Chapter XI
XI
LUCIAN
The dead don’t mind the cold.
That’s what I tell myself as I sink into the grass, a bouquet of dark red dahlias cradled loosely in one of my hands. A thick fog rolls over the graveyard, the last strains of daylight trying to peek through the clouds.
My slacks are damp from walking through the thick grass to get here, the wet earth still clinging to the fabric like greedy fingers. But I don’t move, don’t even brush it off.
Let it stain.
Let it mark me.
It’s proof that I was here. As if Vivienne’s sham of a funeral wasn’t already an insult to her, her family and everything she believed—these animals had the audacity to still maintain the rules that the graveyard is off-limits.
Last I heard from her, Marita couldn’t take the grief.
She’s off on leave of absence—likely in some intensive rehab program, as the last time I saw her she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. That’s the toll that losing the person you love takes on you. First it’s sadness, then it’s rage, then you’re left floating, purposeless.
Don’t I know it.
With Marita gone, Vivienne must be lonely.
Her gravestone looms over me, a simple slab of white stone with her name engraved on it. I run my fingers along the letters.
Vivienne Seraphina Carlisle.
It’s only been a few months, yet the stone is already weathered. She has the most modest grave here, no marble angels with weeping eyes, no elaborate headstones, no grand epitaphs about light or love or legacy.
Just her name.
Two dates with a dash between them.
It’s when I hear the crinkle of the tissue paper that I realize I’m gripping the bouquet too tightly. This is just like the funeral.
They’ve reduced her to something so simple.
As if a life like Vivienne’s—one built on anarchy that blazed like wildfire—could be contained by a single line. It’s an insult to her.
This is all we have left of her.
That’s why this fucking place needs to be destroyed.
Religion treats women worse than animals, and a gay woman? You’re as good as dead. I close my eyes, leaning against Vivienne’s headstone. And sometimes, they kill you to make sure you don’t cause any trouble.
Time slips away from me, bending reality into something I don’t quite understand but can’t bother to face. The night soaks into the fabric of my skull-patterned hoodie. The stone is cold against my back, it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
The flowers—her favorite shade of dahlias—slip my hand, scattering at the base of the grave. They spill carelessly against the dark soil. Like secrets bleeding out, like innocence trying to take root in the wrong place.
I pull my legs up, resting my chin on my knees.
“Hey, Viv,” I murmur, my voice rough. I haven’t spoken in a while. “Brought your favorites again.” If I look close enough the rotting petals from the last time I was here are still scattered around. “The people at the flower shop in town must think I’m a very devoted boyfriend.” I chuckle.
The words drift into the darkness.
No answer.
“It’s been rough without you,” I continue. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you in my life, punk.” That one particularly stings.
I’ve always tried my best to live in the moment, to ensure that everyone in my life knows just how much I care about them. Yet it still haunts me—did Vivienne know how much she meant to me as she was falling to her death?
How much she meant to Marita…to Edie?
There’s an unwanted bubble of resentment that pops within me at the thought of her. But I let it pass as quickly as it came. This moment is about Vivienne, not the girl who broke my heart. A wave of grief comes right after.
Grief never asks permission.
It doesn’t care who’s around or what you’re doing.
It’s just always there, like a second skin.
A friend you never made, but sticks to you like glue.
I’ve been visiting Vivienne as often as I can. Between wreaking havoc on Augustine, the grief of losing Vivienne and locking myself away in my cottage like a hermit because the thought of Edie haunts me—it ends up being once a week.
Sometimes it rains, and I bring an umbrella for the two of us.
I’ve had lunch with her, watched the bleeding sunset.
“I wish we had more time, Viv,” I whisper, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
Dahlias, damp earth, rust—the air smells just as dreary as you’d expect. Yet the cemetery hums around me—crickets, the low sigh of the wind rustling through the grass and trees.
Life is relentless here, too.
Just like Vivienne was.
“I know you didn’t do it,” I say. “Marita got your journal when they were emptying your room. The pages she told me about, the plans you had—even after you’d been found out?
It just doesn’t add up.” A beat of silence.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of it, I promise.
The deeper I dig through this place, the more I’m sure that I’ll find out what actually happened. ”
I really wish the dead could talk.
