I push it open, a sound like distant pain that suits my purpose. Like the world exhaling death.
I walk the familiar path, my boots leaving temporary impressions in the damp earth that will vanish with the coming rain. Thunder rumbles somewhere beyond the horizon—a promise, not a threat.
The air tastes of metal and decay, a combination that settles on my tongue like communion wine. Autumn mist clings to the ground, wrapping around the lower portions of the headstones like ghostly hands.
As usual, the cemetery is deserted. It’s not quite dark yet, but the place is caught in that liminal space between day visitors and whatever creatures claim the night.
I navigate the maze of markers with practiced ease, my steps slowing as I approach the headstone that bears my sister’s name. The dates beneath mock me with their proximity—twenty-eight years of existence compressed into a hyphen between birth and death.
The base of her headstone is littered with wilted red roses from my previous visits, their once-elegant forms now curled and blackened. I kneel before her grave, my knees sinking into the soil.
“Hey, Rubes,” I murmur, my voice strange in the cemetery’s hush.
The wind picks up, sending dead leaves skittering across nearby plots. As I do every time that happens, I imagine it’s her answering me, the only way she can now.
“Everything’s ready,” I continue, running my fingertips over the engraved letters of her name. “I dropped the last delivery off to Eve two days ago, and Sanctuary of Shadows opens tomorrow evening. Nick’s pulled out all the stops for the event.”
I continue to tell her about it, like I haven’t spent every week updating her on the charity she was once a part of. To Carolina, S.O.S. is about raising money and honoring her sister. For me, it’s about getting revenge for Ruby. And for Nick… I honestly don’t know. A bit of both, I think.
“He has only tried to talk me out of it a few hundred times,” I chuckle mirthlessly. “But he gets it. You’d be proud of your big brother, Rubes. Well, of both of us.”
The air pressure changes, compressing around me like a fist slowly closing.
“She’s different from what I thought.” My jaw tightens at the thought of Eve Mortis, of her gray eyes widening when I shoved her against that wall, of the heat between her legs betraying her. “There’s something broken in her.”
I could have killed Eve months ago. Could have ended her with the same efficiency I apply to every other problem in my life. But death would be too merciful, too quick. No, what I’ve designed for her is something far more fitting.
A slow dissolution. A gradual breaking. A lesson written in fear and flesh.
The wind whispers through the trees bordering the cemetery, a soft, sustained note like a distant scream.
I sit back on my heels, surveying the small kingdom of the dead around us. The grass needs cutting. The nearby oak drops acorns that crack beneath my boots like tiny bones. Everything here is in various stages of neglect or decay, just as the living prefer it.
Keep death at a distance. Don’t look too closely at its particulars.
“The auction starts tomorrow evening,” I say, r eaching inside my jacket. My fingers close around the fresh rose I’ve brought, its stem cool against my palm. “And then comes the wedding.”
I pull out the flower, its red petals vibrant against the gray sky. It’s still fresh, still perfect. I twirl it slowly between my fingers, watching the petals blur into a dark spiral. I place the rose carefully atop the pile of withered ones, its fresh form a stark contrast to their decay.
“And then she’ll be exactly where she belongs. In my fucking cage.” My voice cracks slightly despite my iron control. “I’ll make her understand what it means to betray a Knight.”
The thunder rolls again, a deep, resonant growl that seems to come from the earth itself rather than the sky. A perfect accompaniment to the vow I’ve just made.
I bow my head, resting my forehead against the cool stone for just a moment. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I mentally count down, and when I hit ten, I lock it away again. I tuck it behind the frozen lake of my resolve, where it can’t weaken my hands or blur my vision.
“I’ll do right by you.” I rise from my position at Ruby’s grave. My knees bear the damp imprint of the earth.
While I’ve been kneeling at my sister’s grave, the cemetery has darkened around me. The clouds and mist have thickened now. I brush a speck of dirt from my jacket sleeve, the small gesture a reminder of the control I maintain, even here among chaos and decay.
Then I leave, walking between the rows of headstones. The dead lie in ordered ranks, their final positions determined by plot numbers and family connections rather than the messy entanglements of their lives.
A crow calls from a nearby tree, the harsh sound cutting through the cemetery’s stillness. I glance up to see it watching me, head cocked. In some cultures, crows are messengers between the living and the dead. I wonder what this one would tell my sister if it could.
It blinks once, then launches itself from the branch, wings spread wide against the darkening sky. I watch its flight until it disappears beyond the cemetery walls just as the sky flashes with distant lightning.
The storm is approaching, just as I am approaching the culmination of my plan. The gate swings shut behind me with a metallic clang, the sound echoing against nearby mausoleums before fading into silence. My car waits on the street, and I quickly slide behind the wheel.
As I pull away, I feel the anticipation build in my chest, a pressure that expands with each breath. I channel it, focus it, transform it into fuel for what’s to come.
Lightning flashes again, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that seems to split the sky. The first heavy drops of rain begin to fall, fat droplets splattering against the windshield like tears from an indifferent god.
