Lucille
Chapter
Twenty-Four
We took to the stands, but I didn’t watch. This was the perfect time to practice, per Cato’s head-whacking scolding.
Intraverso, the next level of dream-walking, proved the slightest bit more difficult.
My mind strained to drown out the sounds of fighting around me and focus on the book’s instructions.
Grounding oneself in a memory was key. But my mind kept fighting me.
I tried to imagine my mother’s scent but only smelled musty copper.
I tried to hear her delicate voice but only heard cries and hissing.
I tried to picture her in the kitchen of her favorite home, but the images were muted and fuzzy. I—
I jerked awake crying. My hand hit the book on my end table, knocking it into a water glass. It clattered to the floor, momentarily covering my sniffles. I grabbed my bunny, wiped my eyes, and climbed out of bed.
I was young—younger than I had intended. I had to be around four or five.
I opened the door and stepped into the dim hall. The pale, old walls of my childhood home bordered me, its familiar musty scent wrapping around me like an unwanted hug. I never did like our first home. It had too many bloody memories tainted by my stepfather.
I walked down the carpeted hall to my mom’s room. Her door was cracked, soft golden light spilling out. Past me pushed it open, and my stomach fluttered with the possibility of seeing her face again.
“Mom?” I called in a childlike voice.
Her bed lay empty, the cream comforter thrown back as if she had just gotten up.
Her desk was the same story. She was probably in the kitchen.
I was just about to leave when something snagged my past self’s attention.
I wasn’t sure what until I walked over to my mom’s desk, climbed onto her chair, and picked up her crystal letter opener.
Of course. If I could’ve, I would’ve rolled my eyes.
I fiddled with the crystal. Past me giggled at the rainbows cast across the open notebook—with my name headed at the top. Underneath were the words: Miriam’s prophecy about Lucille.
There once was a daughter of seven circles, hidden, protected, avoiding the hurdles.
There once was a palace of crystallized ice awaiting the daughter to sacrifice.
Unbalanced and sorrowful. Hopeless with no tomorrow.
There once was a world concealed from her, vibrant in color, awaiting a shudder.
When the ice whispers. Be prepared for the fissures.
I was very familiar with the prophecy. My mother believed it would get me killed.
Or that my father would. Hence the crystallized ice part. The next line… a world concealed from her, vibrant in color—Elora. It had to be. But the last line, when the ice whispers. Did it mean my father?
Regardless, now I believed there was a possibility that my father wanted to sacrifice me. Maybe that should concern me, but what truly gave me pause—what had dread pooling like sludge in my stomach—was an intricate scrolling rune in the margins and, next to it, the word guardian.
Before I could read anything else on the page, the door to her room squeaked.
“Lucy!” my mom said, rushing toward me.
There was her beautiful face, spoiled by the panic in her gaze.
“You should be asleep, sweetie.” She snapped the notebook closed behind me and ushered me off her chair.
“I was just playing.” She took the crystal letter opener away, and I frowned. “I had a nightmare.”
“Oh, sweetie. Should we read a quick book together?” She placed her hand on my back, guiding me out of her room. Her touch was warm, and her sweet vanilla scent was almost a balm to the ache in my chest. But it was soured by her secrets.
Did she know about the guardian bond?
Did she know what would happen to me?
“Yeah!” past me chirped.
“Lucy!”
Was that Oliver’s voice?
“Lucy. Wake up!”
A poke jabbed into my side, and I opened my eyes to the present day.
“We’re up next. Come on. It’s no time to nap.”
“I wasn’t napping. I was dream-walking,” I whispered.
Oliver’s eyes widened. “My sister?”
“No. My mother. She knew something about the guardian bond.”
“You don’t think she…” Oliver dragged his hand across his wrist as if mimicking carving a rune.
“No, she wouldn’t…” Who was I kidding? My mom told me she had secrets. She told me not to hate her for them. “I have no idea. But we’ll talk about it later.”
We had the fight to focus on.
Fire, vines, flying daggers, and powers I couldn’t name attacked the illusioned demons.
Screams and curses, even some cheers, rang through the arena.
Both groups facing off were vicious. They didn’t hold back; everything but killing was allowed.
Scorching skin, drowning, suffocating, stabbing, breaking limbs—all game.
It didn’t matter if you were predator or prey; each side used their powers and skills to take down the other.
But the demon squad seemed more coordinated, working as a team to corner and bite their prey.