The guilt sits beside me like an old friend.
“I don’t really know what the afterlife is like. We talked about it before—how energy can never be destroyed, only transformed. But I promise that whatever it’s like I’ll find you again. Even if it means we’re gonna be two scrungly stray cats in the London alleyways together.”
I knew she’d laugh, so I allow myself a smile.
Vivienne and I were always meant to be friends.
We always will be.
And that’s when Edie pops into my head again, but this time I let the thoughts run their course. The longer I keep them bottled up, the more they’re likely to blow at the wrong time. Now more than ever, I need to keep my head clear.
So I let myself think about her.
The first night I saw her sneaking back into her dorm room—the prim, proper, piteous princess who hated me at first sight.
The innocent, meek girl who didn’t understand how dangerous this place actually is.
My Literature partner.
The girl I saved from the brink of death.
That bastard’s fiancée.
And just like every other time I think of her, I wonder if I was too harsh.
Should I have scared her away the way I did?
My personal morals wouldn’t allow me to date her, knowing she’s set to marry that asshole, but should I still have kept her close? Or should I have told her that marrying me would have solved all the problems she thinks marrying Silas will solve?
No.
I don’t want Eden to choose me to solve her problems.
That’s never a good basis for marriage. Plus, she’s eighteen. There’s no reason for marriage to be a top priority for her now, no matter what bullshit her parents are trying to force on her.
“Edie’s marrying Silas,” I blurt out. “He proposed to her and she said yes.”
Saying out loud lifts the weight, a little bit.
“But she didn’t even tell me until after we had sex…” I rub the back of my head. “Well, sort of had sex. The important part is that she had her first orgasm with me.”
As betrayed as I feel, memories of that night still spark something to life in me.
If it weren’t for my morals—Eden would be in my bed every night, and Silas would be flayed, hanging from one of the eaves in the courtyard.
“I want to help her so badly, Vivienne.” Now that I’ve unstoppered the emotions, I can’t get a grip on them.
“The more I try to pull her away from him, the deeper she goes.” A sigh racks my shoulders.
“That’s why I’m turning this place upside down…
I want her to see that she doesn’t need to be shackled by this institution, that she doesn’t need to shut up and sit down.
That she doesn’t have to take Silas’ abuse. ”
My knuckles crackle, and I look down to find my hand in such a tight fist that my fingernails are drawing blood—even though they’re short.
“I’m a little angry at her too. I know it isn’t her fault but…” I plop down on the damn grass, the cold seeping through my sweater and into my bones. “I think she needs to find herself. I can’t do that for her.” Then I add with a chuckle, “And for a good little catholic girl she’s quite stubborn.”
I hear Vivienne’s melodic laugh in my head. “I don’t even know how to tell her that there’s a reason why the women who marry into the Peregrine-Ashford family always die young.” Above me, the sky is dark and murky, like a muddled stream at dusk. “Abusive men always end up with dead wives.”
It’s almost as if I can hear Vivienne’s voice in my head. I could be hallucinating—I’ve been surviving off energy drinks, weed and crisps for days now.
Are you willing to let Eden die?
“No, I’m not.” I know that for sure. “She just needs to say the word and I’ll make sure she never has to deal with Silas again, but I can’t make that decision for her. No matter how much I want to.”
Silence.
I look up at the sky, watching cloud cover move slowly.
The pain of domestic violence? I know it all too well. Before my mother married my father—long before my brothers and I were even born—she suffered at the hands of her first boyfriend. The only difference?
Her parents stepped in before it got too serious.
“Eden has nobody looking out for her…” I whisper. “I’ll just have to do it from the shadows.”
I don’t know how much time passes.
But Vivienne makes for great company—she always did, always does. The wrought iron gate to the graveyard creaks open, jolting me upright. The crunch of footsteps gets closer, and I’m on the defensive.
Nobody should be here.
This place is off-limits to students.
Tension coils in my body, my fingers moving to the knife I have tucked into my boot. I’m no stranger to the fact that I’m public enemy number one at school right now. Despite my status, someone might be stupid enough to try to interfere with me.
The person finally comes into view.
It’s Eden.