Instead of going home, I drive to Eve’s building, parking right outside the front door. The rain has thickened into something vicious now—sharp, stinging needles pelting the windshield in waves—but I barely register it.
Luckily, I don’t bump into anyone as I take the stairs to her floor and make my way to Ned’s door. He isn’t home, but the key is under the mat as usual so I let myself in.
Stepping inside, I’m immediately assaulted by the smell of stale beer and lemon cleaner. I don’t bother turning on the lights. The glow from the street below cuts across the floor in slices, fractured by the blinds, and it’s enough for me to see where I walk.
I stride over to the only thing I care about; the wall shared with Eve’s apartment. Pressing my palm to it, I lean in until my temple rests against the cold wall. Every creak in the pipes sharpens in the quiet.
Then I hear her; her laugh is high, unrestrained, and fucking radiant. A second voice follows, teasing in its familiarity. It’s Shelby.
My teeth grind together as I stand completely still, listening. Eve’s laugh comes again, louder this time. The louder she laughs, the harder I grind my teeth. My Bride shouldn’t be fucking amused.
She’s acting like I haven’t been crafting her downfall, like I didn’t mark and claim her. Like she isn’t living on fucking borrowed time.
My jaw tightens until it aches. I ball my fist against my thigh and breathe through my nose, slow and even, but it doesn’t help. All it does is feed the image of her lips parted in joy that doesn’t belong to me.
Eve should be afraid, not delighted. She should be reliving the feeling of my fingers deep in her cunt, the feeling she experienced when I threw Caleb down the stairs. Fuck, even that envelop e I dragged across her throat.
There’s a rustle like they’re moving closer to the shared wall. But I don’t care what they’re doing. Not really. Because every sound she makes that doesn’t belong to me now feels like betrayal.
“What are you wearing for the opening?” Eve asks.
“I’m not sure yet,” Shelby answers, her tone wary. “I mean, I don’t even know if we get to keep our own clothes.”
Shelby knows exactly what’s going to happen, but I’m glad to hear she’s keeping my secrets. Still, I text Ned while the women discuss clothing options.
Me: Are you aware how close Shelby and Eve are?
Ned: Yes. But it’s not a problem. My sister will do what’s expected!
I furrow my brows, annoyed with his reply. That’s how Nick sounds when he doesn’t want to admit he’s not fully in control over a situation. I’m halfway through tapping out a reply when there’s a knock on Eve’s door.
“Ohh, do you think it’s your masked stranger?” Shelby’s excited voice easily carries through the walls.
Pocketing my phone, I make my way to the door and ease it open so I can see and hear what the fuck’s going on.
“I’ve got a delivery for a Miss Mortis,” a male voice states.
“That’s me,” Eve replies, sounding confused. “Who’s it from?”
“Who cares?” Shelby interjects. “Look at the rose, it’s gorgeous.”
I lean further out, just enough to catch a glimpse of the allegedly gorgeous rose. When I do so, Shelby catches my movement, and her eyebrows shoot up her forehead when she sees me.
“Hey, just sign for it so we can get back inside,” she says, nudging Eve. When Shelby looks my way again, I shake my head. That delivery isn’t from me.
“Who is it from?” Eve asks again.
The guy glances at his tablet. “A Caleb— ”
“Nope,” Eve cuts him off sharply, stepping back like the name is an insult. “Tell him to fuck off.”
The courier blinks. “Uh… miss… I just have to—”
“No,” she repeats, folding her arms. “You can take it back to him and tell him he can shove it.”
Shelby’s eyes flash with something akin to sadness. “I miss getting flowers like that,” she says wistfully.
Eve ignores her, still glaring at the courier. “I’m being serious. Oh, wait… can I pay you to deliver it to him?”
The guy hesitates, then holds out the rose anyway, like proximity might change her mind. “Umm, sure.”
Grinning, Eve tells him she’ll be right back. Then she disappears for a couple of minutes, and when she returns, she’s carrying cash that she offers to the delivery guy.
“Do you have a pen?”
He nods and pulls one from his shirt pocket. She accepts it, and takes the card from the rose, quickly scribbling a message of her own.
“Caleb… go to hell, you pathetic loser. Not with love, Eve.”
I’m leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a slow curl of amusement tugging at my mouth. My Little Bride telling some delivery boy to carry her profanity back to the sender is entertaining.
“That’s vicious,” Shelby whistles. “Kicking a man while he’s already down. And after he took a beating for you nonetheless. Damn.”
Eve looks unsure of herself. “Is it too much?”
“Nah, he deserves it for the shit he said to you.” Despite the reassurance, Shelby smirks in a way that makes her words seem insincere.
Doesn’t Dr. Death notice the way her friend looks at her? Like she’s calculating ways to use her? The fuck is her problem? She was told to make friends with Eve, but this isn’t friendly at all.
“Suit yourself,” the courier says at last, tucking the rose back into its insulated bag.
I have no fucking idea why the guy would send flowers after what happened. But I don’t like it. After all, Eve’s about to be my wife, so I can’t have other suitors sniffing around .