A sharp cry pulled my attention to a demon writhing on the ground, razor wire coiled tight around its body. A warrior with a sleeveless uniform stood over it, the same wire snaking from the silver tattoos on his arms.
“Who do you think is in more pain? The blondie with razor wire coming out of his skin or the one wrapped in it?” Oliver said conspiratorially beside me.
The guy pulled on the wire. Every edge sank into the demon’s skin, and its pained shriek turned into a gurgle.
Smirking, he opened his palms and let the wire spool back into the tattoos on his arms before luscelering to the other end of the arena with his squad members, winning the round.
Instantly, the illusion over the defeated demons faded and transferred onto the winning team.
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
“Great. I’ve always wanted to be sliced six ways from Sunday,” Oliver groaned.
A Dread dragged the unconscious female off the sand, blood streaking in her wake. Was she even alive?
“Maybe you should sit this one out,” I suggested, completely serious.
“But how else will I see my new paramour if I don’t get at least one slice?” Oliver half-teased.
I shook my head as we met MJ and our squad on the sand, ready to receive her instructions.
Ronen stepped up behind her, and apprehension twisted in my stomach.
Thin shadows wrapped around his muscular neck, attempting to hide within his tattoos. His jaw pulsed, slow and relentless.
“MJ, there’s been a change of plans.” His pleasant tone only made my dread worse.
Oh no.
“Yes?” Her suspicious gaze cataloged his face and posture.
“Lucille is going to lead the Tormentors.”
No.
Dusty and Matt scoffed as Zera and Valarus groaned. Rissa and the new female gazed at me with equal parts skepticism and curiosity. Suffice it to say, besides my inner group, no one wanted me to be their leader.
MJ grabbed my arm and Ronen’s, dragging us away from everyone else.
“Lucille, do you want to lead?” she asked point-blank.
“I don’t know the first thing about leading.”
Ronen’s smile, if that was what you’d call it, widened. “Like all the squadron leaders, she made her choice when she fought Moira. These are our rules.”
Hell’s rules were absurd and needed to change.
“MJ, I’m pulling you from the Tormentors. She can find her council another way.”
The amber in MJ’s eyes melted into bright flames. “Do you not remember what I told you last night?”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Your decision doesn’t show it.”
He shrugged. Shrugged. The nonchalant movement seemed so out of place—not only in this setting, but with the tension strangling his muscles. “Those are my orders.” Then he strode toward the dais, where he kept an eye on the matches.
“Utterly impossible,” MJ muttered. Those weren’t the words I’d use at the moment.
Mine were more aggressive. She turned to me.
“This will be similar to your fight with Moira, but more chaotic. Play on your squad’s strengths, trust they know what they’re doing, but also don’t be afraid to keep them in line. ”
MJ dragged me back to my squad, cutting off my question.
“Lucille will be your leader as ordered by General Ronen and proven by her match with Moira. Listen to her or find an arrow in your back later.” She grinned, keeping her taunting gaze on Dusty and Matt like she knew they’d be the most trouble.
Then she left, and I officially regretted ever fighting Moira.
Dusty and Matt’s attention taunted me with an unspoken challenge.
Like pointed blades, it drove into my thoughts and weakened me.
I wasn’t ready to lead. I understood I earned the position, but that’d never been my intention.
I just wanted Moira to stop bullying me.
I wanted to be more. Not—lead a squadron with zero experience—more, but more like…
prove to myself and the other Tormentors that I could be in their squad as an equal, not in charge!
I eyed our squad, hearing Ronen state the results of the last match and knowing we had moments before we were up. “What powers do you have?” I asked, hoping they didn’t hear the wobble in my voice. MJ said to play on their strengths. Well, I didn’t know what four of them could do.
Dusty and Matt only stared. Did they want to win? Or were they so petty they’d rather see our squad lose than ever follow me?
Labeling them as liabilities, I turned to Rissa and the blonde.
Rissa shrugged. It matched her defensive, haughty glare. “None. I’m a human soul who has no pain receptors left. That’s my power,” she said with a challenge, as if I’d question her capability.
“Okay, that’s good.” Was it, though? She clearly didn’t wear any weapons, so that meant all her fights would be hand-to-hand.
Up against a demon with powers, that seemed suicidal.
I pulled out one of my daggers and held it out to her.
She lifted a brow on the side of her face that still had skin and hair and refused to take it.
That got a few snorts out of the squad. I guess I should be grateful she didn’t slap it out of my hand.
I turned to the blonde. “What’s your name and power?”